Separate But Not Equal

Chapter XII

I gasp, once again dropping the pieces of pottery in my hand. My mouth going dry, unable to speak, my feet go numb and my fingers start tingling.

"I-"

He starts marching towards me, slow at first, then fast, his legs swinging, quicker with each movement.

"What do you think you're doing?" His booming voice causes me to jump back, in fear.

Christopher's Dad.

He grabs a large vase sitting near the entrance and picks it up viciously, edging only metres from my shaking figure.

Why are you so stupid, Ivory?

"What are you think you're doing in my house nig-"

"Father?"

I let out a heavy breath I didn't know i was holding, and cautiously make my way closer to Christopher.

I suddenly regret my decision, as Christopher gives me an angry glare filled with fury and disappointment.

I lower my head in shame, Christopher's order to 'not come inside,' pounding in my head.

"Christopher, you need to get away from that."

That?

"No it-it's okay, Father, I-I- asked her to come here because...." he trails off, in worried thought, his eyes boring into my inky black one, "because, well... her father- he- he really wants to work for you."

My Papa?

My Papa wants to work for a member of the Klan?

Part of me knows that Christopher is probably willing to say anything that prevents the growing hazard of my death at this very movement.

"Is that so?" The man's face relaxes, but his grip on the case stays firm, his attention coming back to me.

If I say yes, Papa will be required to work for Christopher, by law. If I say no, I'm good as dead in less than one minute.

"I, I think he said something of the sort, maybe he ch-changed his mind, I think he got a raise so, I..."

"A raise?" he laughs, "unbelievable, they're giving the negroes even more money. What's next? Giving them the same amount as us. This society is falling apart."

I gulp, loudly.

"I can get back to you, on what he says," my feet tiptoe closer to the door.

"The answer is a yes or a no, you came here for a reason, and I don't want you negros walking around wherever you want without a reason."

He's getting angry again.

"Yes, right? Y-your Papa said yes," Christopher jumps in opportunity.

I squint my eyes at him angrily as though to say 'what are you doing?'

He just returns an even deadlier stare clearly to point out, 'you got yourself into this one.'

Christopher's Father turns around pacing quickly to the stairs, his face emotionless, but his fingers shaking, before turning around and hurling the glass vase at the wall right next to me.

He then, indifferently passes his son, thundering up to the room.

Christopher's father threw a glass.