Danny Potts

By James Grem

A tall, slender man steps into the cafe with a bluster of wind at his back, and his name is Danny Potts. Danny Potts is a little funny-looking. Unfortunately for him, he is mediocre-funny-looking, and not freakishly or exoticly-funny-looking. He used to spend long moments staring at himself in the mirror, in awe of his own mediocre unattractiveness. His nose is a little small and turned up just a smidge at the end. His upper lip was a little too long. And his chin was almost non-existent. His hair couldn’t decide whether it was red or fawn brown, or whether it was curly or straight, so it was always a bit of a mess no matter his efforts to shape and conquer it. His teeth were on the skinny and long side, and were a bit crooked, almost making them resemble a mixture of human and rat teeth. 

Maybe he was too harsh on himself. Because these weren’t the main reasons he was bullied as a child. He’d been bullied for being too skinny, and for having too-long legs, and for crossing them “like a girl” at the knee instead of resting his ankle on his knee “like a boy”. He’d been called “gay” by classmates back when they didn’t yet know fully what “gay” actually meant. Turns out he isn’t gay, by the way. Though the opinions of others had certainly thrown him for a loop back in his childhood and young adolescent years. 

But what stuck with him the most from his childhood was the teasing about his accent. What everyone had thought was a speech impediment was just a byproduct of having been born in his father’s native England and living there for the first four years of his life. Then his father, a renowned horse breeder, moved the family to Danny’s mother’s native United States, to Kentucky where Danny attended kindergarten. To him, the Kentuckian children were the ones with strange accents, with their hard ‘r’s and only a shaky commitment to the full Southern US twang. But they teased him relentlessly, doing poor, tasteless impressions of Danny’s mixed accent and pointing out and laughing at any of his behaviors that did not match theirs. With a naked, unhindered cruelty only children possess, they’d torn Danny down in a matter of two years. And to this day, he still has that accent, despite desperately trying to get rid of it. He remembers years of trying to prove his masculinity and normalness. He remembers hating Americans. He remembers hating his parents. 

Now Danny moves through the world quietly, faded into the background. Nothing is particularly easy for Danny Potts, but then again, nothing is particularly hard either. His life is filled with minor inconveniences, as if appliances, clerks, and restaurants aren’t sure they want to serve him, but they do anyway - after giving a little lip, of course. Like his father, he has an American wife. His family’s moving around through his early life made him crave constancy and stability, so he’s settled down in Chicago. He works in Finance, like 75% of the Chicago population seems to. He does alright at work. He doesn’t stand out, but doesn’t disappoint. He likes living in a diverse place where people don’t think much of an accent. His wife thinks it’s kind of cute, actually. Life has turned out ok for Danny Potts.

He orders his regular coffee at the counter and is unsurprised to receive the news that, like last time and the time before that, they’ve just run out and need to refill it; it will take a few extra minutes. He nods amiably and waits, avoiding eye contact with everyone else in the cafe. Eventually his coffee is ready and he picks it up and heads back out into the biting Chicago winter. He pauses outside the door, having briefly forgotten where this place is in relation to where he needs to go. And then, burning his tongue on his first sip, he sets on his way.