Tuesday, September 4th, 2044 CE
DANNY
I’m standin’ round gawkin’ at a bunch of folks – there must be about 200 or more of them, and they’re a hodge-podge of races, from White to Black, and everywhere in between. They are of all ages – from toddlers to my grandparents – if I had grandmas and grandpas. I’ve no idea why they are all mixed up and standin’ round, Whites jabberin' with Blacks as if there’s no difference, and are letting the kids just run around and doin' whatever they want. This is supposed to be a school, at least I was told it was. "What the hell is going on?"
She said, “Mississippi, huh? You sure do sound like you’re from somewhere in the South, and, of course, we do need some help. And for that, we can find you a bed and some food.” She was not just kind; she went into action and found a nice old man who told me to follow him as he pushed a walker toward the dining area. He asked me my name, “Danny White,” I said. The ‘Danny’ was true, but I wasn’t about to tell anyone my real last name.
I stayed there for about two weeks and really liked it. I was the only single kid there–and that was okay too, because I wasn’t ready to mix with nosy other kids. The old people minded their own business. After a while, a woman came to the shelter and wanted to see me. Her name is Claire Danley, and she has a nice smile. She said she was a social worker in San Diego County and kept track of homeless people, especially children. She stated that she could not locate a missing child named Daniel White anywhere in the United States. I told her my name was Danny, not Daniel. She said she had also looked for that name, but she did find a Danny Sherman-Lee, a missing boy who lived in Flowers, Mississippi. She asked me if I could possibly be that boy?” I wondered who reported me to the county, but I was sure no one would tell me. Old people never tell kids anything. They think all kids are stupid.
Anyway, I shook my head, and she said, “Well, whoever and wherever that boy is, I’m guessing he had a good reason to run away. I called that family, and the dad, Robert E. Lee, can you believe it?”
I could because that was the name of the old bastard who called himself my dad.
She went on, He said, “Well, we do have a boy named Danny, and if you find that little shit, you beat the tar out of him and I’ll fly out there to the coast and I’ll bring him back home where he belongs.” And then, he added, ‘By God, I’ll take care of him in more ways than one.’”
Now, Danny, you do have quite a drawl, and you are the same age as that boy in Mississippi. So, please tell me your correct name.
2.
“What’ll happen to me if I’m that guy? Will you tell that angry bastard I’m here?” I was shaking, and I’m sure Ms. Claire noticed. She seemed very nice, and I knew that sooner or later I’d have to come clean to someone, sometime, if I was ever going to find help for my mom and sisters. I’ve got to tell somebody, so I decided to take my chances with this kind lady.
She put her fist under her chin and said, “I’ll see what I can do.” I took a deep breath and then listened and answered her questions about my life here at the shelter. I told her that I was really worried about my mom and two little sisters. A few days later, she returned to tell me that the county would take care of me for now. She had talked with a social worker in Mississippi and was told that my dad was a deputy sheriff in one of the poorest counties in the state and that my dad had been reported as an abusive parent, but there was nothing they could do because of his position there. I told her that, of course, I already knew that, and if I ever went back there, he would probably literally beat me to death. I added, " Ma’am, I know for a fact that he is a killer, because he’s killed a bunch of people in what he calls the ‘line of duty’ when really, they just bothered him, and he just hated their guts.”
She then said she believed it was better if I remained in California. There was one warning she had to give me, and that was if I ever got caught breaking the law or hurting anyone, I would be sent back to Mississippi. In other words, I needed to keep my nose clean. She also said that she would see what could be done for Mom and my sisters.
And she added, “I’ve found a very good foster family in the county, in a nearby town named Monte Vista. I’ve known the family for years and I really like them. They have two young girls, ages 5 and 8, and their biggest concern is the safety of the girls. They are worried that you might hurt one or both when you get angry. I called the Mississippi social worker back, and she said that you had two younger siblings and had been hurt protecting them from your father, is that right?”
Damned if I didn’t get a face full of tears when I thought of Jacque and Susan, who were just about the same age as the girls in this foster home. Clair put her hand over mine, and I quickly pulled it away. She probably thinks I’m a baby. I said, “They are the reason I didn’t run away sooner, but I began to think that there was nothin’ I could do, so, well, I finally decided to get outta that hell hole before that bastard killed me.” I looked up at the social worker and waited for her to scold me for being angry and using bad language . . . Adults always sided with other adults.
3.
Claire surprised me, “I believe you did the right thing. I find myself worrying about you and your younger sisters, too.” She added, “I’ll ask the social worker there to see if they can do something. It sounds like your dad is a very dangerous man. So, I’ll need to be very discreet.”
I wasn’t sure what discrete meant, but I guessed it meant she was going to be careful.
While I was thinking about all this, I was lookin’ round the big playground as dozens of people kept coming in. Last week I was really impressed with these modern one-story buildings with windows all over the place – in every room one wall was all windows that went from near the floor to the ceiling and looked out at a flower garden and other similar buildings, and the other walls were painted in kind of a peach and cream color. And the front yard was full of flowers, as were the areas around the walks and the playgrounds. I liked it because it seemed open, colorful, nice, and, well, this sounds corny, it seemed like a warm kind of place.
It made my old brick and concrete school in Mississippi look like a prison. My Mississippi school would fit in better with the neighborhood here, given its proximity to all the warehouses and empty buildings. This school building was like an oasis in this neighborhood. This morning, the school still looks warm, but it also looks chaotic with all these people hanging around, smiling, talking, and laughing.
A girl comes over to me. She is very pretty and is as tall as me, has a nice smile, and she’s dark-skinned. She holds out her right hand to me to shake. I’ve never in my life taken the hand of a dark-skinned person. What if she’s Black? I put my free hand in my pocket.
My other hand held my computer bag full of stuff. Still holding out her hand, she says, “I’m Ella Haloran, and I’m guessing you must be Daniel White. Is that right? And you’re scared of shaking the hand of a girl?”
“Yeah, but my name is not Daniel, it’s Danny. And I’m not afraid of girls,” I didn’t add, ‘But a Black girl? That’s something else again.’ I learned at the beach homeless shelter that you never should call a nigger, a nigger, but call him or her black.’ I said to the girl, “Why are ya lookin' fer me?” I’m sure I sounded kinda snotty, but I really had no idea why this girl, about my size and age, knew my name and all. I guess I’m more prejudiced than I thought, and now I’m getting tested. I just now realized I’d never been really close to dark-skinned people before in my life, even in that little town.
When I said I was not a racist, I was being a phony. When I was about five, my mom hired a black lady to help her when she was sick, and she was sick a lot. Especially after dad beat the hell outta her, she wasn’t really sick, she was wounded and recovering from the beatings, but she dared not tell anyone or dad would just beat her more and maybe even get fired from his job. Anyway, Mom told the black lady that she couldn’t bring her five-year-old boy to work because I shouldn’t play with black kids. I only met him once, but I really liked him. This girl, Ella, kept looking at me, and I asked her again why she was looking for me.
4.
She said, “Sam, our Tator, asked me to find you and help you get acquainted with our school. And you looked like you were a bit lost and were wondering what all these people were doing standing around in the school yard, so I came over to see if you were our new classmate.” She spoke much faster than the students in my old school in Mississippi. She went on to say that the Tator, whatever in hell that is, probably asked her to find me because she had been new to the school two years ago. She ended her little speech with, “Are you as unfriendly as you sound?” She giggled a little and smiled.
Didn’t that Tator guy know that I’m not Black like her? She talks like everybody else around here, not like a Black person. Reluctantly, I said, “I’m sorry for sounding so stupid. I’m not really unfriendly most of the time, but yeah, I do wonder what's going on. And what is a Tator?” Her smile helped me relax, and I hoped my smile would help her, too.
“Tator is short for facilitator, our personal coach and ‘sort of' teacher in our Human Development class. You and I are in the same class. We call our group our cohort. Our cohort has been together since first grade. There are ten of us – counting you – plus the Tator, Sam. Five of our fellow students have been in our cohort since first grade; two joined us in second grade, I joined in the third, and Joe Jackson joined us last year, and now you, which makes ten. So, welcome.” She put her hand out again, and I took her hand like it was a hot potato just out of the fire.
Suddenly, I was jolted nearly off my feet when a bunch of bells, like musical church bells, rang out through the loudspeaker, followed by a pleasant young female voice, “Good morning, fellow dreamers, and welcome back to school for the Fall semester. It’s time to get with the music presented by the Ragamuffins of the tenth grade. Their song is 'Getting to Know You,' from Rogers and Hammerstein, from earlier in the last century. Now, get with it.”
Ella grabbed my hand and nearly dragged me over to the middle of the pack of people. My lord, here I am being led around the playground by a Black girl. What will people think? I thought about my dad and if he knew about this school, he’d probably bring his assault rifle and start killing all these heathen devils.
That thought almost made me like this school and all its craziness. I guess I gotta’ get my head on in a different way. I nearly fell over a little girl as the music blasted around us. I was so confused that I didn’t immediately realize Ella was holding the little girl’s hand and was reaching out to take mine. Ella shouted, “This is my little sister, Angie.” Ella nodded toward the woman holding Angie’s other hand and shouted, “And this is Jan, our mom, and this is my Grandpa Earnie Haloren, holding mom’s other hand.” The old Black man smiled at me, but I didn’t smile back. God, I’m such an idiot or something completely stupid. It looked like everybody knew the song.
5.
And they were singing and bowing toward each other while still holding hands. Two hundred or more people dancing around and singing ‘Getting to know you.’ It seemed crazy and, well, kind of fun too, I had to admit. As my idiot dad would say, “I felt as awkward as a whore in church.”
We danced and sang several other songs. I later learned that some of the students at this school wrote them. They were fast and joyful, and I almost let go and enjoyed dancing to them. And I couldn’t help but wonder when the hammer was going to fall, and I would start hating school like I always did.
After the crazy songs and dancing, Ella again introduced me to her mom and sister. Her mom started walking her kindergarten sister. Angie went to her room and then left for her office. She is a pediatric dentist, a job Ella said she loved, but Ella said she’d hate it. Ella said her dad sometimes came to the morning dancing and singing, but he had to be at the UCSD faculty meeting. I thought it was weird that this black girl had both parents who were doctors.
Wow!
I was surprised that after all the crazy dancing, all the students rather quietly and politely strolled into their respective buildings. Ella leads me down a long hall in one of the five classroom buildings. Thank God she let go of my hand as soon as we reached our building. We entered a small classroom where the one-armed, chair-like desks were arranged in a circle, and the single window looked out onto a flower garden. The windows must be one-way mirrors, because we could look out, but we could not see into other classrooms.
There were six students already sitting around our room – four girls and two boys. A kinda Mexican-looking grown man in a short-sleeved blue shirt was sitting near a whiteboard and talking to a girl in a wheelchair. She was as white as me, and I was beginning to realize that most, if not all, people in this school didn’t give a shit about what people, big and little, looked like; they were all just plain ol’ people.
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