Summer Water
18 May 2011 Leave a Comment
in Uncategorized Tags: abuse, country, father, girl, hell, help, high school, lakes, life, living, love, mother, parents, peace, son, sunburn, trees, water
In the summer Roy though about two things– water and Emily. Sometimes, well, more often than not he thought about the two together. It was something he dreamed about in the evenings when his father was sitting in the over sized, rotting easy chair in the living room–drinking usually. His mother, of course, would be cowering in the kitchen or in the bathroom, crying quietly not wishing to disturb his father again.
These moments had become distant to him as he thought of Emily’s curves flowing into the water of the lake in his backyard. His mother’s sobs would drown with the water and his father’s yelling would become a far away echo that ended up just blending in to the scene he created. The yells would transform into the harsh waves that the winds would create. Emily would be silent, as she usually was but instead of looking away from him, she would stare directly into Roy’s eyes, pleading for him to come join her.
He wouldn’t, of course, he would just tell her that he wanted to admire her beauty from where he was sitting, which would be under a large, old pine tree. With that, Emily would smile and mischievously disappear under water. She would stay so long that he’d wonder if she was okay and eventually, usually with a small tickle of fear in his stomach, would go to the water’s edge while her name fell from his sunburned lips. There would be no response causing him to not think about how it actually hadn’t been that long and how Emily was on the swim team, he’d jump in to rescue her only to find her rushing back to the surface with a smile on her lips accompanied by musical laughter.
“Emily!” he’d say, “What in the hell are you doing? I thought you were dying!” Her smile would not fade, but choose to change into a seductive form as she would wrap her arms around his shoulders, “I could never die, not with you around Roy.” She’d go in for a kiss, her soft pale lips wanting to touch his rough, sunburned ones, but Roy would not have it. He would push her away, one arm extending to grab hers, the other reaching across and allowing his hand to fly towards her cheek.
The moment his palm meets her cheek, though, he jumps. The scenery disappears and the sound from the slap isn’t within his room, but in the dining area. His mother, he can hear her crying, begging for mercy, begging to not die. His father is saying nothing, allowing his fists and steel booted feet to do all the talking. Roy goes to his bed and allows himself to fall, wishing, dreaming, hoping, praying that he never becomes his father, that someday he could be brave, and as he hears his mother’s crying and screams becoming faint and being replaced with gurgling sounds…he prays that today will not be the day she dies and that he does not become his father.
He’d just have to stay away from Emily.
Praying For Clouds
11 May 2011 Leave a Comment
in Uncategorized Tags: black, depression, georgia, happiness, heat, husbands, life, love, racism, white, willow trees, wives
Summer is always so hot. Even the trees droop in sweaty depression praying for rain or any form of liquid. Georgia weather was always muggy, something Janice had noticed immediately upon her arrival to the southern, back-wooded state. She had been living in Georgia now for the past 8 years, something she wasn’t sure she enjoyed, but none the less, she didn’t have the money to uproot once more and leave town or her husband. Not yet anyway.
She ended up in a small town, the kind where southern hospitality was just a show and racism dug deep into the ground. Lynchings still took place, as far as she knew, but they were in secret, and often more than not they were covered up by the local sheriff’s department. It was a predominately white town because of this. She supposed she should be scared, a black woman such as herself, but for some reason she wasn’t. She lived right smack in the middle of these white southerners and she did right well by herself.
Besides, she did house cleaning for the locals, and they seemed fine with that. As long as she stayed under them, they felt no need to antagonize her. Along with that was the fact that she was a lighter skinned beauty that kept to herself. She didn’t sass anyone and she sure as hell didn’t think poorly of anyone, especially no one that hadn’t done any harm towards her person.
She was, however, a little ashamed of herself. She knew she should be outraged by the injustices of what she faced everyday and the things she saw the locals do, but she wasn’t. She took it with a quiet acceptance and prayed for their souls. A large favor for those who had done nothing for her.
It was funny how the civil rights movement had been done and passed, and that in the year of 2011, not much had changed in this town. She always laughed silently as she passed buildings with signs that denied a “colored” person admission, or racially separated bathrooms that still littered the public scene. She wondered how they had managed to keep the town so tightly locked in the old ways, she supposed no one cared to change it and the town folks were happy just the way things were.
She would then think about how she was kind of the same as the town. Quiet, reserved, subservient to her husband, and always giving up her seat to her fellow, bleached neighbors. She never questioned much, never pointed out the law, always respected white folks more than they ever deserved and she had always been underpaid for her hard work. She had always allowed herself to be treated lower than dirt and smiled politely even when the only thing she really wanted to do was reach her arm out and slap the white off of people.
Things would remain the same so long as someone allowed them, and as long as this town kept its ways, no one would ever be brave enough to do anything about it. Besides, she was kind of hoping her husband would slip up and they’d lynch him in the woods like all the others. She smiled to herself as she sat down under the willow tree in her yard wondering why she was thinking such thoughts.
Maybe it was just the Georgia weather.
