On An Unrelated Note: Short Stories

Vanessa

My mama always told me I was a classic beauty. She'd cup my cheek in her hand as she tucked me in, and say "you're so beautiful. Don't let any man make you forget that." She'd it my hair in rollers every night, and every morning she put me in the prettiest dress.

Of course, I didn't think I was pretty. No black girl thought she was pretty in 1953. Not in Alabama, especially. We went to school 4 miles away, to not "contaminate" the white people. We walked 4 miles. Every morning. Home for lunch and then back, and then again to go back home. Some walked even farther. Everyday.

The white boys, with confederate flags on their trucks, would chase after us, slash mud on our dresses and yell the n word after us.

We just had to bow our heads, scrub off our feet, and let our tears fall down our cheeks. Mama always said, keep your head up high, even if they see your tears. I couldn't listen. It was too hard.

They threw rocks and called names, Peggy said sometimes they would corner her in the alley and grab at her dress, tearing her clothes and reaching where they weren't supposed to. And there was nothing we could do.

In some counties, the Ku Klux Klan would burn crosses on neighbor's lawns, of course. Mama said we were lucky. Lucky that never happened to us. Lucky nothing worse ever happened to us.

But I still felt hopeless.

And then we heard a man on the radio, telling us about his dreams.

And I felt a flicker of hope. It lit like a flame in my chest, warming my heart, growing the more I thought about it. When the boys threw rocks, I found my voice to tell them to stop. When they jeered, spit and tore my dress, hope flickered. The reverend's words lingered in my head, inspiring me to not give up. To seek peace.

Even when he got shot, hope lingered. He showed us to make a better world. I was a young adult by then, and I felt that I could make a difference. Get into politics, march, show the world what I was made of.

I got to see the world grow and change. I saw tragedy and sadness, and yet that hope that was instilled in me as a little girl still grew. I saw the world get better. Saw schools desegregate, saw girls get more rights, saw black people becoming CEOs and biscuits gurus and owing their own stores. I saw that we still had a far way to go, but I see black girls walking down the street now, beautiful, even without dresses or their hair in rollers. I see the, standing strong and tall, see white boys and girls nod their heads in greeting as they go by, instead of spitting and lugging insults.

I've seen the world change, and I'm happy for it. I'm sorry Mama never got to see it, but I think, somehow, she knows.