Separate But Not Equal

Chapter XIV

It took me a while to ponder on the idea of why Lottie would ask about homosexuality.

Like African-Americans, and all other ethnicities except from white, homosexuality is dismissively looked down upon, in Birmingham.

Especially a women being with another women.

The thought would be enough to make any American sick.

I, myself, do not personally feel any dismay towards homosexuality.

At the same time I've never actually met anyone that's openly confessed to being homosexual.

But I, of all people, know that just because there's less of something doesn't mean it's wrong.

That's what this society would prefer us to believe.

That if you don't understand it, it's not okay.

My grandmother was a slave.

They don't understand why there should be a dramatic change from africans being slaves, to us being treated equally, like them.

That's why they say that it's unacceptable.

If homosexuality is something that is margined and mistreated as much as black people are in this community then that's a very good reason alone to support it.

Long streaks of sunlight run down my face, which is glowing with heat, and occupied with my round lips. My hair is disobeying my constant orders to stay somewhat groomed. My brightly coloured dress splattered with my own dark blood, and my long, lean legs covered with fresh, blackish bruises.

Alex and Mark, sadly, had to leave before I got to the doorstop and into the house.

I was given the same empathy from my father that I get every day, and like every day, I once again reassured him I was 'fine,' which I was not, and drowned my sorrows in a slow, cold shower, and an endless physics book.

Currently I'm hoping that maybe, iv I just stay in bed long enough, everything around me will stop happening, all the racism, murders, bombings, lynching, pain, and people, it will just disappear.

Clearly an improbable series of events must take place for that to happen, because since I was younger than five I've been saying the same things, over and over again, and here I am, leading myself towards the same fate of death as every African, Asian, catholic, outsider in this community.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Ivory?"

"Papa?" I reply, instantly.

"There's someone here to... talk to you."

He keeps on switching his focus between me and someone else, on the bottom of the stairs, giving us both questionable, glances.

Someone here to see me?

No one has ever come to my house, in the past, unless it was to send me death threats, or try to kidnap me and leave a few bones broken when Papa wasn't home?

Nieve?

Acacia?

Riana and Jessica?

No why would they come to my house.

Although, Even if it was the twins, I am for some reason still angry at Riana and Jessica for leaving me in the middle of yesterdays situation.

I nearly trip over the stairs, in shock, when I see a solemn looking Christopher stood at the door, with red knuckles, messy hair and bags under his eyes.