Voices From The Neighborhood
I pushed open the office door, stepping into the familiar hum of ringing phones and hushed conversations. As a community organizer and program assistant for a state-funded initiative, my days were a whirlwind of meetings, phone calls, and problem-solving. Our program brought together city and state officials, business owners, residents, police officers, probation officers, nonprofits, banking institutions, community, and faith-based organizations—all working toward one goal: strengthening our community.
I set my bag down and grabbed a stack of files from my desk, reviewing the list of new community service referrals. Just as I was about to settle in, A slightly thick, fast-talking girl with honey-colored eyes popped her head into the office.
“AmIsupposedtoseeyou?”
“What?”
“AmIsupposedtoseeyou?” she repeated, her words spilling out in a rush.
“Girl, what are you saying? Slow down. I can’t understand you when you talk so fast.”
She exhaled impatiently and tried again. “I SAAAAAAAIDD am I supposed to see you?”
“What are you here for?”
“I have to do 100 hours of community service.”
“100 hours? Geesh. I see we’re going to be long-time buds.” I pulled out a form and gestured for her to sit. “Okay, what’s your name?”
“J’ayLa.”
“Ja Huh?”
“J-apostrophe-a-y-Capital L-a. J’ayLa.”
“Oh, well, don’t feel bad if you have to tell me your name a few times. I’m old and almost senile.”
“It’s not that hard.”
“Says you, Ms. J Apostrophe and Capital L.”
She laughed, clearly amused by my confusion, her golden brown eyes gleaming with a mischievous spark.
“Okay, well, I’ll start you stuffing envelopes.”
“Cantigoonyourcomputer?”
“Huh?”
“Can I go on your computer?” she asked, slower this time, like she was trying.
“Can I go on your computer?”
“Umm, no.”
“I don’t want to stuff envelopes.”
“We don’t really offer a menu of options here. It’s envelopes, or you can always go find someone else to give you 100 hours of community service.”
“Nobody will take me.”
“Why?”
“They say I have a bad attitude.”
“Really? Except for talking fast, I haven’t noticed.”
She laughed again.
“So why did you earn such a distinguished honor as 100 hours of community service?”
“My teacher—he’s so stupid and don’t listen to nobody. I told him it wasn’t my fault, but he went and sent me to the principal’s office.”
I sat dazed. “Honey, I didn’t get one stinkin’ word you just said. I need a translator for you.”
In a slow way, I said, “I d-o-n-’t u-n-d-e-r-s-t-a-n-d y-o-u. C-o-u-l-d y-o-u s-p-e-a-k s-l-o-w-e-r? Please?”
She giggled again.
“Glad I’m amusing you.” I smiled. “What’s your name?”
“I got the ‘What.’ What was the rest?”
“YOUR NAME.”
“Ahhh, you can call me Danna.”
“Ms. Danna?”
“Sure, that works too.”
“So, can I go on your computer?”
“If you’re asking about my computer, the answer is going to be the same as it was before, and it won’t change in five more minutes, ten, or even an hour from now. So stop asking. And take a breath when you talk, will you? I don’t want you passing out from not taking a breath.”
Another giggle. At least she understood me.
I found J’ayLa some envelopes to stuff and left her in our cafeteria-turned-stuffing-envelopes room. She mumbled to herself, probably fussing about the task, but I chose to ignore her. About ten minutes later, she walked into my office.
“IhavetogocanIcomebacktomorrow?”
“Are you done already?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so, since you just started about ten minutes ago.”
“It’s boring.”
“It’s meant to be boring. If it were fun, you’d go back to school and earn 200 more hours of community service. Contrary to popular belief, we don’t actually want people to do community service. We’d rather you behaved like a good citizen of this planet Earth. Respected yourself enough to care about you and the people you affect in your environment. But for some reason, that plan hasn’t worked too well for some people. Must be that stuffing envelopes and cleaning up other people’s garbage is more fun than I think.”
J’ayLa giggled. “You’re funny.”
I gave her a dazed look, so she spoke slower. “So Ms. Danna, can I come back tomorrow?”
“Envelopes will be here waiting with their bated little breaths.”
More giggling.
The next day, there was a knock on my open door, and I looked up. J’ayLa stood next to a darker-skinned, shorter, thinner girl with a permed bob style to her hair. I assumed a friend since she looked nothing like J’ayLa. I assumed wrong.
“This is my sister, TaNeQua sheneedscommunityservicetoo.”
“Oy, can we try this again in super slow speed?”
They both giggled.
Ah, now I could see the family resemblance.
