That night I dreamt I was in a jungle standing by a mighty waterfall watching the water roll off the cliff. The trees were as tall as buildings and beautiful, colorful exotic birds painted the air with their wings. The crisp cool mist of the cascade was soothing and I felt my body gently swaying to the musical roll of the water crashing against the rocks.

The dream seemed so real, but I knew I was dreaming. I could feel the sand beneath my bare feet. I could see incredible detail in everything. It was like the dream was in high definition. I could feel the swipe of the breeze against my cheek. I could easily distinguish the different sound of each bird’s cawing.

Star was busy playing with the birds and I marveled at the size and expanse of the waterfall. The man in the sandwich board and the heavy-set woman draped in jewels were behind me. They were healthy and I somehow realized this jungle was their home.

The waves danced and frothy silver colored spume splashed over my feet. The man in the sandwich board was telling me something, but it was in a language I couldn’t understand. I ignored him, reading the message on the sandwich board.

“The dead know what the living are doing…”

I read this, repeating it over and over. I woke up hearing it echoed throughout my small apartment. It took me a minute to gain my bearings. The echo came from Star’s room.

“The dead know…what the living…are doing. The…dead…know…what…the living are doing…”

The voice was eerie. It was Star’s and yet it was not hers. It was thick with a French accent. I got up walking way too slowly, but my legs threatened to buckle from under me if I moved any faster. I was so scared—scared beyond anything I ever felt before. A blind, nerve numbing fear.

The doorknob was ice-cold. My hand stuck to it. I looked down and saw the knob had frosted into a thick milky sheath, like ice cubes left in the freezer too long. The sound wafted and danced through the apartment. I could feel the vibration of Star’s voice rumbling in the walls and floors. I gasped in horror. My breath formed bitter wisps of vapor in the air.

I opened the door to her room. I tried to call out to her, but the sound was stuck in my throat. A low guttural whine escaped.

Star sat on the floor, her silver sneakers laced tightly on her feet. In her hand she held a silver magic marker, violently scribbling a large figure eight as if some unseen hand forced her. Her eyes were turned up in her head, only the whites were visible. I tried to take a step toward her but my legs were petrified, rooted to the floor. Finally, I found my voice and called out to her.

“Star!” I screamed, hoping to snap her out of her trance. She turned her head and her eyes seemed to glow. A slender thread of drool hung from her bottom lip.

“Daaaad…deeee!” she cried and I picked her up and held her tight. She fell asleep in my arms. The room went back to its normal temperature and I stood there wondering what in the hell had just happened.

Star has always been a very special child. Gina would tease her, saying she was an old woman in a little girl’s body. I often referred to her as my diva. From the time she learned to talk, she developed an opinion on everything—people included. If Sharon or I brought some one home as a guest and Star didn’t like them they never got invited again. It was like she was born already set in her ways. 

Once, when Star was three I was out of work. The phone company threatened to cut our service. I had just gone on a successful interview and I was expecting a call back. The telephone was my only contact with the outside world.

The only way to keep the phone on was to immediately pay one-hundred-six dollars and forty-eight cents. I paced the floor arguing with the woman on the other end who told me I had all of twelve hours to pay the bill at a check cashing place, then call her back with something called a Z number or I could kiss my service goodbye.

Star came to me with three numeral flash cards and asked, “Daddy, what’s these numbers?” I tried to send her to Sharon while I contemplated selling blood to raise the money—at the phone company’s customer service specialist’s suggestion, but Star insisted I put the phone down and listen to her. When I did, she showed me the cards and insisted that I read the numbers to her.

“Seven-four-nine! Okay, Star! Now go play and let daddy take care of important business!” I snapped.

“Okay, Daddy!” she answered with a smile that touched her eyes. “I’m going to go play seven-four-nine.”

Later that day I was in a bodega with Shakim and on a hunch I played seven-four-nine for fifty cents. It came out straight in the state lottery and I collected two-hundred and fifty dollars. I called the phone company back with their Z number with specific instructions on where they could deposit it.

When Star was four I bought Alex Haley’s Roots on DVD. Star watched it and had nightmares for days. She kept dreaming she was sold and taken away from her mother and me. It took many hours of conversation to convince her nothing like that could ever happen again.

“How, Daddy? How do you know it will never happen again?” she asked me.

“Because Blacks would never allow it to happen again!” I trusted I was telling her the truth, but with statistics saying one out of every four black men are in some stage of the judicial process I couldn’t swear it.

I bought an entire multimedia package for children on black heroes and heroines to show her how far Blacks have come since that terrible time. The books and CD’s were the only thing that really calmed her down. Star always took to the stories about Harriet Tubman and Sojourner Truth.

“Strong black women,” she would say after reading their stories. “One day I’m going to grow up and be a strong black woman. Just like them!”

It was during this time she developed an imaginary playmate. A little boy she claimed would come and see her whenever she was sad. Her teachers told me this was a natural adaptation to being the only child. It had been years since she mentioned him and I really thought it was something she had grown out of. But that moment in her room, I wondered.

I laid Star in my bed and sat next to her hoping this was all some kind of bad dream.