This American Girl

This American Girl


I remember it with startling clarity. The vivid image, unaged by time and sharp with fury, stuns my thoughts with recollection. Meanwhile, my memory lay open, bruised, vulnerable to the violence of the visage, and lured back into the presence of that day. It was on that day, with in me, that the sweet and innocent fantasies of youth expired, and a more bitter, unknown reality had taken hold forever.
The pungent aroma of molding oranges made sweet the swell of humid air, on that hot summers morning. Beneath the shelter of the acres of orange groves, hordes of fallen oranges lay sunken deep with in the company of the cool, green grass. In a distance, the somber call of the crane eerily drifted with the wind, as it slid upon the waters edge, and swayed through the trees. Mammoth cypress trees brushed by the wind and graced by skirts of Spanish moss, cast the shadows of dancing giants. The Florida sun was dim, washed of its radiant burst of light, and instead hung in the murky colored sky, with dishwater clouds. Outside, kids with Kool-Aid grins, messy hair, and dirt stained clothes happily squealed, with the sounds of fairy like gibberish and sporadic bursts of high pitched laughter as they played in the waters of day old mud puddles. In the court yard, on a tall sliver poll, the American flag wiped, and cracked with the summer’s breeze. It was still early that June, in 1995, when summer had entered in full glory.
The sound of Wildwood traffic penetrated through the apartments which were less then a mile or so from town. For the most part, the nights where calm, though, at times adorned with the sounds of unfamiliar voices, and faces made visible by the brief spark, and flame of a lighter. At times, a fight would break out and the sound of sirens would jar me from my sleep. However, I would fall asleep again, each time convincing my mind it was just a dream. Day break would bring a familiar aftermath, when the scares of the night before would be seen. It was down the dusty, dirt road of Saint Street, on the left, that we lived. The dingy apartment flats, were a stony gray, all patched with the remnants of beige paint and with in the faded cul-de-sac was nothing more then a number of oil stained parking spaces, which had been scattered over with cigarette butts, and bejeweled by the glitter of shattered glass. In the front of block 1 apartment 8, and just opposite to a rusted out, blue Buick which sat comfortably with a busted tail light, and sun-faded roof, lay a display of colorful flowers, which ease the dismal lack of existing color throughout the apartments. It was here that my mother and I lived, or rather survived. We were one of them, survivors of a life of misfortune or bad decision making. In other terms, the flats were a refuge for bastard children, single moms, broken marriages, and lonely hearts with hungry eyes and desperate arms. For six months we had managed to stay here. Considering the fact that in a 3-year time span we had managed to move more than 11 times meant that as of yet this was our place of most permanent residence.
Reggie was outside waiting for me, as he did every morning. I turned away, grabbed my things, and headed out without saying goodbye. My mother would stay as she was, on the edge of her cold bed, for a few hours or perhaps until the tears stopped coming, or until she would fall asleep. Reggie was smiling as we began across the tall, wet, grassy fields, which bridge the gap between the apartments and the lake. My hands were buried deep within the holed pockets of my faded jeans. I didn’t speak for about 3 minutes, but he had become use to this. Reggie was 12, about 5’2, and stocky. His skin, which was a dark brown, still reminds me of the color of coffee beans. He has dark, ebony eyes, which twinkle, as he speaks. The right one is lazy though and drifts slightly towards his ear. The left, however, is extremely sharp. One is compassionate the other keen. However, they each balance to allow a unique beauty all their own. I turned to him and smiled. He caught it and flashed me a toothy grin. It was then, we took off in a sudden race for the lake. Neither of us looking back for fear that we may also turn to stone, like the walls of the apartments and the faces of most of those who lived in them. Instead we flew, freedom being ours, escapees from the world trying to ensnare us.
Physically, I was about 5’2, with wavy, medium, honey-blonde hair, and dusty-blue eyes. I guess I was lean, skinny really but normal for a 12 year old girl. Though I was still not quite comfortable with how I looked, I had a feeling that that too would come in time. In fact, I didn’t think I would ever get use to the idea of wearing a bra. I remember feeling older then my age, as if I had lived longer than my body could tell and my eyes bared a tiredness of life unbecoming for someone of my years.
We reached the lagoon, which was alive with the morning chitchat of birds, while they perched high aloft in the dangled, mangled limbs of the giant cypress trees. It was there that we spent our days, swimming, adventuring, and watching the lake with child like curiosity. The day was spent like any other, we would swap stories, lies, and whatever else we deemed interestingly ponder over. It was there the unanswered questions of life rustled through the weeds, then whispered through the night air, while they rang within my ears. Soon the night came as the moon hung among the loom of twilight. All was silenced with the hum of katydids, and the slosh of water against the backs of fish. The stars would cascade across the royal blue sky, as I would lay in the arms of my favorite tree consumed in it all. The tree was old, with it’s one arm stretched out, swooping low, and lingering just over the water, enough for me to have touched the sky, or at least its reflection clear, smooth.
I turned to Reggie, his face captured by the dim light of the moon. Together, it was there in that place, we had shared our hopes, our dreams, our confusions, and it was there that the memories of laughter, swung from the low hung branches, and hid from tree to tree. It was getting late, and Reggie rolled his back to the sandy beach, and eased his head upon his arm. “We better get going.” He said.
I climbed down from the tree, and hopped to the ground. While my feet sunk, deep within the still warm sand of the shore, and we headed home. In the distance I heard laughter which I thought to be coming form a party, just off the lake. We again cut through the groves, and chased through the darkness. The blur of trees flashed by, as we laughed and ran. Suddenly, something large darted from behind a tree. Running into it, I was knocked to the ground. Looking up, I noticed the sudden darkness, as the moon slid behind a silvery cloud. The smell of alcohol intoxicated the air, while something breathed heavily over me. I got up and ran, my heart racing as I just barely escaped the sluggish grasp, of the drunken and shadowy figure. Where was Reggie? I thought, and I didn’t know weather to scream or remain silent.
I was lost and fumbling around blindly in a maze of thrashing limbs, as the light of the moon unveiled the darkness, and slowly revealed the shadows. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust. The light was dim as a moist fog began to settle. Terrified, and out of breathe, I searched in horrified silence for Reggie. Moments passed with no sign, no sound, nothing. Until suddenly, I heard the uneasy cry of something or someone coming from behind a near by tree. I rushed to the spot. It was there that I found Reggie. He cried out for me, and I remember how the moon light aided in casting the look of his terror-stricken face.
“Reggie.” I screamed, in a voice that did not sound my own.
I gained a closer look, as I quickly approached him. His face was tight with pain and his eyes were wide. Even closer, I noticed his lip was sliced in blood.
“Go…” He muffled, as a hand clasped his face, and a dark stranger came into view.
From behind me two warm, rough hands quickly grabbed my arms and locked them down against my chest. My back was brought tightly to the strangers’ stomach, and I could feel him breathing, his breathe hot, and polluted with the smell of beer. It was at this point, I realized that there was no way I could break free. He was simply too strong. The other man, who appeared to be about 6 feet tall, knocked Reggie to the ground, and kicks him in the gut. His figure was still vague. Yet, I could see the shinny, steel tips of his pointed boots, as he would drive them into the body of my helpless friend.
“Stop!” I screamed, my heart thudding against my chest, like a drum, increasing with intensity.
Then, with a twangy, condescending voice the man who held me lowered his face close to mine, and spoke. “Is this your friend Nigger lover? Is it?”
I turned away. “Hey! I guess we done caught ourselves a Nigger and his white trash!” He then laughed. At that point, the man with Reggie stopped and began walking towards me. The tips of his boots still shined from the light of the moon. I shuddered. The sight of them sent a steely pulse coursing through my veins. I glared at him through hot tears, as my eyes filled with anger. Looking just past the concentration of the strangers’ face I saw Reggie. He stayed down, but managed to lift his head in agony. Then in a slow strained movement he got to his knees.
“What’s this I hear? A Nigger lover?” Sweat beads gleam from the strangers shadowed face.
“Well now, we can’t be haven’ none of that.” The man was getting closer. Reggie had already gotten to his feet, but neither of the men seemed to take notice. He slouched a bit, holding his stomach, then spat the blood from his mouth.
The man with the boots looked at me, his face cross with rage, for what reason I did not know. His upper lip curled as he snickered: “Well I suppose she’ll need a beatn’ too.” Noticeable, as he became very close, was the blood-red color of the confederate flag with its crisscrossed stars and royal blue strips. The symbol was proudly displayed on his chest, and worn no doubt with all the patriotism of the KKK themselves.
Enraged and disgusted, I spat at him, and in return he smacked me hard across the face. Moments later I regained conciseness. Stunned, I could still feel the sting of the blow. Yet, the sensation grew numb, and I turned just in time to see Reggie bring an old board down, smashing it into the head of the man, and sending him crashing to the ground.
Suddenly, a bright, white light appeared. I squinted. It was a flashlight, and with the jingle of keys I could here a deep voice pronounce, “Who is out there?” I fell to my knees as the man who held me let me go, and ran away, while the other, staggering to his feet, attempted to follow. I rushed to Reggie, and as the man with the light approached, I hear him call over his walky-talky for an ambulance and police. I could now see Reggie’s face, and I felt my heart sink. Blood seeped from a deep gash that lay just above his right eye, while a few tears travel down the length of his quivering lips. Crying and shaking, we held one another. The blood from his wounds oozed onto my white shirt, staining it a bright red, and while Reggie buried his face into my shoulder, I looked up to the night sky, lost in the color blue and in the confusing crisscross of the stars, which no longer seemed so free, but then again neither did I.