Rainbow Dream

“Oh! I can’t name that singer! Who is she again?” I asked before sinking into an armchair.

“Another nigger singing niggers’ songs.”

The alcoholically challenged being sitting in my living room let these words slip through his wet lips before relaxing back into the couch. The singer’s voice coming out of the radio continued to charm us.

I swallowed my spit and looked around. My friends were all smiling and nodding. His wife answered to the beautiful name Angeline. She was a petite Australian woman with heavy blond hair tied in a high pony tail revealing a perfect neck line. She reached over to grab another canapé and placed her soft pale hand on her husband’s knee.

Jim, a thirty something year old bachelor with sparse dark brown hair was concentrating on repositioning his glass on the coffee table. Could I translate this as a disagreement to what we’d just heard?

My fourth guest, Deborrah, was sitting on a chair near the door. Her glasses magnified her light blue eyes and dark brows. She avoided making eye contact with me as I turned to her to see how she weighed the point.

Then I turned to my little boy, sitting on his play rug beside me. He was holding a set of colourful plastic keys with both hands and was avidly chewing on the ring binding them. By the way he was closing his eyes with every bite, I could tell the sensation of pain sent shivers down his teething jaws. I reached over and caressed his black hair. He looked up to me. His dark brown eyes expressed all the love a baby feels for his mummy. I smiled and picked him up. My six-month old baby did not care that I was white, he did not care that we looked odd together, that people asked me if I made him or bought him. He just loved me.

“Phil, let me ask you a question…” I started. “What makes you think you can sit in my flat, drink my beer, enjoy my company, cuddle my son and speak so cruelly of people of different color?”

The room was suddenly quiet. I could feel the air my lungs were taking in with each breath. I could even feel the bottom of my heels… I did not know this was possible, but I was so aware of what I had just said that every inch of my body had become extremely receptive to the environment. And the ambiance was very tense.

“I… I”

“Yes, I know, you did not think about what you said… It just came out… I know.” I smiled and asked around who wanted another drink. Everyone relaxed with the next glass and things went back to a near-normal condition.

A couple of hours later, I sat in my deserted living-room, sipping on a hot cup of coffee... Thinking.

What had I not heard since I married a black man?
When I first met him, I never thought about his color. I was attracted by his looks, of course, but soon enough, something else took over. I liked being with him and listening to the sound of his voice. I liked our complicity.

And then, after I pronounced the words “I love you” and he said “I love you too” I came out of the fairy tale mood and noticed the ugly face of the world. We walked hand in hand and people stared. I heard the insults behind my back and chose to ignore them. Cowardly, actually, because I did not know how to react to racist insults.

For the men, I was a slut for being with a black man. And for the women, I am not sure if they envied me because of the characteristics everyone thinks are general among colored men, or if they shared their male companions’ opinion.
When another black man passed by, my girlfriends would elbow me:

“Here’s a guy for you, Isa!”

I had a choice between keeping quiet and turning everything into a joke or loosing all my friends. I chose to joke.

When I got pregnant, I heard all the comments people would allow themselves to express. I ignored all and chose to caress my bulging stomach. It reassured me as I silently vowed to protect my baby with teeth and claws.

No one seemed indifferent to our union. One evening, a young man who was walking towards us shouted:

“Black and white, yeah! Brother, sister, mix yourselves up… It is beautiful!”

I froze and my husband asked if I was scared. I was mortified because no one seemed capable of leaving us in peace, whether they condemned our love or supported it.

Our world is a strange place. Nowadays, there is just about every mixture of people one can think about, and yet, racism is as strong as it has always been.

I got up and turned out the lights. I walked in the dark to the bedroom where my son was sleeping, certainly dreaming happy dreams. The moonlight shone on his little nose and eyes. I smiled and touched the side of his crib before going over to my bed.

Until today, the same feeling overcomes me when I think about my son's future.
I have a dream… That he will grow up in a world where no one thinks he loves to dance because his father is black.
I have a dream… That my sons and my daughters, born from parents of any color will live happily together.
I have a dream… That one day my dream comes true.

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940 words
Plot: What I want for my son
Start: a living room
End: my dream
Setting: My thoughts on racism