Voices From The Neighborhood
When I first saw him, he was getting out of a car. He had a bulky jacket. His jacket, jeans, and sneakers, were all black. He wore sunglasses that covered ¾ of his face. He seemed more like a shadow than a kid. His clothes and sunglasses made him look like either he was hiding or trying to be intimidating. His movements were stiff, almost robotic, like he was holding himself together with tension. It was as if every step he took was calculated, as though he were always aware of his surroundings, ready to react. Since I’d been around kids in this neighborhood for a while, he seemed to me as if he were hiding. He came up and stood in front of me. He was about an inch taller than my 5’6” height. We faced each other like two animals sizing each other up.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
In an unexpectedly deep and low voice, he said, “Johnny, M’am.”
“Ma’am?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Did you just get out of Kid Boot Camp?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Ok.”
“We’re not going to have problems from you. Are we?”
“No Ma’am.”
“Ok.”
“What’s up with them glasses?”
“I like them.”
“Are you hiding from someone?”
“No Ma’am.”
“Ok.”
“Don’t run away, cause I’m too old and fat to go after you.”
“I won’t run away Ma’am.”
“I’m just saying. I’m nice, but don’t take advantage of it.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
I walked over to my boss and asked her if the kid was for real. She told me she wasn’t sure, but I was to keep an eye on him. We were outside and it was chilly. We were expecting about 200 kids to show up to our “party.” Living in the neighborhood, you make up any excuse to get kids off the streets. My job was to put the parties together and to give the ones on probation some excuse for community service. I can’t even remember if this party was the Harvest/Halloween thing, or the back to school one, or the “no excuse come as you are” just cause party.
I told Johnny where I needed the tables moved. His job was to open up the bags of candies. Our job was to give the kids candy that they could eat while still at the party.. Some would always try to hustle for more than their share. For some reason, I liked those kids a little more. Those were my survivors. Those kids would never starve or go without because they knew how to charm or hustle anyone out of anything that they needed.
I couldn’t help looking at Johnny every so often. Part of me wondered if he was going to run away. The other part wondered who this kid was. For some reason, I wanted to know him. Normally, kids just came in, stuffed a few envelopes for us, and then went on their merry ways. I’d try to talk to them and see where their heads were at. About half of the kids were there for school community service. The other half were courtesy of our juvenile court system.
I had yet to meet a kid I didn’t like, no matter how bad their reputation. Sometimes, we got a heads-up about a kid we were getting. A few times, they were a little .hotheaded. This one doesn’t talk, but is hard-working. That one is a fire starter. The other one likes to mouth off. It always amazed me that if I hadn’t been given this kind of inside information, I couldn’t see it. They all looked like lost little children who just wanted someone to love them and provide them with some attention. How hard was it to just love them? Was it possible that even these hardened kids longed for connection despite how they carried themselves?
Kids in the community liked our events. I would make up these little flyers that fit four to a page and cut them up. I would make about 100 of them. Then I would stand at the end of a corner from their school. They knew when they saw me, they knew it was going to be something good. At times, I’d hustle a few of them to hand out the flyers for me just so I could go back in the office a little earlier. I would never announce any party until the same day. There is no planning in our neighborhood; either you’re there, or you’re not. Trust me, the word would get out.
The party was always at the corner of the main cross street in our neighborhood at the little plaza where there were a few benches the neighborhood folks would sit at and talk to each other. The event would last about two hours and, as usual, it was over within our scheduled time. Just before the second hour, we still had a few little stragglers. We had played pop/rap music, the kids danced. We gave them candy and reminded them to pick up their wrappers. Part of our job was also to educate the community on the importance of cleaning up. We threatened them that we wouldn’t be having another party again if they didn’t clean up. I always knew I didn’t have to threaten; they had fun, and their smiles always showed their appreciation. A lot of the kids even made cleaning up a game.
As we cleaned up, I asked Johnny what he thought of the party. “Those kids were sneaky.”
“Sneaky how?”
“Almost all of them tried to get me to give them extra’s.”
“Yeah, hey, you never know when you’re gonna get freebies again. Gotta get your free-on,” I told him.
Johnny smiled. It was the first time I’d seen him genuinely relax. His smile made his face light up, and for a brief moment, it erased all the guardedness I had been seeing. It was as if a different person had emerged from behind the dark sunglasses and tough exterior.
His smile was so beautiful it made me sad. Sad that it was something Johnny didn’t do often. It made me wonder how many smiles this kid had hidden away, locked behind walls I couldn’t see. Why was he so afraid to be seen?
“So did you give them extra’s?”
“No, Ma’am.”
“Why not?”
“They didn’t earn it.”
“Did you get yours?”
“No Ma’am.”
“Why not?”
“You didn’t give it to me.”
I gave him a few big candy bars I had saved for him.
“Well, you earned it.”
“Thank you,” as he reached out. He put the candy in his pocket.
“Aren’t you going to eat it?”
“Later.”
“You sure are a weird kid. I’d be all over that chocolate.”
Oh, there was the smile again.
“Ahhh, Johnny, you’re a good kid. Are we going to see you again?”
“Can I help you again?”
“But of course, my friend, community work NEVER ends. We’re like 7-11, Open 24/7.”
Another smile.
It would be weeks before we’d see Johnny again. I was walking into my office carrying boxes full of donations from people in the community. I didn’t see him as he took the load off my hands. He was dressed exactly the same as I had last seen him.
“Hey, it’s my long-lost friend Johnny.”
“Hi Ma’am.”
“Oy, again with the Ma’am.”
“Umm, could you just call me Danna? I can’t hang with that Ma’am., makes me feel old and I’m already there, son.”
Smile.
“So what brings you here, Johnny?”
“You said I could help out whenever.”
“Sure, we’re open 24/7, remember?”
“But are you going to wear your sunglasses in here too?”
He hesitated for a minute, but he took them off.
“Johnny, anyone ever tell you how incredibly handsome you are?”
Smile.
“Johnny, stop hiding.” There was a moment of stillness, like he was deciding whether to show me more. I saw the conflict in his eyes before he lowered his gaze.
For some reason, it was at that time I noticed how tore up his jacket was. It was old, disheveled, and dirty. His sneakers were dirty too. How did I not notice this before? I wasn’t looking at him. I had seen the shell, the tough exterior, but I hadn’t looked at the person. He wasn’t hiding from me; I was hiding from him.
My heart broke, not for Johnny, but for my own stupidity and lack of sensitivity.
“So, what do you like, Johnny? You into rap?”
“No, ma’am, I mean Danna.”
“I’m getting used to the m’am. No? Are you from another planet, Johnny?”
“No.”
“Well, what are you into?”
He bowed his head and, in that low, deep voice, he quietly spoke. “I like to write poetry.”
“Geesh, Johnny, you are just full of surprises. You know you don’t need those sunglasses. You’re already shining.”
Smile.