He stepped off the bus and onto the street.
Small groups of people were standing around the bus, waiting to welcome their travelers open arms an “I’m so glad you’re here!"
No one was waiting for him.
“Oh well,” he thought, “I might not be welcomed with a kiss, but I was sent out with one.
And by a guardian angel at that.”
The early sun was bright in his eyes and made him squint to see the people and buildings around him.
A hint of warmth was beginning to ease the chill of the upstate morning.
He put two quarters into the slot of a newspaper rack beside the bus station and took out a copy of The Greenville News.
The headline of the day read “Governor Seeks To Keep Sanctuary Cities Out Of South Carolina.”
He walked a block toward Main Street and found a small diner that served breakfast in the morning and meat and three vegetable plates in the afternoon.
A little bell rang as he opened the glass door and stepped inside.
“Buenos dias,” said a waitress.
“Welcome to the Scrambled Egg.
My name’s Gabby and today’s my third anniversary of workin’ here.
I love it and I’ll be servin’ you today.”
“Buenos dias, Gabby,” he said.
He reached out to shake her hand and take a menu from her.
“My name's Elias.
Happy Anniversary!”
“¡Gracias!
Where you comin’ from?”
“Up from Charleston.
I rode through the night on a Greyhound bus.”
“Charleston, huh?
I love the low country.
There’s nothin’ like wakin’ up early, just before sunrise, and takin’ a walk on the beach.
Goodness.
I bet you didn’t get much sleep on that bus.
Come on over and have a seat at this table by the window. It’s the best seat in the house.”
“Muchas gracias.”
“What can I get for you?”
“Well, I could use a hot cup of coffee and a stack of pancakes.”
“Then you’ve come to the right place.
I’ll be right back with your coffee.”
He took out his notebook and pen and wrote as he read the article in the newspaper.
WHO
Governor of South Carolina
WHAT
Speech endorsing a bill that a state legislator from Greenviile intends to introduce that would cut off state funding for three years for any town or city that becomes a sanctuary city.*
Currently, there are no sanctuary cities in South Carolina.
A graduate student at Clemson University, who is working on a thesis examining teachers' attitudes and awareness about the rights of immigrant students, thinks the governor's comments are a 'political ploy,' thinks the state legislator's bill will make immigrants less likely to report crimes or cooperate with law enforcement officials, thinks the bill could increase the risk of 'families being ripped apart' if an undocumented immigrant is arrested for a minor offense and is deported.
*A sanctuary city (San Francisco, for example) does not share the immigration status of a person charged with a crime with federal, state or local officials.
WHEN
October 23, 2017
WHERE
Greenville County Courthouse
WHY
The president wants to build a wall between the United States and Mexico to keep undocumented immigrants out of the U.S.
The governor endorsed the bill because he is afraid "sanctuary cities will take root in our state."
He doesn't want any S.C. town or city to take part in "lawlessness."
The president attended a fundraiser for the governor the week before the speech.
*I do not call people "illegal" or "aliens." I say "undocumented" and " immigrants."
Gabby came back with the coffee.
“I don’t mean to interrupt what you’re doin', but your coffee’s here.”
There was a deep kindness in her brown eyes.
“Hmm,” she noted.
“You’re writing with a pen in a notebook. Don’t see that much anymore.”
“I’m old fashioned, I guess.
I still like to see the words I write on a page.
Helps me see that I’m moving from one place to another and getting somewhere.”
“If you don’t mind me askin’, what’re you writin’?”
“I don’t mind you asking at all.
I’m working on a story for my newspaper, The South Carolina Defender.
I’m a journalist.”
“Oh yeah?
What’s your story about?”
“It’s about a family I met in Charleston, a migrant family picking peaches and tomatoes on a farm on John's Island.
When I met them, they were living in a gutted out school bus behind the lower 40 acres of the farm.
There's an abuelo, a mamí and a 10 year old niño.
The boy hasn't spoken a word in his life.
He communicates by whistling.
I wrote a series of articles about them last summer so our readers might walk a mile in their shoes.
Or flip flops, as it were.
- Trevor Scott Barton, stories for a brown-eyed girl, 2020
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