The Color Red

The sting of judgment pierced through entire being with every swing.
My body began to journey into the sweet bliss of numbness. I no longer felt the physical pain of being beaten. I only felt the emotional pain of being judge for my skin. All I felt now was the blood ran down my face like warm avalanches, coming in clumps, too thick to simply be rivers. The blood was caking to the back of my thick, curly, black hair from my head being smashed into the pavement numerous times. I wondered if they were trying to create a painting on my body. Because of all the colorful bruises and red blood stains, it might as well have been. The last thing I remember before finally slipping into the beloved blackness of sleep was seeing a white man’s face above me. He roughly yanked my shirt collar up so that my limp body could see the fiery hatred burning through his eyes, and into mine. As the splattered blood stained his shirt and his fist, I wondered if he got some enjoyment out of covering his body in my blood.
Then everything went black.
*20 Minute Later*
I felt like I had been pounded with a ton of bricks, which at this point, was basically the same. I slowly attempted to open my blood crusted, swollen eyes. I tried to move something, anything, to show that I was still alive. I slowly moved my legs, and got prepared to stand up. I groaned and moaned to let the pain out a bit. I bit my lip so hard to keep from screaming it felt like it had been ripped off. With every fiber of strength within my body, I stood up. God, how I want to just scream and cry. I worked so hard to do it, only to fall right back down. I tried, tried, tried and tried again until I thought I had broken my tail bone from falling so many times. The only thing that felt good from falling was the cooling kiss of the damp pavement.
There’s no point, I thought to myself as I lay in a pool of my blood.
I’ll just lie here, and wait for the pain to subside. Wait for the sweet abyss of eternal sleep.
I began to close my eyes again, when suddenly I heard something. I heard a pair of heels clinking against the hard pavement and the splashing it puddles. I slowly, and painfully, turned my head toward the sound that was fading.
My eyes met a beautiful white woman.
She stood there across the street, just looking at me. She kept looking at me with these eyes that looked so sad, and sorrowful. As if she was apologizing to me for not being able to say anything. Her eyes said it all, as she slowly turned her head down towards her feet, & began to walk again.
After seeing her, I laid on the pavement for another 15 minutes. I waited and hoped to die. Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flashing red light and a loud siren. No, I thought to myself, they wouldn’t come for someone like me. Yet the sound kept gradually getting closer to me, as if almost teasing me with hope. Then it completely passed me by with not a second thought. They never would come, I thought scolded myself for even getting any hope that it was for me. There was never any hope for anyone like me...
Suddenly I heard a familiar voice. “Thomas?” the voice said from a distance.
The voice kept saying my name as it slowly walked towards me, then into a sprint and yell for me as I slowly lifted my hand in the air.
“THOMAS?!” he yelled in panic when he saw me up-close, “Oh Thomas, you’re bleedin’ everywhere man”
I looked up and realized the person who was. It was Eddie Tumire. Eddie was a pal of mine who worked at the railroad with me. We’d known each other since we were kids. Our mommas changed our diapers together, and now they used cooked our dinners together.
Eddie picked my head up as gently as he could, and laid it on his lap.
“Tommy I can almost see your brain” he said, trying to get a little smirk out of me.
“ At least I have one, Eddie.” I managed to breathe out with a small, painful smirk.
Eddie tried to be as thoughtfully gentle as he possibly could as he lifted the upper half of my limp body up. He then gradually moved his arm to put it around his neck, so I could limp my way home with his help.

*A week later. *

“Tommy!” Momma yelled to me from the kitchen.
“Come here baby! Momma needs your help for a minute.”
I was in the middle of teaching Edna, my 4 year old baby sister, how to write her name with a pencil and paper. I had been teachin’ her to write her some schooling for the tiny hope that maybe one day she could go to school like a normal girl, instead of workin’ in the kitchen or cleanin’ house all day like every other woman I’ve ever known.
“I gotta go see what Momma wants Little Ed,” I told her as I took her off my lap and sat her on the floor. “You stay here and work on how you’re writing you’re a’s”
“Okay Big Teddy!” She smiled at me with big brown eyes, and doll like eyelashes.
She was like a sweet chocolate chip on the stale cookie I called my life. When I came home and saw those little black puffy pigtails bouncing towards me and a tiny body coming at me with all her might saying, “Big Teddy! You’re home!” and leaping into my arms, that made all the hard work, worth it. She made life just a little sweeter with each dimple that gleamed in her smile. Those 2 missing front teeth that her smile wore proudly was what got me through every day.
“Yes Momma?” I asked my Momma when I had entered the kitchen, where she stood humming to herself as she made fried chicken.
She turned around from her pan and smiled at me and answered with, “Hey baby, can you go get a bag of potatoes from the store for me? I wanna mash up some of ‘em for dinner tonight.”
“Okay Momma. Do we need anything else while I’m out?”
“No I don’t think so, but you be careful,” She warned to me as she shook a metal spatula from over her shoulder as she checked her chicken. She then softened up her harsh tone an touched my bruised cheek while she said “I don’t want anything else to happen to you, sugar.”
“Momma, I’ll be fine.” I reassured her as I bent down and kissed her flour tinted cheek.
She smiled a half smile, and went back to humming and busying herself with her chicken.
I walked out of the house and began my journey to the store. I walked through my little run-down neighbor hood, which of course was a black only area. The town of Willbarrow, Maryland wasn’t as bad as most towns when it came to division because of color, but they still had the obvious few divisions that they didn’t have a choice to making. The world was so harsh now. I don’t understand why though. Why would you judge someone for one simple thing, such as their appearance? I mean, just because someone’s skin is black doesn’t mean their heart is that color too. I guess some people just don’t understand that.
As I walked I came across the spot where I had been beaten, I flashbacked back to the pain of it, the screaming, and the anger in his eyes. But then I flashback to the after affect of it, to a beautiful face.
To her face.
I stood where my beating had happened, where my blood had been washed away by rain, and looked across the street where she stood and locked eyes with me. Then suddenly I blinked, and I was no longer in a dream.
I saw her. The real her.
I stood still, wondering if she was thinking the same thing I was. She came walking across the street to me. She looked so beautiful as she ran across the street and approached me. My heart stopped.
She looked at me with a sweet smile and said “Why is it you look so familiar?”
I almost couldn’t breathe.
I managed to choke out, “I was wondering the same thing, it’s like we have seen each other before!”
“Well why don’t we go and get some coffee,” She said, and then sadly contradicted with, “although, we will need to take it into an alley or something where people won’t see us together.”
I smiled at her brightly and said “Coffee sounds great,” then got more serious and said “and yes, this world is a horrible society anymore.”
Then she smiled and continued on her merry way.
My heart sank into a deep pit called my stomach. I had never been so happy and nervous at the same time in my entire life.
I hurried to the nearby restaurant and got my coffee, then practically ran to the alley and waited. While I waited, I felt something warm on my arm. I reached to see what it was and saw one of my cuts had opened up. I grabbed a small leaf to try and clean it up, but it was almost useless. I looked up and saw her.
She came over to me and asked “Is your coffee okay, sir?”
I just simply replied with “Yes, it’s a bit hot though.”
We then began to talk. I started off with telling her about myself, my life, and how the beating wasn’t an unusual thing for me. She looked at me as if she was apologizing for every one of the people who aren’t like her. People who judge.
As we continued to talk, I studied her. She was wearing a simple lavender colored dress, a white sweater, and plain white shoes. Her brunette hair was simply tucked back by pinning what looked like dark chocolate curls up. Some would say it was simple, but she was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. I also learned some things about her. I found out her name was Rosalie. I found out that she lived on her own, working a low paying job. She also told me she had little family, which I thought was a shame. She told me about her father and brother being so against people of my color, but how she believed everyone was equal.
I loved talking to her, and noticing the little things she did as she sipped her hot coffee. She constantly was playing with her shoes, or the sleeve of her sweater. As if she was nervous about something, or even afraid. I had no idea what though.
Then I saw him out of the corner of my eye. He was standing behind the trash can on the corner of the alley. I didn’t know who he was, or what he looked like, but all I saw was the same fire of hatred I saw in almost everyone nowadays.
*One Week Later*
Every time I saw her he was there.
Rosalie and I continued to see eachother, and he always seemed to follow one of us and watched us. I knew I had to break it off with her. I hated to do it, but it was better for the both our safety. The one thing I would never be able to forgive myself for was if something happened to her because of me.
So next time we met, I looked at her with pain in my eyes and said “As I hate to tell you this, Rosalie, someone is spying on us. I see them walk by every time we go out. It is the same person too.”
Suddenly her entire face changed from happiness, to pure sadness.
“Even if someone is spying on us, I will not let this take away every feeling I have had for you.” She spoke softly as a single tear rolled down her cheek. “You really don’t understand, Thomas, I fell for you the second I saw you.”
As much as it killed me, I just stood there. Because I knew if I showed her how much I hated not being with her, she’d find her way back into me and that was too big of a risk for her safety. I loved her too much to see her in pain, although I hurt her to save her.
The days went by and everything I saw, said, or did, reminded me of her. There wasn’t a single moment that I wasn’t thinking of her. My heart ached, and pounded for her. For the touch of her, the sight of her, her voice, I longed for her entire being. Even breathing reminded me of her. It reminded me of her because she was the reason I did it. I couldn’t take it. I had to see her. I had to tell her how I felt. Even if I saw her just this one last time, she would at least know how I felt about her.
I waited at the corner of the alley for her to pass, and when I saw her, I pulled her into the shadow of the alley.
I looked at her, and told her this, trying not to break down, “Listen, Rosalie, I love you. I was too afraid to tell you how I honestly felt. I did not know how you would react and I sure as heck didn’t want to hurt you. I’m sorry.”
She stood there, frozen, not replying for a few minutes. She doesn’t want me. I thought to myself. I lost her. But I decided to try one last time to get something out of her.
I pulled her close to me, feeling the warmth of her body and whispered in her ear, “Do you think you would like start over again and we can be happy together?”
She began to cry as she replied with “Yes, I would love to start over with you and be happy. This would make me the happiest woman alive. I want to be with you and only you, forever and always. My heart skips a beat when I see you. It truly takes my breath away. I’m not the one that cares if your skin is a different color that would be my family. One day, I will tell them about this. I’m not sure when, but it will happen.”
I couldn’t believe it. I had Rosalie. I was the happiest man in the world. No matter what color his skin was.
Later that night, I was walking home from the super market with a bag of ice, humming a silly little love song to myself when suddenly I heard crying. I heard crying and looked up to realize it was Rosalie. I then hurried her back to my house and hoped that no one saw us. Once we got to the house, I introduced her to Momma, Edna, Donny, my 6 year old brother, and my two twin sister Inez and Iris, who are 14. They all seemed to like her, but were a little shocked by a white woman walking into their house. Momma whispered to me that we could get in a lot of trouble, but I just kissed her and told her I’d explain everything later.
I took Rosalie up to my room so we could talk, and she could calm down. We laid in my bed for a little while, and I just held her. I held her and touched her soft, white skin. She then reached up to kiss me. Her lips were the softest things I had ever felt, as if I was kissing a rose petal. We continued to kiss, more passionately with every second, and even with a little more aggression. We kissed like we hungered for every inch of each other’s being. As things got more passionate, they also got heated. As you can probably guess, we made love.
It was the best feeling in the world, being completely open, even vulnerable to each other, and loving one another so much.
*3 Months Later*
Rosalie and I were soon to be happy parents.
We continued to see eachother almost daily ever since that night, and soon found out Rosalie was pregnant. She was showing, which mean people would begin to ask. We were both scared out of our minds about how people would react, especially her father and brother since her brother is the one who beat me on the night we met. We were both so, unbelievably scared. Yet we didn’t care because we had each other, and our baby. And we were going to be a happy family, no matter what others said.
As I walked to Rosalie’s front door, I thought of names, and places we could put things for our baby. God, was I happy to be a father. Ever since Dad died almost 2 years ago, I’ve been man of the house. Taking over income, bills, discipline for Donny. It was a tough job, but I was ready for it. I was already practically a father to Little Ed, and in no way was I playing on leaving them. I planned on having her move in with us, so that way Momma or the twins could help Rosalie with the baby while I was at work.
I opened the door, and put down the bag of food I brought for her and the rose I had bought. I immediately felt something was wrong. I called out Rosalie’s name a few times and then I looked and saw a dim light coming from the bathroom door that was barely cracked open. I slowly walked over to the door and creaked it open to find the worst sight of my life.
Rosalie looked up at me, white as ghost, with the most horrified look on her face. That’s when I noticed her hand, completely covered in blood.