By Andrea Israel, July 2007

A homeless boy. A woman determined to help. And a stack of drawings that changed two lives.

Glaring overhead fluorescents eclipse the time of day inside Houston's Reliant Centre this midmorning, Tuesday, September 6, 2005, eight days after Katrina devastated New Orleans. Part of the Astrodome complex, once home to sporting events and rodeos, the centre is now a sea of cots, makeshift beds for 8000 devastated Katrina evacuees.

Into the crowd of displaced people, Ashley Bryan rolls her wheelchair, calling for the youngest ones to join her, offering chocolates along with a welcoming smile. "Do you like to draw? We've got paper, crayons, markers!"

Ashley and three other Houston mums have created Katrina's Kids Project, an art programme for the children. Their motto: Hope, one crayon at a time.

Hope is something Ashley knows a lot about. On a daily basis, it gives her the will to fight the fiery pain in her muscles, a result of the muscular dystrophy that afflicted her almost 15 years ago. The disease has turned her life upside down – causing this once athletic woman to spend more days than she would like in a wheelchair. She ferries five of the youngest children back to the art table. They follow her in a line, giggling. Dubbed the 'Pied Piper of the Reliant Centre', Ashley says it's the chocolate that attracts the kids. But her friends know it's her bright smile, her laughter. Her warmth encourages a shy, thin boy to approach her now with hesitation. "What y'all doing?" he asks.

He speaks softly, eyes downcast. Ashley notices his single stud earring and the knobby shoulders poking above straps of a white, sleeveless vest. A pair of long shorts fall past his knees, undoubtedly something he's been given from the donations pile.

"We're making pictures," she tells him. "Say, can you draw?"
The boy puffs himself up and boasts, "You bet I can! Want to see?" He looks directly into Ashley's eyes, a moment of trust fuelled by bravado.
"OK! So, what's your name?" she asks, catching sadness in his eyes as he looks away.
"I'm Donald," he says in a whisper.
Donald shows up at the art table again on Wednesday and hands Ashley a picture.
"Oh, my gosh," Ashley says, "you really can draw!"

His illustrations are complex and sophisticated – pictures of trains, trucks and helicopters – as professional as any from a book or magazine. Crowds gather to watch Donald at work.

But unlike the other kids who draw the horrors they experienced escaping their flooded homes, Donald refuses to divulge any personal information. He uses his art to avoid the subject. It's only as the hours pass and he learns Ashley can access a computer that he sets down his pencil, looks straight at her and says: "Would you help me look for my mum? Her name is Troy. Troy Expose." He tells Ashley his mother's date of birth and address.

Ashley says yes, but it's a promise rife with potential heartbreak. Before Katrina's Kids Project, Ashley spent days volunteering in the computer room, searching for information about the people who'd been lost during the storm. Most of them were never found. Donald, she will soon learn, lived at ground zero of the deadly flood, just a few blocks from where the levee broke.

As Ashley leaves, she notices Donald chewing on his index finger, skin raw and bleeding. "Don't do that to yourself," she tells him. But it's a nervous habit that grows more intense with each passing day.

A world away from the chaos
That night, Ashley drives home past the oaks that shade the streets of her neighbourhood. She pulls into the driveway of her family's cottage, a world away from the chaos where she's left Donald.

As she walks up the ramp to her front door, Ashley can see Henri, their King Charles spaniel, searching for her from the kitchen window. Her husband, Steven, is waiting at the door. He folds Ashley into his arms. She can see Steven is worried. Ashley doesn't want another lecture about taking care of herself. She hurries to tuck their five-year-old daughter into bed.

"You look exhausted," Steven says when they have a moment together and she's told him all about Donald. His tone is part compassion, part frustration. Ashley is in pain; it's obvious from the way she's holding herself. But Steven knows there's no stopping his wife once she gets involved, even if she's putting her own health at risk.

He reminds Ashley that doctors repeatedly warn her to conserve energy. He runs through the reasons she should be cautious, not the least of which is their daughter. It was against the odds that they managed to have Audrey, the bright-eyed ball of energy who brings joy to every day of Ashley's life. Being a mum and taking care of herself are the only things she needs to focus on right now, he tells her. Then, Steven holds out a hand. "Come to bed."

But Ashley can't rest. She's made a promise she has to keep. She switches on the computer and begins her search on the missing-person websites, knowing she can kiss sleep goodbye.

Alone in the dark
Donald has his own difficulties sleeping that night. Not just because of the lights of the shelter or the hum of people's voices. It's the recurring nightmare that causes him to stay awake, to fear sleep.

But exhaustion and vivid dreams soon take over. Donald is back in his small house. He does his best to ignore the howling winds outside his window. Yet he can't tune out the fearful whimpers of his little dog, a Chihuahua-mix named Snow. Or the agitated sounds of his mother fretting in her room next door, unable to sleep through the storm despite her insistence they will be all right. Donald doesn't want his mother to be upset, but he's glad to hear she's awake. It means he's not alone in the dark – the one thing that gets to him, even though he's 12.

Suddenly there's a crash. Their living-room window is shattered by 200-kilometre-an-hour winds. Troy rushes to Donald and sits anxiously on the edge of his bed. He does his best to calm his mother, and she to console him. Evacuating isn't an option. Troy has explained to her son that she's afraid to go to the Superdome, and they don't have the money to pay for a hotel. It's best for them to stay put.

But soon water is seeping into the bungalow. Brown and fetid, not rainwater, something they've never seen. Quickly it rises from ankle level to midcalf. Donald looks out of the window. In the early morning light, a television set floats by. Then a car. He calls out to his mother, "What's happening?"

At Donald's insistence, they push their way through the water – now chest high – towards the front door. Donald rests his dog on a floatable cushion as they wade into the living room, water rising to their chins. It's a struggle for the boy and mother to stay afloat. In a total panic, desperate to hold on to something, Troy clutches a curtain rod. She's breathing hard, yelling that she can't swim. As she swallows water, she vomits.

Donald calls out, "Mum! Hold on!"
But Donald, too, is having trouble getting his breath. He realises he has no choice. In the amount of time it takes to open his mouth, to descend into the water, this child has made a decision to say goodbye to everything and everyone. He wants it to happen quickly. He slips under. I'll meet her in the white clouds, he tells himself. His eyes sting, his ears clog, his nostrils and mouth fill up. The sound of the storm has disappeared.

Only one way out
Ashley shouts a bright "Good morning!" It's Thursday, September 8, and she finds Donald waiting for her at the table. He doesn't know she stayed up all night searching for Troy. Or that, in the process, Ashley discovered Donald's relatives made it to an Alabama shelter, which gives her reason to believe Donald's mother might also be found.

She tells him the hopeful news. But he doesn't seem encouraged. He averts his eyes, anxiously biting the skin of his thumb.

Ashley sighs. "Darlin', I posted Troy's information on every single search engine, checked and rechecked the websites. I'm not giving up."

Donald nods, as if that's the end of the conversation, and returns to his art, his refuge. The rest of the day, about the only thing that makes Donald look up are the loudspeaker announcements. He listens to each one before a flash of disappointment shadows his face. Ashley thinks it's as if he's just waiting for them to say, "Donald, come to the Information Centre. Troy Expose is here for you." And when they don't, she can tell, it just about breaks his heart. Donald stops drawing every time.

On Friday, September 9, Ashley wheels herself over to Donald's sleeping area to give him her home address and phone number. She's concerned they could lose touch after he leaves the shelter. She's surprised to find Donald on his knees, sketch pad propped up on his cot. He's working with a furious intensity, never pausing to say hello.

When Ashley looks over his shoulder, Donald's drawing causes her to hold her breath. It's a depiction of a room in a single-story house with a broken window in the front, water rising up all around. He begins to explain: "This here's where I used to live . . . that's the window where I got out."

Ashley glances at her watch. Five o'clock. She's late to take her daughter to a soccer game, torn about what to do. She calls a neighbour on her cellphone. A whisper of guilt reminds her that she had promised Steven that she'd come home early and get some rest. But she can't leave Donald, not now.

Ashley notices another illustration on Donald's cot. She scans the pencilled image of pointy rooftops piercing what appears to be a lake of water. There's a little boat filled with people who have been saved and other rescue workers beaming flashlights.

Donald scrawls something across the paper, and Ashley squints to read it: "11.45pm, 9th Ward."
"Is that how you got out – by boat?" Ashley asks.
He doesn't answer right away. Then, slowly, Donald reveals the whole story: the raging wind, the broken window, the rising water, his mother clutching the curtain rod. And Donald going under, never seeing her again.

With a heavy sigh that comes from recognising the truth, Ashley sits back in her chair. Every bit of her wants to reverse what happened to Donald's mother in that little house – but there is no denying it. "Darlin'," Ashley says, "she was drowning."
He looks up at her, almost angry. "No! No, you don't get it!"

Ashley holds very still. Instinct warns her not to say anything more, just to wait for Donald to continue. But Ashley's self-control is shot. A trembling lip gives way to sobbing. No noise. Just tears.

Another announcement blasts over the loudspeakers. Donald jerks his head up, straining to hear his mother's name, still hoping. He returns to his sketching, focused, determined to get the rest of the story out. "I saw the broken window in my mind. I guess God was giving me a choice. I could stay there and drown . . . or get to the window."

Donald tells her he didn't know how to swim, but somehow he made his way outside, where raging waters pulled him from the house and swept him away down the street. He passed a tree and managed to grab hold of a branch and climb up. There, curled into himself, too tired to think, he rode out the storm.

When the winds died down, a tyre floated past. Donald grabbed it and paddled back towards his house. But it was almost completely under water. He called for his mother and his dog. There was no response. He climbed onto a nearby roof, where he sat the rest of the day, shivering uncontrollably, mind numb. By nightfall, helicopters circled the rooftops with floodlights shining down. But hours went by, and nobody came to rescue him.

Ashley asks, "Donald, did you call out for help?"
"There wasn't any point. The air was already full with the word help. All you could hear was people screaming and yelling." And that, he explains, is what his picture is all about. Close to midnight, the boat depicted in his drawing took Donald to a bridge, where he waited a long time, hoping his mother would turn up. She didn't.

Donald hands Ashley the sketch but keeps his eyes from meeting hers. She can tell from the way he holds his body that he is completely exhausted.

She asks one more question: "How'd you find your way to Houston?"
Donald says he followed a family several kilometres to the Superdome in New Orleans, where he stayed for three days in heat of 37°C with no air conditioning, food or water. Everywhere, fear and misery. Finally, a bus came, and he took it. He didn't care where it was going. "This is the only time I've ever been out of Louisiana," he tells her.

Ashley needs to hug him so badly that she stretches out her arms. She grabs the skinny child, holding him tight, and feels a tear splash onto her shoulder as he leans over her wheelchair. With her arms around him, Ashley whispers a promise – to Donald, to herself – that no matter what the future holds, she will do everything she can to make sure this child survives.

Promise of help
Fighting for Donald became a full-time job for Ashley all through September and October. Some good has come of it: Donald has been reunited with his aunt Nicole, Troy's sister, a generous woman who immediately embraced Donald as an addition to her family. She, too, lost everything in Katrina. And in the wake of the storm, she struggled to provide for her two children, one of whom suffers from autism. It takes a network of Ashley's friends to help settle Donald and his aunt's family in Dallas, where Donald is finally enrolled in school. But Nicole is struggling with another mouth to feed. And Donald's most basic necessities – medical care and food – seem unobtainable. The government denies all of Ashley's applications for food stamps and Social Security benefits, citing no proof that Donald's mother is dead. For the same reason, Donald's aunt is not allowed to become his legal guardian. Yet he's not old enough to have a voice for himself, to speak up for the things he needs and should be entitled to receive.

Ashley is beside herself. How can she possibly prove Troy died if her body can't be recovered? In the aftermath of Katrina's media circus, politicians flood Ashley with empty promises of help. But soon the news cameras are turned off, and government officials shrug their shoulders when Ashley pleads for assistance. She refuses to quit. Perhaps because Ashley knows, from her own health struggles, that a war is won only if you fight all the battles. Still, each rejection confirms that Donald could easily fall through the cracks – something she fears is already starting to happen.

A series of heartbreaking false leads
Throughout November and December there are a series of heartbreaking false leads about Troy, including reports of her body being discovered. Donald spirals into a depression. He struggles with post-traumatic stress and grief and cannot keep up academically. A counsellor warns that he cannot fully accept that his mother is gone.

By Christmas, Ashley knows she can't give Donald the thing that would help most: closure. He's struggling to come to terms with his motherless existence. Which is why she finds herself near tears when he asks, "Ashley, do you think my mum didn't try real hard, you know, so I'd have a better life?"

Ashley wonders, "How could a child ask such a question? Is it survivor's guilt? Does Donald need to believe there is a reason his mother died in order to go on with his life?"

She knows Donald's fate would have been very different if he had stayed in New Orleans's impoverished lower 9th Ward. Violence and drugs pervaded the neighbourhood and its children. Members of Donald's own family have been jailed for illegal possession of guns or drugs. And Donald fully believed he was destined to follow suit. "It's like Katrina did something good and did something bad. It put me down the right road. It just took something really special away from me," he says.

In March 2006, after six months of fighting what seemed like an impossible battle, Ashley begins to see the dividends of her hard work. She garners the attention of Louisiana Lieutenant Governor Mitch Landrieu, who helps get pro bono legal counsel. The lawyers arrange for Donald's aunt to become his official custodian.

Donald is finally able to get the medical care he needs, including antidepressants. And then a turning point: Donald is accepted to a school that has a special art programme on the strength and talent of his recent drawings, including two illustrations remarkably unlike anything he's ever done before: a lighthouse and a church in the country. Ashley believes Donald's illustrations depict more than bucolic scenes. They offer a window into his internal landscape, a newfound inner peace.

By June Donald graduates from sixth grade. Ashley gathers enough donations for Donald to attend the country's oldest African American summer programme. It's there, Ashley hopes, that Donald will find something he's yet to discover: pride in his heritage and, a growing self-esteem.

After the Storm
It isn't always easy to let a child test his wings. Ashley learns this the hard way as July melts into August with little more than three postcards from Donald at his camp. She misses him. But Ashley consoles herself. No news is surely good news. She reminds herself there were times after the storm when Donald probably thought he'd never be happy again. Now he's at a place that can be described only as joy for a kid, a place where days are filled with activities and friends. She smiles at the image she has of Donald: a boy who had never left New Orleans, embracing a whole new world.

At last, autumn rolls around. Forecasters predict a mild and wet weekend. But Ashley doesn't notice the rain. She's just focused on driving to Dallas, where she'll meet Donald after months of being apart. She parks her car next to the pavement outside his house, feeling a nervous mix of excitement and curiosity. Will Donald have changed in this short amount of time?

Suddenly, like a colt bolting from his paddock, Donald comes bounding from the house and leaps over the low brick wall. He rushes to the car, to Ashley, and throws himself into her huge hug. It's a different Donald she holds in her arms. He has grown. But not just in height. It's his carriage, his beaming smile, his confidence. He can't stop talking: "I went fishing! And swimming! And not only that, I got an award! Best-mannered camper!"

This time, Ashley is the silent one. Overcome with a motherly pride, she looks deep into Donald's eyes and finds a spark she recognises as an aspect of herself – the dignity that comes from triumphing over adversity, the self-respect Donald will need to survive.

To see a gallery showing some of Donald's work, click here