Freedom Summer

(I taught a local Freedom School this summer--a program for at-risk or under-achieving kids sponsored by the public school system.  I am using that as fodder for scenes to practice writing.)

Lee Hunter swore the buses would be rocking when they rolled in, but at 7:45 everyone was still asleep.  Interns held up the "Good Morning" banner, but the glitter falling off in flakes was most energetic part.  Some interns appeared to be dozing standing up.

Children stepped off the buses at random intervals, holding the random things kids deign necessary to bring with them, hesitating at the school building they'd vacated a month before.  Some went to Freedom School the previous summer and weakly chanted "G-o-o-d M-o-r-n-i-n-gGoodmorningGoodmorningGoodmorning" with sleepy rhythm.

After being sorted into their classes, the 130 children made their way into the cafeteria to dine on a school-sanctioned, government-paid-for breakfast of a single strawberry Poptart and a carton of grape juice.  Interns stood around eating and attempting to facilitate conversation.  The tables were naturally segregated by gender but not by race.

The kids were dressed by poverty and prepubescence.  Pink and orange plaid shorts a size too small paired with an older brother's yellow polo shirt.  Shirts that were once middle-school-cool now out of date and threadbare.  Tennis shoes with popped open soles.  Sandals with brittle bands.  One sweet little girl with a long black ponytail and big brown eyes wears a Goodwill shirt that says "$tacks on $tacks on $tacks."

They left a landfill of silver wrappers and smashed cartons behind as they zigzagged down the hallway toward the media center, where the day would really begin.