What is my name?- Short Story

"Briana Dawson"

I remember the days my grandmother told me that your name is your soul. No one can take it away from you. A person’s name used to mean something but now people choose names because they like it or it reminds them of something. Some parents give their child the name of a celebrity. The names we are giving no longer serve a purpose.
I went to my mother and asked her what is my name. She tells me I should know it by now. But I did not. Surely my name had to mean something. I ran to the library in our house. I grabbed our family record book. I thought maybe this could tell me my name.I flipped through the book and saw so many unknown faces. Even though the pictures were in black and white these strange people were covered in different shades. The family records only left me with more questions.
I prayed to God to tell me my name in a dream. For a name would be the best gift I could ever receive. The next day I woke up, still not knowing my own name. I could hear my mother calling for me saying that we are going to be late for the bus and if I didn’t hurry I would have to walk alone. I grabbed my things and ran down the stairs.
I thought to myself why are we in such a rush. We will still have to go to the back of the bus. It does not matter if we arrive early. Because of our color we are not deserving. We finally got on the bus and found our seats. Then a tall white man came on to the bus and headed straight for us. He said to me, “young black girl get up. Can’t you see I am waiting on you.” I didn’t say a word.
I thought to myself is this my name. Am I only some young black girl. No! I yelled. This can not be my name. My name was stolen and the master has taken it. Do you know my name?