The Color Of Love | COMPLETED

05. Pride

The Independence Hall, Philadelphia

The Fourth Of July, 1965 

I hugged myself tightly, staring at myself in the mirror. Average brown eyes with average brown hair stared back at me unimpressively, but it was me. It was Casey Addams, and this was the Casey Addams I wanted to be. 

A young woman brushed past me. "It's about to start," she murmured very softly. She was scared. We all were. 

I nodded and shouldered my sign. I would lose my job today. I would be discriminated against endlessly. People would turn away from me and not let their children come near me. I had no clue where this decision would take me. 

The doors of the small house opened, and the entire world seemed to take a breath of surprise before the dozens of us spilled out. 

We were all soberly dressed, but our signs were bright and our meanings were clear. We wouldn't stand for the injustice we faced anymore. We wouldn't be silent anymore. We had the same rights as every other citizen, and we were determined to make everyone see that. 

As people poured out of their houses to watch us march, I felt like I was entering a dream. The colors were much too bright. The people had started to scream something at us. I was choking on the hate in the air. There was too much of everything. My hand gave way and my sign fell, and I watched helplessly as people stepped on it, dirtying the words. People walked past me, paying me no attention. There was too much silence in the midst of it all, even as the outside booed and threw things at us. 

And yet, they continued to march. They stayed strong and silent, theirs signs and solidity saying everything I couldn't. 

With renewed strength, I struggled to put one foot forward. Ignoring the shouts as people recognized me, I took another step. 

Then another.

And another. 

I marched. 

ooo

April 4th, 1968 

I heard the screams before I heard the news. Even as it flashed on our shared, tiny television, I couldn't believe it. 

Somehow, like it always inexplicably did, my mind wandered back to Darius. To that fateful meeting all those years ago.

Was he crying like so many people were, mourning the loss of a great leader? Or was he still and stoic, unwilling to show any emotion that could get him fired by his racist bosses? 

I wished and wished and wished that I knew which one it was. 

ooo

June 28, 1969

The Stonewall Riots

It was chaos. It was frightening. We were chaos. 

And even as I pushed a police officer forcefully away from a young man, I felt a smile curve on my lips. We were done with the constant harassment and discrimination. 

We were unstoppable. 

ooo

April 2, 1974

I struggled to my feet, ignoring the stabs of pain in my torso as I hobbled to the kitchen. I gripped my finest wine bottle, and with intense determination, I poured myself a cup. 

A burn out had recognized me as an activist days ago at a bus stop and had proceeded to call me names and eventually beat me up. At thirty-nine, I wasn't as agile as I used to be, and I escaped with my fair share of injuries.