Deep Desires (Zayn Malik)

1

1933.

The day I was born into the world were people of different colors weren't allowed to as much as share the same drinking fountain, let alone the same piece of land.

1952.

I'm just about to be nineteen years of age and my mama is throwing me an extravagant soiree for my coming of age party.

I live on a 60 acre cotton plantation with more workers than I can count, let alone I haven't had one simple conversation with any of them. My mama has sworn that the help were made to work in the fields and take care of our children when we didn't feel like it.

My ma and pa have raised my younger brothers to be as cunning and prejudice as them. Beau being the fourteen year old male going through drastic changes is quiet obedient to our parents on the laws of the help. Marcus is only eight years but has said the word 'nigger' more than my father when he goes out and checks up on the fields.

"Honey, eat your pork." My mama spoke to Marcus as Margaret our house maid placed out our pork plates.

"Thank you Margaret." I say as she places the plate on the hand stiched table cloth. "This looks astounding." I add on while picking up my utensil. Margaret walks back to the kitchen and my mother is giving me a dead eye.

"You do not compliment the help." She says while picking at her meat.

"Sorry mother." I repeat for what seems to be the hundredth time today. My family is well trained in being the town's richest family that knows what to say and what not to say, but with me I never seem to get it right. I always have a different comment to say whether it's against the law or for it. Do I approve of having black's work in our fields from sun up to sun down? No I do not. But I'm not one to say that out loud, especially in this town.

"Negroes talking 'bout they tired out in the fields today pap." Beau says while taking in a whole forkful of pork, whereas I haven't barely touched mine.

"Is that so son? There's to many of 'em for me to count, guess we'll have to watch over them carefully, won't we?" My father Richard speaks, everyone in town calls him Dick, that's his name round here. He's the town's wealthiest farm owner and has a seat in the city hall conference room just downtown Jackson.

"Yes sir we will." Beau immediately answers and tips his hat.

"Now Anne," Father says to mother. "Tell us about this family that's moving in down the road."

"Richard." Mama says in a sharp tone and drops her fork to the fine china, forcing a loud noise into my ears. "You know how I feel about that family."

"What's bad about the family?" I ask while eating more of the pork and smiling at Margaret when she comes back in with some more tea.

"Margaret, get us a new pitcher of tea. This one's far too cold." Mama says. When Margaret leaves the room mother starts to answer my question.

"They're a mixed family, the mother is white and the father is from Pakistan, how trashy!" She pauses to take a sip of her new glass of tea. "The girls at lunch today were telling me about the mother, graduated from a nice college in the north. No wonder she has a Pakistanian child."

"They have kids?" I gasp, I wouldn't want to be their children, being half of a race other than white in this town automatically makes you a "danger" to this town.

"A son!" My dad says loudly while guzzling a sip of his beer. "He's 'bout twenty something." I smile nicely at my father and he gives me a mean growl. "Don't even think 'bout it Patricia, you step one foot near that man and I'll give him a beating he won't forget."