The Magic at the End of the World (Do You Remember, Book 5)

Saturday, January 6, 2001

Five days have passed since the New Year's Day Massacre, and now the rest of the United States knows about the massacre that took place in Lochland shortly after the new year began. To say that there are hundreds (if not thousands) of people that were angered by this is pretty much an understatement. Meaning, when everyone found out what Lucas Harrison had done to the partygoers in front of his house, there was nothing but shame and condemnation for the Harrison family, as well as them being accused of racism and sexism.

And that's only the tip of the iceberg.

Today, a large group of Black people were seen standing in front of the house where Renee Hopkins (one of the victims) had lived with her parents Anna and William and her daughter Luna. Renee was developmentally disabled; today would have been her 31st birthday. The people claimed that they had gathered in front of the house to show some much-need support to Renee's family, especially her 10-year-old daughter.

I couldn't help but feel sorry for that poor little girl, who would now have to spend the rest of her life without her mother. (Where was that girl's father?) I found myself wondering if Luna's fate would have been my fate; I had never met Zach and I was taken away from Emily when I was born. Was I really an orphan, or were my parents alive somewhere?

To that, Chelsea (who had returned from Amherst, Pennsylvania yesterday) said, “I really don’t know how to say this, so I’m going to be completely honest with you.”

“How honest are you?” I said.

“I think I’m honest enough to tell you the truth about all of this,” said Chelsea. I stared at her as she continued, “The truth is, no one really cares about a disabled person. Sure that person has their parents, but that’s only about the extent of love and support that they will have. Sadly, though, people with developmental disabilities are nine times more likely to be victims of violent crimes than Black people, women, and homosexuals. Everyone cares if a Black person or a woman is murdered, but no one bats an eyelash when a developmentally disabled person is murdered.”

I’m feeling nervous, especially because Chelsea is speaking about this tragedy so openly. She, Kaprice, and I are at a local bookstore, which is one of the few places that is still open during this lockdown. Hardly anyone is there, unless it’s to go to the local café inside the bookstore. Kaprice stares at me and nods in agreement, knowing that he had went through the same thing when he and his father had been abandoned by his mother in that town where the biggest crime against disabled people had happened. (I’m pretty sure he’s never going to get over it.)

He then said, “My family knew this kid who lived next-door to us while we were still living in North Carolina; he was just like some of the people we’ve been hearing about. Yet, someone decided to kill him for no reason, which was the main reason why we ended up coming here.”

I frowned again, wondering why do these things always happen. How can someone decide to kill disabled people just because they existed? Is the existence of a disabled person a crime?

To take some attention away from this part of the story, Chelsea made me buy "The Moon Princess" by Emmi Rajala, which the movie “Moonscale” was based on. Well, it’s only the first book in the six-book series, but that’s not what it’s about. It’s about me having to be different from all the other 13-year-old boys out there. Like I’m not allowed to be interested in sports or anything like that.

But at the same time, since when was I interested in sports?

To that I reply, “touché”.

Anyway, here’s what happened next:

I’m just sitting here looking at my new book where all of a sudden, people in the coffee shop were looking up from their newspapers and coffees and seeing a protest taking place not too far from City Hall. These people were angry, not just because of the racism that was falsely implied in the tragedy, but because an autistic person was responsible for said tragedy. And the saddest part was, though, people with autism are currently being blamed for a majority of these violent events.

“OK, now they’ve gone too far,” Kaprice said as we watched the protesters march around the City Hall. “To imply that an autistic person is predisposed to being violent is extremely offensive to autistic people and their families.”

“Well, they didn’t go far enough,” Chelsea said in turn. “You’re lucky you didn’t have to go through what I went through when I was at Emerson Elementary School.”

“What happened to you at that school?” I asked.

“Oh, it’s nothing, except that Sonia Newman had a major meltdown during my sixth birthday party,” said Chelsea. “She saw that I had apparently gotten the Pretty Princess Collection from the Enchanted Films and Wonderstar...”

“You’re not talking about the same toys that Jem forced me to have just so she could get that chemistry set that was recalled because some developmentally disabled adult died after accidentally consuming its contents?” I gasped.

“The same,” said Chelsea. “Anyway, that resulting meltdown was so bad that I was almost suffocated when Sonia sat on my back and tried to choke me. That’s why I don’t like to celebrate my birthday. Plus, some people who saw this happen called the police; Sonia was restrained and put in handcuffs. Her mother was very angry and threatened to file a lawsuit against my parents, but Pepperoni's Pizzeria decided to ban her and her family for life."

"I’m sorry you had to go through that," said Kaprice. "It's like people stopped judging people based on the color of their skin and started judging people based on their disabilities. Whatever happened to judging people based on the content of their character?"

I frowned as I stared at Chelsea. She had some apparent bad experiences with an autistic girl that it scarred her for life. I also recalled hearing Kaprice's sad story about how his birth mother had chosen his autistic brother over him, and I can’t say that I had some good experiences handling Adeline's meltdowns. Not when she sometimes hit me during those meltdowns.

This just isn't right.

Later that afternoon, I'm sitting in the shed writing a crapton of fake diary entries when I heard a knock at the door. Do you remember when I mentioned that Chesley would be appearing in the story? Well, he's standing at the door way to the shed, apparently inappropriately dressed for the weather. I mean, the guy's wearing a Hawaiian T-shirt with Bermuda shorts and a pair of Birkenstock sandals.

Like, does this guy not have any concept of what winter is? How many people have frozen to death because they didn't dress for the weather? I did mention that Chesley's real name was Dexter Hawkins and he was a chronic runaway. He had become friends with David Gilliam, not that it did David any good in the end.

I stared at Chesley for a long time; he had brown eyes, brown hair, and pale white skin. He was unnaturally tall for an 11-year-old boy. I bet that he's still living at the orphanage that he was sent to shortly after being caught after running away from his sixth foster family.

But that's not important, seeing as he was at my house and he had something very important to tell me...