

Shappy

by

The Merovingian

Shappy

by The Merovingian

Copyright © 2016 by Eseila Books

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission from the publisher. For permission requests, contact publisher at EseilaBooks@gmail.com.

Published by Eseila Books

PROLOGUE: Duty

"Property of Aleese "Crackle" McNeil"

Daddy gave me this journal on my fifth birthday as a gift. He told me that I was his little think tank, and I needed somewhere to put all of my acerbic thoughts. That's the farthest back that I can remember, and that's truly my only memory from that particular age. The gift of thought.

June 13, 1967

My first encounter with happiness was quite a shitty one. I was eight years old when my mother told me that it was a woman's duty to be beautiful, and happy all the time. Young not being the equivalent of stupid, the prevailing collective belief was that happiness was an innate emotion. Not a duty. Imagine my confusion. So, naturally, I began my line of questioning with the most obvious. I asked her what happiness was.

Pulling a white ceramic plate from the soapy dish water she replied, "Crackle, happiness is like a thousand sunny days."

Hmm. I wish I could travel back in time to see the look on my face, as I'm sure it was quite "what-the-fuck-ish". At the tender age of eight, I was already calling bullshit on that one, and have been calling it ever since.

I was smart enough then to keep my comments to myself. I had to wait seven more years for my sarcastic license to arrive in the mail. Every day I was anxious for the damn thing because I had lots to say.

In the meantime, I asked the second most obvious question.

"Uh Momma, why is it just a woman's duty to be happy all the time when Daddy's not happy all the time?"

Her facial expression changed from that fake forced façade I was accustomed to seeing her wear, to an ashy pale one. Clearly my observation was a direct insult to the happiness she was responsible for bringing him. I decided never to have this conversation with her ever again.

I've avoided conversations altogether with my mother regarding relationships. She's been convinced that relationships are only one thing and anything else, is an abomination.

At random moments I'll hear my own voice inside of my head over and over. "Momma, pass. Momma, no. Can we not talk about this? Pass. PASS!" In reality, she'd keep right on talking like I wasn't there and I'd roll my eyes to the back of my head in annoyance. I try not to completely avoid her because I love my mother more than the oxygen in my lungs. She's just another one who'd accepted the programming forced upon her by other humans whose only way to feel worth is by lowering someone else's.

But it seems like every single time I've ever visited her, she'd open the same book and begin reading the same trash from where she'd bookmarked our conversation last. It drove me absolutely insane. The drone portion of society doesn't seem satisfied unless they've captured and lobotomized every single person.

Sometimes I swear I'll see zombies approaching me with their arms outstretched chanting "JOIN US. JOIN US." Gah! So, I stay running for my life. Away from the contagious hatred.

Meanwhile, my brothers Etan and Blake, get a pass. Not just in the happiness forum, but life, in general. I'm guessing that their possession of the male penis granted them some elite status of being only on the receiving end of this so called mock happiness operetta that every woman on the planet is supposed to be performing daily — drawing inspiration from some unhappy place deep down inside. Uh, right. That was a mouth full of horseshit.

Even if the men don't want it, we —all of us vaginas, that is— are responsible for discovering a place inside of our souls that many penises have directly contributed to destroying —in some form or fashion— to turn on this faucet of never-ending shitty happiness. What the? No. Pass.

For those reasons, I chose NYU from the 7 colleges that I'd received acceptance letters from. Sure, I could've attended one of the historic colleges near my hometown of Senoia, Georgia. But diversity there was non-existent, which made my presence there non-existent.

My personality is too feisty, my clap-backs are too sharp, my wit is too acidic, my facial expressions are too obvious, and my line of questioning into the whys of things set in stone are too direct to live my adult life in a place where only one thing is acceptable. Even if that one thing didn't make a damn bit of sense.
1.

In the 60's, Senoia, Georgia's neighborhoods were friendly and welcoming to all those who followed the rules, and fit the mold. These silly rules were enforced more fervently amidst the Civil Rights Movement, no less.

The unspoken rules were: Be happy, always smile, make a decent living, obey Jim Crow, be married, have children, play bridge, be white, and ignore your problems. The only part of that shitty mold that I've ever fit was the "be white" portion. How the hell can that be a requirement for anything? Well, I have a few theories.

I theorize that when everyone who's granted human rights has blonde hair and pale skin, then someone comes along with tan skin and brunette hair, it makes the pasty blondes feel threatened that their looks aren't the only form of beauty there is in the world. Especially if the brunette is a woman, and any pasty blonde male finds her attractive. Hold that thought because I suspect that's why Momma refused to hire a maid.

Let us all keep our "that's stupid" faces under control. I imagine that on Mars, all of the aliens have a group of idiots among them as well. Green is green. But they'll be damned if a Martian with an uppity purple complexion is accepted as being beautiful because if purple skin is beautiful, what is just green skin? Nope. Can't have that. Let's destroy the purple-skinned Martians before they become dominant, lest we share this space, and live in harmony. See how ridiculous that sounds? Stupid fucks.

Then you add that to their guilty feelings, and voila. You realize that the pasty blondes and green aliens prefer to dominate the tan brunettes and purple Martians because domination is the only way the lazy pasties can skate through life without performing any actual manual labor.

Good ole Jim was the most senseless part of my childhood. It continued long after it was ruled unconstitutional. If a machine —like our Government— invests oodles of time programming a human mind, what do they think will happen if they suddenly tell them something different one day? A human mind will deny, rebel, revolt and refuse to accept the uselessness of the time it has spent absorbing opposing information.

There were two —yes my neighbors did count them— black children in our neighborhood. A wonderful little girl that I nicknamed Miracle, and her brother Jusef. So basically, only one black family, and the neighbors made a constant ruckus over that.

Miracle's Daddy, Mr. Buford, was hired at Daddy's struggling marketing firm so they could bring in business any way they could. Quite naturally, they required the money of a group of people they hated. I mean, how many times will the same white housewife purchase the same product?

Mr. Buford made Daddy's firm a lot of money. That allowed him to buy a house right in our upper middle class neighborhood. It was only a big deal because their skin was dark. That's literally all the mothers of the neighborhood would gossip about. How Mr. & Mrs. Buford drove a better car than them. How they had a maid and we didn't. I wanted so badly to correct the witches by telling them that we didn't have one because Momma refused. Her refusal rendered her constant complaints about fatigue, invalid.

I paid the evil witches no mind except fleeting disgust and confusion whenever they'd come around. Miracle's real name was Janette. I never called her that because that's just not how I viewed her. She was my best friend and to this day, is the most beautiful perfect human being I have ever known to exist.

We'd been best friends since I was 3 years old. She had perfect velvety milk chocolate skin with glossy, wavy black hair that her Momma would style into two pigtails. Her dark brown, oval eyes always twinkled when she spoke. She was bubbly, vivacious, and I loved her.

Poor Miracle had a crush on my brother Snap, whose real name is Etan. This was unacceptable, of course. I was ten years old, and they were eleven when they first crushed on each other. Snap adored her, and they held hands every time she came over to play with us. I was extremely jealous but still happy that she was even around.

My eldest brother Pop, whose real name is Blake, didn't like it one bit. He was unnecessarily mean to Jusef to the point where Jusef would just drop his sister off at our house, and go visit his friends on the other side of town — near Fayetteville. That's where the Buford's moved from, so that's where all of their family and friends still lived.

Pop would always run and tell Momma and Daddy stupid things. Like Snap and Miracle holding hands, or how we're all jumping on top of each other outside. Momma would lose her mind, and Daddy was always as cool as a cucumber about it.

"They're just kids Francine," he'd remind Momma.

"I don't care that they're just kids, Jackson. They've got to learn their place in life now before they're forced into it as adults."

Pop, on the other hand, well — I love Pop. But the first time he ratted Miracle and Snap out to Momma and Daddy, I lost respect for him. I knew that he'd only learned this behavior from Momma and the other ignorant residents of Senoia. But all the same, I was at odds with him because he overflowed with unnecessary hate. Any type of hatred will eventually devour your goodness, and spill over onto others. No matter who it was originally intended for.

Snap, on the other hand, was the best. He and I were two peas from the same pod. On rainy days, he'd be the one holding his jacket over my head so I wouldn't get wet on the way to school. While Pop, stomped angrily ahead of us.

"Don't worry about Pop. He means well," Snap would say. I always smiled at Snap because he just had that warm, positive sincerity about him that the world was sorely missing. I mean who would want to believe that their brother was a racist asshole at the tender age of 13? That's a whole lot of hate stuffed into a very small package.

I'd huff because Pop sure had a funny way of showing his Godly intentions. Pop was always angry for one reason or another. Just like every other white resident in Senoia. So it seemed. I mean, who the hell wants to wake up every day full of anger because someone who looks different than them exists?

It may take an adult several years to practice. But what kind of 13 year old boy masters being unhappy every single day? What could possibly be anchoring it? Shit, they teach us what 2 + 2 is in school, and I don't believe in the sum so strongly that I'm willing to kill anyone else who doesn't.

More importantly, who keeps replanting the seed? I gather Momma was always angry as well, and he must be getting his daily dose from her. But being a woman, she had to ignore her unhappiness, and pretend that all was well. Absolute bullshit. Everyone seemed to be miserable except me, Miracle, Snap, and Jusef.

I remember when Momma would have bridge parties, and all of the hopelessly dismal mothers of the neighborhood were invited over to play, eat, and gossip. All except Miracle's Momma, of course. They seemed to ask the same damn question every time until it made them feel stupid to keep asking.

"Why do you call them Snap, Crackle & Pop?" Momma's friend, Miss Lily Mae, repetitively asked like the dimwit she was.

Momma, on the other hand, reveled in the attention, and would always answer patiently as she blew smoke into the air from her cigarette.

"At first, it was because that was their favorite cereal, and they'd get up every mornin', and steal it from the cupboard like 3 little musketeers. Formin' a totem pole to reach the box. Eventually, they all seemed to slowly embody their nicknames. Pop acts like an old cranky man. Crackle is feisty, and Snap moves quicker than he thinks."

They'd all have a good laugh at our expense, as they fill the air with white smoke.

At nearly every bridge party Daddy would get mad if he couldn't find a shirt, a shoe or a tool. He'd curse the heavens with a house full of women present, and Pop would smile at the excuses Momma would make on Daddy's behalf.

When Daddy was mad, Daddy was mad, and nobody would bat a lash. But when Momma was mad or frustrated, the other women would gasp, and remind her that if she was unhappy, Daddy may not come home. Society seems to have an issue with everything. God, I despised them. I decided that I would do everything in my power not to be like them when I grew up.

When Saturday came around, I rushed through breakfast so I could sit on the porch to wait for Miracle. Momma didn't like it when she came to the front door, so I always meet her outside. It seemed foolish to make her go all the way around to the back door just because her skin was a different shade than mine. Who made these stupid rules? What did they even accomplish?

I sat on the porch, and looked to my left. I saw her and Jusef walking down the street. I stood up, and started bouncing on the balls of my feet. They wasn't walking fast enough. I bubbled over with excitement, and ran to the front of the gate as they approached our yard. Waving vigorously at them both, I greeted them as they arrived.

"Hi, Miracle! Hi, Jusef."

He smiled warmly, and waved.

"I'll be back to get you an hour 'fore sundown, Janette. Don't make me haf ta come lookin' for you," he ordered his little sister.

"I won't. Be careful," Miracle's gorgeous voice sang. She hugged her brother, and I anxiously swung the front gate open for her.

I embraced her and we ran into the backyard, away from prying eyes so we could play in peace. Snap joined us, and we played for hours as the sun slowly lowered in the sky. The heat didn't give way much, but we didn't care.

Momma brought out some freshly baked cookies, and ice cold lemonade. I ran over to the table, and grabbed a glass because I was feeling dryer than a sheet left hanging on a clothes line in Georgia summer heat.

I sat back and savored the partially crisp chocolate chip cookies as the flavor danced on my tongue. I even closed my eyes for a while. Chocolate chip cookies were my favorite. I was in my equivalent of heaven. When I reached for another cookie and come up empty, I opened my eyes. I realized that they were all gone, and no one had been fighting me for them.

Snap and Miracle had disappeared somewhere. Where, I wondered. I didn't wanna sit there by myself, so I began searching the house. I went upstairs and looked inside of my room first. Then the boys' room. I heard murmurs coming from the bathroom in between our bedrooms, so I bent down, and looked through the keyhole of the bathroom door.

Snap and Miracle were sitting on the edge of the bathtub. Snap leaned forward and kissed Miracle on her lips. They both laughed after their lips separated.

"That was my first kiss," Miracle admitted.

"Mine too," Snap confessed.

They locked fingers, and just stared at each other like two idiots. I was jealous because I wanted to be that idiot. I was mad but intrigued, so I kept on looking and studying the expressions on her face. I began to wonder if Miracle would respond in the same way if I kissed her like that.

After I regurgitated the view of him twirling her pigtails around his index fingers as many times as I could, I walked away, and into my bedroom. Envious and hurt. I thought about it for weeks. Every time I saw her, I would focus on her lips and imagine kissing them.

But Momma said girls don't kiss girls. They kiss boys and I'm wasn't old enough yet. I accepted that wasn't old enough, but I didn't accept her rules about boys and girls. Especially when some man had become famous for painting Campbell's soup cans. Everyone should be able to kiss whoever they like, and I liked Miracle.

Before bedtime, Snap came in to tell me his great news. I didn't hurt him by telling him that I already knew. I just allowed him to express his happiness because there was always a shortage of that in the household. I just let him jabber on about the happiness that I wished I possessed. Midway through his story, I decided to let up on the jealousy. I smiled, and was happy for him. After all, it was just a kiss. She was still my best friend and no kiss in the world could ever change that.

"I told Pop already," he confessed.

I frowned and warned him.

"You shouldn't have done that. You know how Pop feels about her and Jusef."

"He promised he would neva tell anybody."

A thirteen year-old unhappy boy likely would never keep a promise. Not even to himself. I was just hopeful that he would.

2.

I was kneeling down in the muddy grass in our backyard, stealing glances at Miracle. More interested in her than in playing with our toys, so I sat on my bottom.

"Wuts wrong, Crackle?" she asked in her honey-southern drawl.

"I dunno. Nuthin really."

I fiddled with my doll for a minute.

"Uh, Miracle. Do you like me?"

For a ten year-old, I felt so unsure. Afraid that I would scare her away, but I just had to know if she really liked me. Or if she played with me because no one else in the neighborhood would play with her. She squinted her eyes, and tilted her head to the right.

"Well, of course I like you silly. Why else wud I be here?"

She smiled, and her eyes lit up. She truly warmed my heart like no one else in the world.

"I just uh — well, I like you a lot. That's all. And you're real, real pretty. The prettiest gurl I eva seen before," I confessed, clearing my throat nervously.

"You're not just pretty, Crackle. Momma says pretty gurls are like stars in the sky. There's a plenty of 'em. They burn bright for a while and then fizzle. You're beautiful. Like the sun. You're the brightest there is, and no matter how bright you shine, you'll never fizzle out."

I darn near died when she said that. I just jumped up and hugged her. Then I felt stupid for calling her pretty. It was such an inadequate description. I wished I had a do over. I'd tell her that she was the moon, the stars, and the sun. We played in the mud until Momma's friends showed up for her bridge party.

We decided to be nosy and eavesdrop on their conversations together. It was times like these that I was grateful that Momma refused to hire a maid. There was no one to babysit or monitor our movements all the time. No one to keep us in check. It gave us much more freedom than the other kids in the neighborhood. It also made us much less lazy.

Miracle and I snuck into the house as the other mother's began to arrive. Momma took their coats and hung them in the family room closet. Coats in 100 degree Georgia weather. How outrageous. We hid in the hallway closet, and watched everything. We laughed, and poked fun at every dumb mother.

Dolores seemed to be their leader. That dim-witted fool had no business leading anybody. She was a mean, spiteful woman. Everything she said, they'd agree with.

"Robert and I propose to start an association for the neighborhood that'll control who is allowed to move here," Dolores announced.

My face immediately frowned.

"That is the dumbest thing I have eva heard," I whispered in Miracle's ear.

"I've heard dumber," she replied.

All of the women were eager to hear more about her ridiculous plan. Miracle and I leaned closer so we could hear.

"What exactly does that involve, Dolores?" Momma asked.

"Well, the neighborhood homeowner's association will require all prospective buyers to submit to a background check. There will be a board comprised of other's in the neighborhood, and we ultimately will decide who can buy and who cannot. Wish we'd thought of this before the unsightly nuisance down the block."

I looked over and Miracle. She was sad. It angered me. How dare this evil witch refer to Miracle's family as a nuisance? I'll fix her wagon.

"Miracle, stay here. I'll be right back," I whispered.

"Where are you goin?"

"Shhh, just stay here."

I crept out of the closet and into the kitchen. I opened the fridge, and saw the pitcher of lemonade. I quietly removed it, and placed it on top of the counter. I looked around at all of the other food Momma had slaved over. Not for us though. We weren't allowed to touch it. I began hocking the biggest loogies I could, hurling them into the lemonade, and the Hors d'oeuvres.

I politely retrieved a spoon, and mixed it in to the lemonade so no one could see them floating around. I also used my finger to spread my loogies across all of the food. I put the lemonade back into the fridge and started thinking of a better way to fix Miss Dolores.

Hmmmm, she smoked cigarettes. I opened the kitchen drawer and removed all of the cigarettes. I grabbed a knife and ran back into the closet where Miracle was still hiding.

"Where have you been? What did you do?"

"I got a plan," I announced, with an evil grin on my face.

"What plan could you possibly have that involves cigarettes?"

"I'll show you. Gimme that box from the top shelf," I asked, pointing.

I took the white shoebox from her and opened it. There they were. The firecrackers Daddy had confiscated from Snap last year after the fool took them to school to play pranks on the teachers. My heart was racing. I was excited.

"Crackle, you're not gonna do what I think you're gonna do are you?"

"Yup, I sure am. Come on, help me."

The two us sliced open several cigarettes and stuffed the firecrackers inside of them. We rolled them back up and used glue to keep them closed. Then I decided that I knew exactly how to get the explosive cigarette into Dolores's hands.

"I'm gonna go offer to refill her glass with lemonade. Then I'll accidentally spill some on top of her crotched cigarette case. After she gets all upset, I'll politely bring her these from the kitchen drawer and —"

"Crackle, you devil you."

We giggled. I crept back out of the closet to set my plan in motion. I placed the cigarettes back into the drawer, separating the explosive ones. I grabbed the lemonade and entered the family room where all of the witches were gossiping and playing cards. I smiled, preparing myself. Fixing my face, I proceeded.

"Hello there. I just thought all of you beautiful ladies would like a refill. May I?"

They all simultaneously gasped. Paying Momma compliments for raising such a well-mannered young lady. Ha, ha, if they only knew. I topped off everyone's glass, saving Dolores's for last. I eyed her cigarette case, open on top of the table. I began to pour, and drenched her cigarettes with lemonade.

"Oh my. I am so sorry, Miss Dolores. Let me grab a rag and clean this right up for you."

I ran into the kitchen, grabbed towels, and several of the rigged cigarettes from the drawer. I returned, cleaned up the spill, and dumped her wet cigarettes into the garbage. I cleaned it out nicely, and returned it to her. Stocked with explosive cigarettes. I apologized several more times until she smiled, and Momma dismissed me.

I returned to the closet, where Miracle watched the whole thing unfold.

"That was a great performance, Crackle. I'll give you that."

"Why thank you. Now, we wait."

We waited for what seemed like forever for Miss Dolores to light up a cigarette. As soon as she reached her hand for the case, Miracle and I perked up.

"Here we go," I whispered.

Miss Dolores placed the cigarette between her lips, and began yapping.

"Hurry up and light it you witch," I whispered impatiently.

Miracle laughed at me as we stared out of the cracked door. Eyes wide and hearts thumping.

We heard the sizzle and then, POP!

The sound of Dolores wailing catapulted us into uncontrollable laughter. We fell onto our backs, holding our stomachs. We stole another look, and the tip of her nose was black. She was running around the room hysterically, while the other witches fanned her face with their hands.

I think we laughed about it for weeks. Every time we saw Miss Dolores with that patch on her nose, we'd burst out into laughter. Embarrassing her.

Her nose was bruised for so long that she never quite got a chance to form that association she spoke of. She couldn't face people with a huge bruise on her nose. She looked like a wicked witch. Finally showing her true colors. She got nothing less than what she deserved.

3.

Tomorrow is my tenth birthday, and all I want to do is spend it with her. My beautiful Miracle. Someone so wonderful. Not because of nor in spite of. Just an unparalleled beauty. I already believe that it's a blessing how those who receive the least in life, give the most. The harder life squeezes a person, the more clarity in their output.

Pop and Miracle's personalities are definitely mismatched. Pop's still a lump of coal, while Miracle is a flawless diamond.

Miracle and I sat for hours and hours in the backyard, digging up grass and mud with our hands. Cooking make believe food for our dollies out of the dirt. Thankfully the dolls were made of plastic or they'd have been dead long ago. After we grew bored with the unmoving soil, we decided to venture off.

"Crackle, let's go to the sunflower field over by the big trees," she suggested with gleaming eyes.

I felt the grin spread across my face before I grabbed her hand.

"Yeah, let's go!"

She shushed me, and we quietly tip toed out of the backyard.

We looked left, then right, and left again before bolting down the street. We kept on running until we reached the dirt road. Once we were in the clear, we slowed down to catch our breath.

"I hope no one saw us. I'd be in big trouble for sure," she opined.

"Me too. Pop is a tattle tale."

The sun had lowered a bit. We both looked up at the big blue simultaneously. Squinting and smiling as we walked along.

"Do you think God is up there?" I inquired.

"No," she began, "I know He is."

She grinned at me. We clumsily bumped into each other, and giggled.

"You have two left feet just like me, Crackle. You're like the sister I neva had."

I imagined life in the Buford household. They seemed much happier than my family. Then I imagined what it would've been like to be a colored girl in Georgia. I felt my sorrow and anger swell. That's how I put all of the pieces of the puzzle together in the first place. If I was scared to be colored, then they must be mistreated in this world. If a little kid can surmise as much, I knew adults could add two blatant integers, and receive the same sum.

Miracle's soft fingers were suddenly inside of my palm. I straightened my face.

"When you go away like that, what do you be thinkin' bout?" she asked me.

I looked up into the yellow faced flowers swaying in the breeze ahead of us. I didn't want to tell her that I daydream about being colored. She'd think that I was loonier than a toon. So, I distracted her.

"Race you to the field. Last one there is a rotten egg!"

I dashed off toward the sunflowers.

"No fair, Crackle!" she shouted as she tried to catch up with me. I looked back at her bouncing pigtails, and smiling face. Her favorite red and white checkered dress was battling the wind. I laughed at her and ran as fast as I could. I didn't want to be the rotten egg for a whole week.

She hopped on my back, and we tumbled between the green elongated stems. She rolled on top of me, pinning me to the ground by my shoulders. Laughing.

"You're a big ole cheater gurl. You're supposed to give me a heads up first."

She was tickling me on my ribs with the tips of her fingers. I laughed so hard, I was scared I'd pee myself.

"Come on say it," she demanded as she tickled my armpits. "Say it wasn't a fair race and I'm no rotten egg!"

She was smiling as she sat on my stomach, tickling me all over. I couldn't hold out anymore, so I surrendered.

"Okay! Okay! You're no rotten egg, alright!"

She fell off of me, and onto her back. I took a moment to catch my breath, and we gazed up at the lemon inflorescence. They looked like little people with open arms. My hands were resting against my chest.

"Miracle, when yall lived in Fayetteville, what was it like?"

I was a very curious child. She was quiet for a moment. I began to assume that I had asked the wrong question.

"I'm sorry Miracle, I didn't mean —"

"Hush up, Crackle. I was just thinkin' is all. It's been a while since I thought about it. I mean, we moved here when I was three so I don't remember from that far back. Jusef does. He always says that he'll neva pick the white man's cotton like Ma and Pa, and their Mommas and Daddies. After dinner, Daddy will usually tell us stories about living there."

I was really quiet. Hanging on her every word.

"My grandparents were cotton pickers, and Momma and Daddy did the same for a while until Momma said she couldn't take it no more. He said they'd fight all the time because Momma was tired of bein' poor. Daddy's an educated man. He graduated from Morehouse, and he said Momma would neva let him forget it."

Mimicking her Momma's voice, she waved her finger in the air.

"No black man with a college degree should be pickin' no cotton, William!" She laughed at her own impression. I smiled too.

"Daddy wanted to move to New Yawk or Califurnia. But Momma didn't wanna move so far away from the family. I guess her prayers got answered when ya Daddy offered him that job at Foster, Lincoln & Colbrook."

I could hear it in her voice that she wished her Daddy had turned the job down and moved to another state instead. I don't really blame her. But if Mr. Buford had followed his heart, I would've never met her, and I couldn't imagine that. It made me too sad to think about.

"Crackle, I know what people think of us here. No matter what we do, how well we behave or how much money Daddy makes, they'll always see us as niggers in this town. Possibly uppity niggers. But still just niggers. In a lot of ways, I imagine that Fayetteville was 'bout the same. Just with less money. Now they hate us for havin' it."

There was finality in her tone. Sadness intruded. I felt for her hand across the dirt. She grabbed mine.

"That's not what you are to me. You'll neva be that to me," I assured her.

"I know that much, silly. You're nothin' like anybody I eva met before. You're well, — you're sumthin' else, Crackle. Not white. Not black. Just — beautiful. Like an angel."

Her cheeks rose, and my heart melted. I felt my spirit change right then.

We laid in the between the long delicate flowers until the sun began to set. After that afternoon, I stopped wishing to be anything other than who I was. If Miracle loved me for me, why would I wanna be anyone else? I was still floating on cloud nine when I crept through the back door.

The sun had nearly disappeared and I knew I was probably in trouble. I tip-toed quietly up the stairs. Momma and Daddy's bedroom door was closed. I breathed a sigh of relief as I made it safely into my room unnoticed.

Closing my bedroom door as gently as possible, I turned around to see Pop's frowned up face.

"Gah!"

Where the hell did he come from?

"Pop, what're you doin' in my room?" I asked in a loud whisper.

He was standing there with his arms folded across his chest like a grown man. I noticed my closet door was open. He must've been hiding in there.

"Where the hell have you been?" he demanded.

I walked across the room, and bounced on my bed.

"I went to the sunflower field for a while."

"You know you ain't got no business runnin' off without tellin' nobody where ya goin'," he scolded.

"You're not Daddy, and you can't tell me what to do. You don't even care."

"Oh really? Well, I guess I'll just go down the hall and tell Momma and Daddy that I was lyin' this whole time, and you ran away like a damn idiot."

He started walking toward the bedroom door. I dashed over, and stood in front of it. Blocking him.

"What do you mean you lied?"

His face turned into one I recognize. That familiar smug he usually got when he had the upper hand. He turned around, and began telling his tale.

"I saw you run off outta here with that gurl —"

"Her name is Miracle!"

That seemed to upset him.

"Nevamind. Forget it. I'm just gone tell Momma," he blurted out, trying to pry my body away from the door. I didn't budge.

"Move, Crackle"

"No. I'm not movin'. She has a name. Use it or I don't care if you tattle."

I stood with my arms folded, staring him down, and hoping he wouldn't call my bluff.

"Fine. Janette. Her name is Janette. Not Miracle," he huffed as he walked over to my bed.

That was just fine with me. As long as he didn't refer to her as "that gurl", like she was a speck on the wall or something.

"I covered your ass today and told em you was playin' with Emily Green one block over."

I was touched that he'd lied for me. But why? He hated Miracle, and he'd made it his mission in life to end our friendship.

My curiosity was trying to get the better of me, but I didn't push him. I decided to be smart instead of ungrateful. I didn't wanna be in trouble on my birthday. Or at all, for that matter.

"Thank you."

I knew my tone wasn't dripping with sincerity, but I was touched by his gesture.

He looked down at the floor for a minute before staring me in the face.

"Uh huh. Don't let it happen again. Just cos' we argue don't mean we don't love you."

He said we, but I reckon he was referring to himself, since he was the only one who had a problem expressing his feelings. His blue eyes were as soft as I'd seen them since we were younger, stealing cereal out of Momma's pantry together. That was the brother that I was missing. The one that I needed every day.

"Okay."

"Good."

His head returned to its normal overly erect posture. He walked swiftly out of room.

4.

I fidget my way through Sundee school. Anxious to be out of this dress, and walloping in the mud with Miracle. I drift off into fantasy during service many times wondering what church is like for the Buford family. Had to be much more fun than this if they drove all the way out of town every weekend to attend.

When service ends, I pull and yank on Momma's arm — hoping to stop her from yapping with every family that walked out the door. You'd think these fools didn't already talk to each other every day around the neighborhood already.

"Momma, come on."

"Hold on now, Crackle. Go sit in the car with your brothers."

No way. I'm no fool. Without one of us to rush her along, she'll talk for hours. As a last ditch effort, I decide to rile Daddy up so he'll rush her. I skip over to the parking lot, where he's coolly leaning against our car. Smoking a cigarette.

"Daddy, aren't you hungry?

"Enough to eat a cow."

"Well, Momma left the chicken and dumplings stewing. I sure hope they don't get burned in the oven."

"Yur right, honey. Get in the car."

He opens the door, then turns towards Momma.

"Francine!"

I grin mischievously as I climb into the backseat. All I hear next is him shouting that he's hungry. She cuts off her gossiping, and rushes over into to the passenger seat. Happy as I am about the fact that we're leaving, inside I'm disgusted by how women are treated as pet slave workers. That's never gonna be me.

As soon as we get home, I race up the stairs. Kicking off my fancy Mary Jane's, and ruffle socks along the way. Daddy turns on Johnny Cash, as he did every Sundee.

I stand in front of the mirror, and mess my hair. I hastily throw on my worn and faded blue jeans. So eager to get to the front porch to wait on Miracle, I nearly fall down the stairs while trying to squeeze my feet into my run down Skips.

"Slow down before you bust your face open!" Daddy yells.

I breeze right past him, smiling. I grab a few cookies and park my butt right on the top step. The screen door squeals when Snap joins me.

"I figured you'd be in too much of a rush to grab a drink, so here."

"Thanks."

I down the fresh lemonade as the screen door screeches once again. This time it's Momma.

"Lunch'll be ready in a few, so don't disappear. Do ya hear me?"

"Yes, Momma," we both chime.

"And make sure that gurl uses the back door, Crackle. I mean it."

I bite down on my sarcastic words, so as not to ruin my happy mood.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Momma don't know no better. She was raised in a different time than us."

"I don't care, Snap. It don't eva make it okay, and I don't wanna talk about it. I just wanna play with Miracle. That's all."

He smiles, hugs me, and then runs off to play with the neighborhood boys. That's when I see those glorious pigtails bouncing down the street. Here she comes. My sunshine. I sit my sweaty glass down, pat my moist hands against my pants, and walk towards the gate. Cookie crumbs falling to the ground with each step.

She waves and smiles. My stomach goes crazy. She's always so clean, perfectly styled hair, shiny moisturized skin, and dressed like those girls in magazines. I'm always in rags with messy hair. I think I should fix myself up more.

I fling the gate open when she arrives.

"Where's Jusef?"

"At our family's in Fayetteville until later."

"Come on!"

I grab her hand. We run into the backyard, where the Barbie dolls are waiting for us. I have bigger plans for us this time. Right after lunch.

As we play house, I notice her stealing glances my way. Occasionally tucking wayward strands of my warm honey-blonde hair behind my right ear.

"You have the prettiest blue eyes I eva did see?"

I turn and smile at her.

"You really think so?"

"Wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it." She fidgets with the doll in her hand. "And I love your hair. Even when it's all ova ya head like this. Especially when it's like this," she giggles.

"I wish mine could shine the way yours does."

"All you gotta do is brush it. I can show you. Do you have a brush?"

"Yeah!" I run into the house, and grab Momma's pink and gold brush.

"Here," I say thrusting the pretty brush at her.

"Okay, now sit, and turn around."

I scoot between her legs, and lean my back against her chest. She brushes and detangles my strands while I gaze up at the sky.

"It's about the amount of strokes," she teaches, "the key is to keep brushing even after all the knots are out. My momma taught me."

When the balls of the bristles scrape my scalp, I flinch.

"Ouch."

"No pain, no gain."

"Crackle!" Momma yells. "Get up off that ground!"

We both jump. We stand nervously, patting the dirt from our clothing. She eyes us with suspiciously.

"Get cleaned up for lunch."

She allows the screen door to slam. I escort Miracle into the restroom so we can wash up. We share a bar of soap. Lathering our dirty hands underneath the warm running water. The backs of our hands graze infinitesimally. I gulp and look over at her. She doesn't seem nervous. I am. My heart is going wild inside of my chest. I don't know how to calm it down.

I grab a towel off the rack for us to share. We pat our hands dry. Just as I turn to return the towel, Miracle places her silky soft fingertips on the top of my hand. My previously laid plans go right out of the window as I take her hand.

She smiles the smile that always shines brighter than a thousand suns. We step closer to each other. Discovering each other's faces. Just when I consider chickening out, she places her lips on mine. I'm not ready, and I'm scared of failing, so I dip my head.

"I'm sorry. I thought —"

I bravely kiss her back. Never wanting her to ever think that I don't want her kiss. Afterwards we giggle.

"Wow," is all I can manage.

"We can't tell anybody."

"I know."

"Especially not Snap. I like him, but I like you more. It's different."

She's suddenly unsure, where she's usually confident. I take her hand when Momma swings the door open.

"What are you two doing in here?"

"Just washing our hands, Momma."

Her shifty eyes scanning.

"Janette, go on in and have a seat at the table," Momma directs her.

"Yes, ma'am."

She glances back on her way out. Momma closes the door.

"Young lady, I warned you about having that gurl in this bathroom. Now you —"

"Momma, I —"

"Don't you dare interrupt me, young lady. Now you listen and you listen good. Girls and boys, well, when they get much older, they fall in love and get married. They even have kids. Like your daddy and I. Girls don't fall in love with each other because girls can't give other girls babies. God made it that way for a reason. You're too young to understand right now, but you will when you get older. Much, much older."

"Momma, I like Miracle and —"

POW! She slaps my left cheek so hard that my head whips to the right.

"Don't test me. I shouldn't even let that gurl come 'round here. You keep pushing it and I'll forbid her from eva coming here again. Do you understand me?"

She grabs my arm. I cut my eyes at her. Hating her for being so damned ugly inside.

"Yes, ma'am."

As soon as she walks out, tears spill down my face. Tears of confusion and resentment. My chest is cloudy with pain. I wipe my face with the back of my hand, straighten my posture, and walk into the dining room with a blank expression.

5.

Blake, Etan and I were walking home from school on a scorching Thursday afternoon in August. The trees were green, lush, and plentiful. The sun was blazing, and the humidity was suffocating us. A typical day in Georgia. I was rambling on about being excited to see Miracle on Saturday.

Etan smiled every time I spoke of her. His face was bright with enthusiasm, as usual. So I kept right on talking. On and on I went. Blake was so far ahead of us now that we'd lost sight of him. As I played hopscotch in the dirt along the way, I looked up to see Blake running in our direction. He was waving his hands in the air, and yelling. I couldn't make out what he's saying but he seemed to be warning us not to come that way.

I grabbed Etan's arm, and yanked him backwards in the opposite direction.

"Come on!"

We ran as fast as our little legs could carry us, back into the wooded area to wait for Blake to find us. Etan and I were out of breath, and we held hands behind the thickest sapling we could find.

We heard twigs breaking, and leaves rustling on the ground, as someone's feet trampled them. We stood statue still. Etan motioned for my quiet by placing his forefinger vertically across his lips.

"Crackle? Snap? Where are yawl?" Blake called in a loud whisper.

He used our nicknames, so whatever it was, it couldn't have been that serious.

We came out from behind the tree, and motioned him our way. Blake ran over with a wild expression on his face. That was alarming because he rarely changed his facial expressions unless he was going hunting with Daddy.

"Shhhh," Blake hisseed.

"We can't go that way. We have to take the long way home."

"Why?" Etan asked.

The look on Blake's face was a remorseful one. Or maybe, the look of a coward. He didn't want to answer the question.

"Why not?" I demanded.

"They're hanging two niggers right now, and they're pretty rowdy. We shouldn't chance it. Let's go," he commanded. He snatched my hand, and I grabbed Etan's.

We made it home, and Momma interrogated us as soon as we walked through the door. We were flushed, sweaty, and out of breath. Blake created a panic as he frantically locked the front door.

"Momma, is Daddy home?" Blake asked in a stern voice.

"No, he hasn't come home from work. Now what's going on you three?"

Momma's face was quickly draining of color, so Etan offered up the explanation — knowing that I couldn't utter the words.

"Pop says they were hanging two coloreds on our way home, so we took the long way instead."

I held Etan's hand because I saw the disgust on his face when he almost said the word. Blake used it often. But Etan and I decided that it was ugly, and we wouldn't contribute. Momma placed her hand over her heart, and rushed us all into her bedroom.

She locked the door, and ordered Blake to get Daddy's gun. It seemed that when these folks got liquored up, they'd kill anything moving, and no criminal justice system held them accountable. That's what happened when the Sheriff was out there lynching with the rest. Now that's true hatred.

Disgust filled my stomach, so I ran into Momma and Daddy's closet, got down on my knees and started praying.

When Saturday came around, I got dressed as soon as the sun rose. I brushed my hair into two pigtails just like Miracle's, so we could be twins. I carefully tied the sunflower-yellow bows around my hair, and put on my prettiest ruffle dress. Normally, we'd just dress in pants and white shirts so we could spend hours frolicking around in the dirt and grass in our backyard. But since I hadn't seen her in week, I wanted be pretty for her. I missed her.

I laid all of my dolls across the bed, so she could choose from any one of them. I was so excited that I could hardly stand it. I made my way downstairs for breakfast, and Momma had outdone herself — as usual.

She'd made fluffy golden pancakes, plump sausage, scrambled eggs, hash browns, toast, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and coffee for her and Daddy.

We all sat around the table eating breakfast as Daddy read the paper. I played thumb wars with Snap underneath the table as my mind fantasized about Miracle.

"You think Miracle's gonna come over today?" I whispered in his ear.

"Of course. She comes over every weekend, doesn't she?"

He smiled, and my heart returned to its anxious state. I wanted breakfast to be over so I could go outside.

After helping Momma clean the kitchen, I went outside and sat anxiously on the front porch steps. Miracle and Jusef usually walked down to our house around this time. I noticed the other neighborhood children were already outside playing, and riding their bicycles. As the time passed, I became worried.

Maybe she didn't wanna be my friend anymore. Maybe I did something to make her mad at me. My heart was breaking, and sinking down into my stomach. I'd never do anything to hurt Miracle, so I don't know why she would be mad at me.

I considered asking Momma if I could go check on her, but I knew what her response would've been. Instead, I decided to go on down to Miracle's house and pretend that I didn't know I needed to ask permission to visit the neighbors.

I looked backwards into the house. Momma was in the kitchen slicing lemons for lemonade while she yapped on the telephone. I took advantage of her distraction, and walked quietly out of our front yard — closing the wooden gate behind me.

I ran as fast as I could down to the end of the block. I made it to Miracle's front door. I took a moment to catch my breath before pressing the buzzer. Miracle's father answered.

"Hi, Mr. Buford, is Mir — I mean, Janette home?" I asked in a small but hopeful voice.

Something was wrong with his eyes. They were sad and red. My heart starting racing, and I stretched my neck to look into the house behind him — trying to catch a glimpse of Miracle. He lowered his head, and walked away from the door; leaving it ajar.

Their maid, Miss Williams, came to the door.

"Is everything alright, Miss Williams?" I asked.

"No, chile. Now run along."

I placed my palm on the door to keep her from closing it in my face.

"Please, Miss Williams. I haven't seen Janette in over a week, and I'm worried about her. Is she okay? Is Jusef home?"

Maybe Jusef could tell me what's wrong.

"Miss Aleese, Janette and Jusef are gone. They been hanged. Don't come 'round here no more askin' no more questions. Now you go on home."

She slammed the door in my face, and I just stood there. She must've been confused. She was thinking of the wrong people. No. She's wrong. I just knew it.

I ran back down the street, and burst through the gate into our front yard. I flung the front door open, and immediately began screaming out for Etan. He came running down the stairs. I told him breathlessly what Miss Williams told me. His face frowned, and his voice got shaky.

"I don't believe it for one second."

"I know. I don't believe it neither," I added between breaths.

"What's going on with you two?" Momma asked, while she was still on the phone.

"Nothing, Momma. Let's ask Pop," Etan offered.

We ran up the stairs, and into the their bedroom.

"Pop, do you know anything about Miracle and Jusef bein' lynched?" Etan demanded.

Pop was sitting on the bed with his legs folded, reading the paper like an adult. He slowly folded the paper closed, and leaned forward — placing his feet on the floor. He rested his elbows against his knees, and turned his head in our direction. Without making eye contact, he uttered the most dreadful words I'd ever heard.

"Yeah, I know 'bout it. Happened on Thursdee after school."

I gasped, and started shaking my head from left to right. If it was true and he'd known this entire time, why would he have me worrying like a gotdamn fool? The hotness of my tears stung my eyeballs. I hated him.

"You're lyin'! You're a damn liar and you know it!" I yelled at him while pointing my finger.

"Look, Crackle. I'm sorry. That's the way things are 'round here. No nigger girl should be kissin' on no white boy. She knew better'an that."

He was actually rationalizing.

I whipped my head over in Etan's direction. He was crying.

"I can't believe you told on us," Etan whimpered, with his shoulders shaking.

I still don't believe it so I ran down the stairs, out of the house, and into the woods.

I won't believe a damn thing Pop said until I see it for myself. I was running so fast that I didn't see anything that I was passing. I just knew my way there. I tripped on a few logs, and fall on my face. I didn't have time to be hurt, so I dusted myself off, and keep on running.

I told myself that as soon I got to the sight of where Pop claims the lynching took place, I could look up and see that it wasn't Miracle or Jusef. It wouldn't make me happy, but I'd at least know it wasn't her. I could deal with her not wanting to be my friend anymore, as long as it meant that she was still alive.

Please, God. I just keep begging Him along the way. Don't let it be her. "Please God, don't let it be her." I was in full blown tears, and my legs felt like they were gonna quit on me. But I couldn't stop.

I saw it. A little ways ahead. There was movement in the trees, so I slowed down, and started walking. I was trying to catch my breath enough for my prayers.

"Dear God, please hear me. Please don't let it be Miracle and Jusef. I promise I will love her just like a regular person from now on, and stop thinking of her the way Etan does. I promise, if you'll only just let her be okay."

As I fearfully approached the little bodies hanging from the tree branches, my stomach churned. I'd never seen a lynching. I'd heard of the barbaric act from other kids and their parents. But I had never laid my eyes on a dead body before. I reckoned after today, I wouldn't be able to tell myself that anymore.

The breeze was blowing their bodies, and they were twirling in different directions. I couldn't see their faces because I was afraid to touch them.

But my heart sank as I stood underneath a girl who was dressed in a checkered red-and-white ruffled dress. The same one that Miracle had worn many times before. Her skin looked darker now. Like ripened fruit. I looked up into the trees, at the tan rope tied around her neck. Her head was leaning so far to the left that was nearly separated from her body. I have to look into her face. I just have to.

I gently touched her leg and immediately started whimpering. I gathered enough courage to turn her around. I started wailing. Screaming as loud I could. I fell to the ground in a screaming fit. I was kicking my arms and legs because I'd lost control of myself. Clutching my stomach, and calling her name.

"Miracle! No God! She's just a kid like me. Why God? Why? Why is this okay?"

I planted my knees firmly into the soil. As I raised my head to the sky in prayer, I caught a glimpse of Miracle's under pants. They were stained with blood, and wedged around her thighs. Sweet Jesus!

A high-pitched yelp escaped my throat. I expelled every bit of Momma's breakfast onto the ground, still screaming, before passing out.

When I woke up, I was in Momma and Daddy's bed. Momma was clutching a white linen handkerchief, and sitting on my left. Daddy was pacing the floor. Pop stood angrily in the corner, and Etan was sitting on the floor with his head against his knees.

I didn't even say a word. I just looked around the room. I knew where I was. I just didn't wanna be. I was surrounded by people who contributed to the death of two innocent children. Murderers!

Pop was a fucking traitor and Momma — as an adult, she knew what would happen to Miracle if she went shooting her mouth off like that. She didn't have to and yet, she did. I didn't see her telling the whole neighborhood about Daddy's mistress. Or the fact that she refused to have a maid because of Daddy's philandering ways. No. Nothing that would harm her illusory visage. Only what would harm an innocent child. Disgust and heartache overwhelmed me, and I closed my eyes.

A few weeks later, Miracle's family moved out, and a white family moved in. The neighborhood women —including my own Momma— went about their lives as if some unsightly dirt had been swept under a rug. The sunflower inside of my heart withered and died as my grudge against Pop and the racist community grew in its place.

I was ten years-old when my Miracle was stolen away from me. I cried every day until I was 14. After that, not much moved me.

Pop entered my bedroom, and fiddled awkwardly with the knickknacks atop my five-drawer chest. Sitting with my back against the headboard, knees against my chest, I just glared angrily at him. My heart was telling me that I'd never forgive him. He must know it. Otherwise, he wouldn't be in my room trying to provoke me to initiate conversation. It'll be a cold day in hell when that happens.

My eyes stopped following him. I got up and walked right past him, into the bathroom. Locking the door. I just couldn't stand to see his face. I knew I couldn't stay in there forever so I just sat on the edge of the bathtub until I heard his footsteps. After about five minutes, he finally left my bedroom. I waited a few extra minutes before exiting. I went downstairs into the family room to put more distance between us.

I turned on the tube and mindlessly stared at Tom & Jerry. I had no interest in anything except getting the hell out of Senoia. The floorboards creaked, and I sighed. I didn't feel like being bothered by anyone. Out of my left peripheral, I saw Pop rounding the sofa. Blinking my eyes slowly and deliberately, I maintained my current line of sight. He sat down next to me, and the cushions sank underneath the weight of his body. The sound of oxygen entering and exiting his lungs annoyed me so I planned my departure. Just when I decided to get up and leave, he spoke.

"Crackle."

I didn't turn and I didn't respond.

"Crackle, come on now. I'm sorry. I dunno how many more ways I can say it."

He touched my knee with the palm of his hand and I lept off of the sofa as if someone poured piping hot water on me.

In a low scathing voice, I growled —through clenched teeth— what I decided would be the last words he'd ever hear from me.

"You! You knew exactly what you were doing." Pointing my finger, I stood over him.

"You knew what would happen. You knew what Momma would do. That's why you did it. I will never forgive you so can stop with your self-pity, tryin' to be innocent. That's one thing you will never be!"

My eyes widened, and the tears flowed against my will. He lept off of the couch, and attempted to embrace me but I pushed him with every ounce of strength I had. I knew he was stronger than me but I didn't care.

"Crackle, you're mah sister now. You can't stay mad at me forever. I really am sorry okay!"

His voice was elevated and I saw emotion in face. Could've been remorse or guilt. I couldn't tell. I'd become so accustomed to seeing no emotion at all, I couldn't decide if he was sincere or sincerely faking. I slapped his face as hard as I possibly could. It startled him and he froze with his mouth hanging open.

"The reason I can't believe you is because you knew when it happened and you didn't tell me. You had me walkin' around for a week lookin' the fool."

I hunched my shoulders and sarcastically huffed. I shook my head and walked away from him.

6.

The moments leading up to prom were more exciting and memorable than the actual event. Probably because I'd spent the majority of those moments with other girls, shopping for the dress.

Spending time with the person I actually wanted to attend prom with —Suzanna— balanced my regret. On prom night, I was tired from having spent the entire day primping and pampering myself with Momma by my side.

As I dressed, or I should say, as Momma dressed me, my thoughts were filled with Suzanna. Not my prom date, Gus. He felt that he'd won some great prize when I accepted his offer to attend prom with him. Every time I thought about holding his hand in an intimate way or kissing him, my stomach would twist into knots.

Momma helped me into my champagne colored, A-Line, scoop-neck, button, sleeveless, lace, ankle length dress that she'd tailored herself, because it was too long. It was puffy and elegant. Momma and I fought over the petticoat. But I'd won that fight, and we went with a silk slip instead.

I sat at her vanity table as she styled my golden locks into loose curls — removing the curlers I'd been wearing all day — and pinning my thick strands at the crown of my head. I couldn't help but smile at my reflection. Genuinely and warmly. Momma seemed so proud and I was grateful for all that she was doing to make it a memorable experience for me.

She told me to pinch my cheeks to flush out some color. After I pinched myself nearly red, she put sheer powder on my face. Delicately. When she was done applying all of the makeup, I gasped at the face staring back at me. I was actually beautiful. She finished me off by wrapping a satin champagne colored bow around my curls. My smile slowly faded as Miracle's face appeared in the reflection. She should've been there with me. She was robbed. Her parents were robbed. The whole damn world was.

I heard the doorbell, snapping me out of my reverie and I stood. Momma pointed her finger and, in her southern drawl instructed, "Do not come down the stairs for a full five minutes young lady. You're neva to be rushed. You'll keep him waitin' and make a grand entrance." She smiled and tears formed in her eyes.

"It's just prom, Momma. Don't start crying."

Too late. She was wiping her tears already. I reached out to hug her and she winced.

"No! No! You'll smudge your face. Now put on your gloves and wait 5 minutes before comin' down."

She patted her hands against her thighs and left the room.

I sat down on the bed and used the last few minutes to fix my facial expressions. I glanced in the mirror, and practiced my smile. After a while, I started feeling like an idiot and lost track of time.

I'm sure it's been longer than five minutes so I took one last look in the mirror before heading downstairs. As I descended, Gus came into view first. He was standing next to Momma and Daddy in his black and white bell bottom tuxedo. He was wearing a ruffled white shirt with a black cummerbund, and bow tie.

He beamed at me, and Momma screamed.

"Hold it! Stay right there!"

I froze midstride, three steps from the bottom as she grabbed her camera and started snapping pictures. I can't be sure, but I think I saw Daddy tearing up. Imagine that. Iron-hard Jackson McNeil getting misty-eyed over a lil ole prom dress.

After about five or six shots, I continued down the last few steps because Momma was likely never gonna stop. Gus paid me a compliment.

"You look beautiful."

He presented a gorgeous white corsage inside of a clear plastic box, and wrapped it around my wrist.

"Thanks, Gus."

We posed for a few dozen more photos for Momma until Daddy reeled her in.

"Okay Francine, let the kids breathe, why don't ya?"

Snap rose from the sofa, walked over and hugged me. Delicately, so as not to ruin my makeup. He leaned over, and whispered in my ear.

"All this ruffly puffy must be making you real happy right now."

He giggled. I elbowed him in the ribs. After he laughed, his face grew solemn.

"No, seriously. You look beautiful. Love you, sis. Have a good time. Gus, remember what we discussed."

Snap squeezed Gus's hand so hard that he whimpered. I surmised that Gus had been threatened. Probably by Daddy as well. Pop moved out after him and Daddy's heated argument. That hatred seemed to swallow Pop whole. The house was much more harmonious after his departure. But I felt that our family was broken by him.

Gus held out his arm, and I looped mine through it. Daddy opened the front door, and restrained Momma as she tearfully wished us a good time. There was a limousine waiting outside for us. It was a Cadillac Fleetwood series. Black and shiny. I'd never been inside of one before. Stepping out of the front door, the humidity greeted me in kind. And, my hair. I was hopeful that my face wouldn't melt away.

The chauffeur held the limousine door open for us. I entered first. I slid my bottom across the black interior, and absorbed the ambience. Gus rolled the window down so we could wave at Momma, Daddy, and Snap one last time before the driver pulled away from the curb.

The sun was beginning to set as we rode along at a steady pace. I tried my best not to think of Miracle but it was impossible. The whole prom thing just felt wrong. Especially since I was a member of the family who was responsible for stealing her prom away.

Gus cleared his throat. I tried to focus on the present. It was a very cozy ride. I tried to keep a respectable, unnoticeable distance from Gus. Didn't want him feeling welcomed to touch me, but not unwelcomed to converse with me.

He talked the entire ride. Clearly nervous. I wasn't very nervous. I was more concerned than anything. I'd heard the horror stories about boys turning into wolves on prom night. I wasn't not timid. I inherited that personality trait from Daddy. I just wanted to have a good time and go home.

As the limousine entered East Coweta High School's parking lot, both of our heads popped up. We elongated our necks to view the inside of the gym. I could see the lights and a few students sitting at round tables.

The chauffeur parked. I attempt to open my door. Gus grabbed my arm. I jerked away from him. He held his hands up apologetically.

"That's what the chauffeur is paid to do. He's paid to open our doors for us," he explained.

I felt incredibly stupid, and classless because my first thought was that Gus was trying to hold me hostage. Poor little me. I had never been on a date before.

We stepped out of the limousine to see that several students had come out of the gymnasium to see who had gone to such extravagant lengths for high school prom. After they'd satisfied their curiosity, they went back inside. Gossiping.

It was a tad much for Senoia. But Gus's family had what they called "ole southern money". I wasn't sure if that's the reason why Momma was so pleased that I'd accepted his offer or just simply because I was going out somewhere with a boy. Anyway, the point is, everyone should've known that Gus would pull out all the stops.

I allowed him to lead me inside. As soon as we entered, fellow classmate Holly ushered us to a table where we had to register. She was an unpopular brunette who wore glasses that nearly covered her entire face. She was a beauty. I smiled and greeted her. As Gus handled our registration, I turned all the way around.

I couldn't even tell that I was inside of the gym. There were literally hundreds of white balloons everywhere. There was a banner hanging from the ceiling. Class of 1977. Andy Gibb was singing about wanting to be someone's everything. The lyrics made me think of Suzanna. All I wanted to be was her anything.

My eyes began scanning the room for her. I didn't see her. My heart started sinking down into my feet. But I decided that I would dance, smile and enjoy myself regardless.

As soon as I'd made that decision, Gus came up behind me. Startling me with his closeness. His manhood grazed my hip. I didn't like it at all. I had never felt this uncomfortable before. Perhaps it was because I had never put myself in a position that would lead a boy into ever thinking that I was attracted to him.

He handed me a name tag, and I just held on to it. I actually thought that it'd clash with my gown. Plus it was a senseless gesture. Everyone knew everyone. Including the teachers and parents. Everyone knew everyone in town! I had such limited patience for unnecessary things, and yet, I went to senior prom.

We sat down in our assigned seats. I notice Jennifer grimacing at me. I'm no idiot. She was shooting daggers at me with her eyes because I was there with Gus. She felt that he was rightfully her date, since she was the most popular girl in school. Oh well. Clearly popularity will only carry you so far. Since it couldn't carry her to senior prom, I'm guessing she wouldn't get much further than that. Especially not with the horrible attitude she had. I wasn't attracted to that cruel bitch at all.

"Would you like some punch?" Gus offered.

"Yes, thank you."

I allowed Gus to lift my face by placing his finger underneath my chin. Yes, that was intentional on my part. After he gazed longingly into my vacant eyes, I glared over at Jennifer. Unintimidated. I'd never allowed myself to be bullied by anyone. Besides, most of them were afraid of my brothers. But Jennifer — she'd always try to test me.

Knowing that she'd never last a round toe to toe with me, she would always attempt to hurt me emotionally instead. She didn't know that I had become immune to the bullshit. I remember when she called me a dyke in front of everyone during gym class, as we were doing jumping jacks on the football field. I was stealing glances at Suzanna breasts, but so what. They were there, bouncing, perky, and she wasn't wearing a bra. Of course, I was gonna look! But why was Jennifer staring at me so hard in the first place? Following my gaze so intently that she'd even notice who or what I was looking at? Ole guilty witch.

I had always said that sooner or later, someone would teach Jennifer a lesson. Well, I had decided would learn that day. I walked right up to her and punched her in the face with my right fist. I got suspended and welcomed the mini vacation with open arms. I even sarcastically expressed my gratitude to the principal. Jennifer deserved it, and I never allowed anyone to make me feel guilty about it.

I wasn't embarrassed by the intentional reference she'd made. I was pissed off that she'd used a slur as if to insult me. That's like using the N word. She deserved a fist full of knuckles and so much more, but she was smart enough to stay down.

Anyway, I'm sure she was reliving that fistful moment as she squinted her eyes, and watched Gus walk away. From her. For me. Someone who didn't even want him. I smiled. I even heard an evil laugh inside of my head and by golly, it felt gooood. So good. Oh yeah baby.

Eventually she turned her head, and the night continued uneventfully until it was time to crown the King and Queen. I had voted for Suzanna for Queen, of course. But she'd kept her distance from everyone. Hanging around Mike all night. Mike was popular. Second only to Gus. But Mike was not Suzanna's date. Mike was white and Suzanna was black. More taboo bullshit.

Holly and James approached the microphone to make the announcement.

"May I have your attention please?" Holly began.

"Seniors, please. Aren't you anxious to know who you've crowned your King and Queen?" James squeaked.

Eventually Principal Bagley had to intervene before the students shut their mouths. I kept gazing Suzanna's way, and squirming out of Gus's arms, wrapped around my waist. Not only was he hugging me, he was massaging me. No matter how many times I moved his hand, that creepy bastard would find a way to put it back around my waist. I had decided I'd knee him in the nuts if he didn't cut it out.

Just then, the envelopes were ripped opened.

"Your class of 1977 prom Queen is Jennifer Smith!" Holly exclaimed.

I didn't raise my hands to clap. She knew that I didn't like her. Jennifer feigned surprise and glided onto the stage to be crowned.

"And your class of 1977 prom King is Michael Scott!"

Now that one surprised me. I assumed it would be Gus, and I could get an intermediate break from his grip. I looked over at him, and he seemed to be genuinely hurt by it.

After Michael was crowned, he and Jennifer danced their royal dance. Suzanna was not pleased, and she eventually stormed out. I followed her and caught up with her in the hallway. She was standing against the lockers with her head down.

"Suzie, are you alright?"

"I'm fine! Just go away."

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to make sure that you were okay."

I continued to approach her, hoping she'd be comforted.

"Are you deaf? I said I'm fine, Aleese. I don't need your pity so just go."

"I'm not here to pity you. I'm just here because — I — well, I thought you'd like some company."

I turned to walk away, but she stopped me.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean all that. It's just that I love Michael. But they all seem to love Jen, and she hates everybody. Why do people want who they can't have? Why can't people love the ones who love them?" She was clearly frustrated.

I'd wished that I had a concrete universal answer for her, but I didn't. Everyone had their own reasons for doing what they did, and feeling how they felt. Hell, why do humans oppress other humans on the basis of race, gender, and sexual orientation. The only answer for that is self-hatred.

"Jen hates herself, Suzie. She needs every boy's attention. Even the ones that she doesn't want. That's how much she hates herself. If Michael will entertain her, then he's not the one for you."

She snatched her head up and started crying.

"No. No Aleese!" she yelled.

She lowered her voice, then lowered a boom.

"You don't understand. It's not that simple anymore. I'm pregnant."

When Suzie told me that she was pregnant, I wasn't "end-of-the-world" surprised although it was just as taboo as girls kissing other girls. But the taboo label is for judgmental assholes who enjoyed putting shit in boxes that had nothing to do with them, and I didn't care much for that.

It was when she revealed that Etan was the father of her child that my judgments commenced. I just didn't understand how that worked out, with her being head over heels in love with Mike and all. You know, actually being in a relationship with someone else.

Prom night was — well prom night. Gus pecked me on the lips and that little light bulb turned on over my head. I was undeniably attracted to girls. No further experimentation required. After I attempted to escape, Gus tried to get laid but was unapologetically kneed in the groin by yours truly instead. After his anger dissipated, he actually tried wooing me "back" with flowers and candy for a month. Why Lord? Why?

I wouldn't want someone who didn't want me, and had never showed a single shred of interest in me. After that incident, I decided that I would never do something of that caliber to appease Momma again.

The reason prom night was memorable for me was because it was the first time, as a maturing young lady, I'd formed an insightful connection between what's taboo and what's forbidden.

Tramps getting knocked up amid a love triangle —minus the love— was completely customary. Whereas monogamous lesbian relationships were forbidden, as abnormal. The events following the pregnancy, that was eventually terminated, filled my insides with the kind of disgust that could only lead to anti-social behavior.

7.

When the acceptance letters began arriving in the mailbox, I just politely placed them on my dresser because I knew which one I was truly waiting for. The one that would allow me to live out the choice that Mr. Buford will likely always regret not making. So, this is for Miracle too.

As I sit at my drafting desk inside my tiny studio apartment in lower Manhattan's Greenwich Village, I lean my 5'2 frame back in my chair and sigh. I look into the nearby rectangular mirror on the wall and just gaze at myself.

The only way to maintain a tan in New York is to pay for it. Pass. According to the standard, I'm considered awkward anyway. No need to bronze ineptitude. But the great part about it is that I finally don't give a fuck.

There was a time when I did. I guess we all have a time to feel unsure about our physical appearance. I wish someone would invent a "Skip-The-Bullshit" time machine. It seems that every other parent teaches their child to make fun of other children who are different from them. That's the shitty way it seems.

I could dye and fry my hair different colors, and wear contact lenses to fit the placid persona I'm told that I possess. But that defeats the purpose. People completely miss the point. Every shade of hair, skin and eyes are beautiful. Everyone's body circumference is beautiful. I know we all generally want to be seen as beautiful to everyone, but everyone isn't spiritually capable of appreciating any form of beauty. Not even their own.

Due to society's lacking of spiritual beauty, I'm at odds with the entire intolerant world. I'm so allergic to their bullshit, I don't know what to do with myself sometimes. My combative nature causes my thoughts to wander and results in journal entries where I tend to ramble. Including this entry.

After so much strife in my early teens, I allowed myself to sink into a depressed state of anti-socialism. It was just easier that way. I didn't have to deal with everyone's biased opinions of the way the world should work. Every woman should be one size. If you're white, you should be this. If you're black, you should be that. If you're a woman, you shouldn't blah, blah, blah. Pass. Who was the first global Ambassador to decide this shit for the entire human race? That's what I wanna know.

Right now, every girl that I know is in love with John Ritter and John Travolta. I don't much care for trends. To follow nor create them. When love starts trending, let me know. I personally have a crush on Joyce DeWitt. She is so — curvy, bubbly and eccentric. I just love her!

The guys in my classes are know-it-alls who only feel smart when they succeed in embarrassing someone else. I sigh in frustration when I think of how little people have changed since I was 16. I had high hopes and they'd been effectively dashed until I met her. Cami. A sparkling, radiant 18 year old gem that I found lying in a pile of rubbish when I arrived in this town a year ago.

When I turned 18, and moved to New York, I had decided to try being social again. I made efforts by walking around the city every day during my free time. I'd visit the same coffee shop on 3rd and 52nd to start my days. That's where my life changed forever. That's where I met her.

She breezed through the door and ordered a Latte on a moist Saturday in September. Right before school began. Her shiny, onyx tresses were pulled into two parallel puffs on opposite sides of her face.

She was dressed in typical New York Fall gear. Dark gray sweater, Golden Fleece knitted scarf, black gloves, blue jeans, and black slouch boots. She was a bit more padded because it was a misty, overcast, and chilly day.

I was sitting in the corner of the shop with my hands wrapped around a warm cup of hot chocolate. I just stared at her like a dumb ass as she placed her order. At first she didn't notice me gawking at her. But then, her eyes glanced my way.

She had the brightest brown eyes I had ever seen. No makeup on her face because she had flawless chocolate brown skin. She was very feminine, and quite curvy. I like that. I dipped my head to conceal the blush that I felt rising to my face. I'd been longing for some color but not at that precise moment.

I turned to look out of the window, and within a few minutes, she was standing right in front of me.

"Hi. Do you mind if I sit here?" she asked me.

I looked up at her, and then glanced around the shop at the many vacant seats before replying.

"Yeah, sure."

I couldn't jump to conclusions just because she wanted to sit at a table and have coffee with a total stranger. I left the apartment with a specific goal. To meet new people.

I was utterly captivated by her. She was just so beautiful. Exquisite. Her round full face just beckoned for kisses. Mine.

"So, I gather that you're new in town?" she correctly assumed.

I smiled, without holding back.

"How'd you guess?"

"Everyone has that same expression, and gleam in their eye for some reason when they're new in town. Are you visiting?"

I couldn't stop blushing. If I continued on, I would've become a full blown apple. Thank goodness my brain processed a reply.

"Uh, no. I've been here for a few weeks. I start at NYU next week. What about you?"

She smiled, revealing her pretty teeth and mouth. I'm sure that I was staring, but I couldn't stop making love to her face.

"I was born and raised and in the Bronx. Castle Hill. Hated it. So first chance I got, I moved to the City."

I had never been to the Bronx, Queens, Harlem or Brooklyn. I stayed right in the City where Momma and Daddy told me that I'd be safest. I was curious, so I asked.

"What's it like in the Bronx?"

She lowered her head, then looked up at me through her lashes. She was definitely flirting with me. My insides oozed into my jeans, and my clitoris tingled in response. The skin on my neck was on fire, so I removed my scarf.

"Hey, are you alright?" she giggled, placing her hand on my shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm okay. It just feels a little warm in here." I cleared my throat, and smiled awkwardly.

From the look in her eyes, she knew exactly what was wrong with me. But she was classy enough to continue our conversation without making me feel uncomfortable.

"Well, the Bronx are a bit boring. Anything worth doing, you gotta come to the City. All of the jobs are here, entertainment, access, hotels — just everything. The Bronx is full of residences and people. Not much else."

She finally removed her gloves, allowing me to look at her elegant hands. She was wearing rose colored nail polish that accentuated her slender fingers. Blush in fall. She was a rebel. Like me.

After conversing for several hours, we took a stroll without considering the direction we were going. We just walked and ended up everywhere. I was so lost inside of her. That good ole pure happiness I hadn't experienced since I was 10, had made a comeback. As nightfall approached, I realized that she didn't want to go home. I didn't want her to go either. Wherever home might have previously been. I felt it was with me now.

As we stood in front of Harris Movie Theater in Times Square on 42nd, we awkwardly fidgeted. Neither of us wanting to scare the other away with clinginess on — what I considered — a first date. We turned to face each other and she stepped closer. So close that I could smell the ice cream from earlier on her breath. Her scent was delicious.

"Want to just hang out and catch a movie?" she offered.

My heart literally leapt from its seat and began dancing inside of my chest, but I had to play it cool.

"Sure, yeah. What's playing?"

She grabbed my hand. Her soft, delicateness sent the most delectable, exhilarating chill through my body.

Without thinking twice, I interlocked my fingers with hers and glanced up at the marquee. We quickly narrowed it down between the Empire Strikes Back and Smokey & the Bandit II. There was a wait for Empire so we simultaneously glanced at each other and agreed.

"Smokey."

Cami admitted that she was a Burt Reynold's fan. I, of course, a Sally Fields fan.

We held hands the entire film. We giggled at Jackie Gleason's performance, and loved every minute. He most certainly stole the show. When you're 18, you can find humor in nearly everything and we did. I kept stealing glances her way and I occasionally felt her eyes on me. She was even more beautiful lit by the glow of the big screen. I never wanted the movie to end.

We caressed each other's hands and walked out of the theater. At the time, I had no clue what the future held for me, her or us. All I knew for a fact was that I wanted her in my life. Simple. Uncomplicated.

My apartment was closer and it was late. Even if we were in the middle of the Sahara at 10am, my feeling would've been the same. I didn't want to let her go. I offered her accommodations on my tiny sofa and she accepted with such glee, you'd think I'd offered to put her up at the Waldorf Astoria. Her enthusiasm warmed my heart and we walked briskly to my apartment.

I unlocked the door and entered first. After giving her a miniature tour of my flat, I nervously began removing the blanket from my bed. I had no extra anything to offer her. I never thought that I'd ever have a guest stay the night. As I was bent over yanking the blankets from their tucked corners, I felt her body lean against my bottom. I immediately turned to face her.

I took my time drinking in the moment as I hadn't had a drop to drink for days. Savoring it. Living it. Extending it. I had never shared anything more than a kiss with a girl —or anyone— before. My heart was hammering against my chest cavity. Trying desperately to escape me. She touched my face. Gently, with the tips of her warm soft fingers. I leaned my head against her palm and inhaled her skin. Allowing my lips to graze the inside of her palm. I kissed it, slowly and softly. She came even closer, until our breasts kissed. Erect and eager. She was so soft and curvy. We simultaneously sat down on the bed and leaned into each other.

When I woke up the next morning, I vowed never to repeat an emotion that I'd felt before meeting her. Including dutiful happiness.

I lay on the bed staring up at the ceiling. Wow, that actually happened. After Cami leaves, I sit down at my desk and begin journaling the truly happiest moment I'd ever experienced.

When I first arrived here in New York, I was depressed. Cami was depressed. But I was also happy and so was she. We were both melting pots of emotions and we spilled all over each other, creating an even bigger pot. The moment we realized that we were in love and committed, we became walking freak zombies to be gawked at. Imagine that.

In a city full of abstract art and seemingly invisible bodies lying on the streets that people literally step right over. This is a town where a human being can gloriously blend until they disappear. But somehow, when I'm holding Cami's hand, the whispers begin. Like what are we? Zoo exhibits?
8.

I look around the apartment and listen for sounds to place me in time or memory. Children splashing in water from the rain last night. Impatient drivers. Honking their horns incessantly. Profanity.

I dream of Miracle nearly every night. Especially if I make a journal entry before bed. I daydream about her often too. More like seeing her in every smiling face, except Cami's. When I look at Cami, all I see is Cami.

But when I'm in class, I'll usually close my eyes and allow Miracle's beautiful angelic face —standing in the sunlight— to transport me until we're holding hands and running through a field of sunflowers. Yellow was her favorite color.

Snap out of it, Crackle.

It's Saturday. I reluctantly get out of bed and take a quick shower. Though lazily, I dress with a purpose. Cami and I are having date night out. I'm a simple person so I select a worn pair of blue jeans and a t-shirt. I brush my hair until it shines and allow the strands to fall where they may.

I decide to pass the time by doing a little reading and writing. I lay tummy down with my legs bent backwards on my bed, and grab a classic from my nightstand. I also grab my journal just in case I decide to write. As I lay reading Hamlet for the 100th time, my mind drifts back to my high school days, midway of Act 3, Scene 1. I remember feeling more Ophelia-ish than ever then.

Any relationship requires getting to know that person for who they reveal themselves to be, what they can handle and how they handle situations. Forgetful parents, annoying siblings, overbearing friends and last but not least, bipolar girlfriends. Cami and I have been dating for three years now. We're nearly done with college and planning a future together. Joyfully investing in each other instead of just wasting time and having fun until our youth escapes us.

We'd recently gone out on a date where we were approached by a group of young white guys. They were roughly our age. Cami immediately released her grip on my hand after the group noticed us. It hurt my feelings that she'd let me go out of fear. I didn't care about them and didn't hear anything that they might have possibly been saying.

I turned my complete attention to Cami, and reached my hand back out to her. As my abandoned hand dangled in the air, tears began to well and I'd gotten a glimpse at a ruined life we may live if Cami allowed others to write the rules on her personal life. She'd lowered her head and turned to walk away as the group approached. Their idiotic "leader" spoke first by asking and answering his own questions.

"So, are you dykes like a thing or something? You two supposed to be in love?"

He laughs, and waves his hands idiotically in the air as his blind soulless followers join him in laughter.

"So, how does it work exactly? You know, with no dick and all? A hole is meant to be poked. Do you just lick each other's pussy and pretend you're satisfied? With a nigger bitch, no less."

His friends high-five him. Cami is clearly hurt, and embarrassed. I'm not embarrassed, but I am hurting for her. I'm scalding, and disgusted by his lack of dignity. I'm not an "endure-it-all-gracefully" kind of person. I clap back.

"Uh, no asshole. We're not supposed to be anything. We are in love. We are happy. We are together. We are satisfied. And who do you think you are with that fake leather zippered jacket on? Oh — that's right. You're mimicking the looks of a colored man. Michael Jackson. You don't even know who the fuck you are or why you're filled with so much hatred."

He face, once ripe with arrogance, was frowned with anger and beet-red. Must've been a guilty conscience. He stood there with his mouth agape in disbelief, and his friends laughing at him instead of with him. I gave zero fucks. I turned to walk away, but couldn't resist finishing him off.

"Oh and yes, we are satisfied without tiny little white shriveled up penises like the one you're harboring between your legs right now that's giving you this false sense of superiority — knowing full well that you're likely in love with one of your buddies here. Fuck off asshole."

"You bitch!" he screamed.

I snatched Cami's hand, and rushed her to the main street — pushing her into the first cab that stopped. We rode in silence, saving the heat for the four walls unlucky enough to absorb our fire that night. We walked up the stairs and unlocked the apartment door.

As soon as the door closed, Cami went in on me.

"Crackle, you can't just make decisions to confront people when that confrontation affects both of us!"

"Cami, I was defending you! Us! But you let me go. You left me to stand alone, defending us. You should never let me go for the sake of someone else because I would never let you go!"

"Crackle, stop. Just stop. You don't get it. I told you that I'm not ready for the world to be in my personal business. Have you taken a look around you? Do you see how the world works?"

She was too calm for my taste.

"Hello? 1969? Greenwich Village raid? Stonewall Inn? Right down the street. Ring any bells?" she asks. "This is life!"

I knew that she was referring to the police raid of the gay bar where the patrons fought back. We discussed it ad nauseam in my sociology class. Everyone thought the incident would spark the gay civil rights movement but hate keeps winning out. How do I know? Well, the fact that there was an even a debate about it revealed the problematic individuals. But the fact that Cami cited it again, provoked my rant.

"That's not life! That's a waste of life! That is yet something else that is out of our control Cami —"

"But being harassed all the time is within our control? Babe, please respect that I'm not ready to co—"

"That's just the thing! We don't have to come out of somewhere we were never hiding in the first place. That's not us. That's not for us. I just wanna live! Stop allowing that to weigh down on you so heavily. We don't need to follow random rules that people make up depending on how they feel about themselves."

"We don't need to dress a certain way to make others feel comfortable. Stop living for them. We can hold hands. We can be in love. We can have children. We don't need anybody's fucking permission or approval, Cami!"

"All of that is easy for you to say because —"

"Because what? Because I'm white, right?"

"Yeah, babe. That's exactly right."

Cami resigned herself. She placed her palms in the air facing me, and moved them a circular motion as she softly spoke.

"You need to see past this anger, and frustration you're feeling right now, and check your white privilege. You can do and be anything you want without much fear of persecution. I feel — caged. Not ashamed. Just trapped. Always fearful for my life."

Her voice squeaked as she became emotional.

"White woman? Okay. Black woman? Not okay. Now add lesbian to the end of both of those and tell me which one is worse."

Cami slammed herself down on the bed, and openly wept. I felt her frustration. I've seen the struggles for people of color, and I really needed to learn how to handle my mouth. My rant was inconsiderate of her, her family and ancestors. Dammit Crackle. Sitting down beside her, I wrapped my arms around her and just held her tightly for a while.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I don't know what it's like to be a person of color. I don't. No matter what I've witnessed or have been told. I can imagine but I haven't walked a mile in your shoes. Not even a foot. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable or threatened. But I also don't want you to hide. At least not for the rest of your life. Our life. We'll do this together and find our own ways okay? I love you. I'm sorry."

"No, Crackle," she sniffled. "It's not even your apology to make. I'm not going to allow you to accept responsibility for anyone else's shit any more. I just — I need some space. Some time to think."

I gasped as my insides slowly shattered into pieces.

"What are you saying, Cam? Are you breaking up with me?"

"I just need some time to think, Crackle. That's all I'm saying."

She got up, grabbed her purse and walked out of the front door. I just sat, with tears streaming down my face. Unable to move. Trying to figure out what I'd done so I could fix it. Cami is my one and only, and I couldn't imagine life without her. I just couldn't.

Weeks pass. I've been in a mental, and emotional coma. As I sit at the kitchen counter scooping mounds of cold, creamy, cookie-filled ice cream into my mouth, Snap absentmindedly inquires.

"How are you feeling, Crackle?"

I just freeze, and squint my eyes. Tilting my head to the right, and slamming my arm down on the counter, I attack him with rhetoric and sarcasm.

"I'm eating ice cream from the fucking carton, dumb ass! How great could I possibly be?"

I sigh, continuing my rant.

"I'm guessing you failed 'When A Woman's Upset 101.'"

I feel awful because I imagine that he has no clue how to approach me right now. I'm sure that's because I'd never dated nor been in a relationship prior to Cami. Snap's the only one who doesn't give me shit about my lifestyle.

"I'm sorry, Etan. I'm just in a shitty mood right now. My emotions are scattered."

I lean my forehead against the tips of my fingers to express my exasperation. He rubs my back with the palm of his hand and doesn't speak this time. I just lay my head against his chest and sob. He is truly my best friend in this whole wide crappy ass world.

Etan moved to New York to be closer to me and also to escape the stale-ass monotony of Senoia. The only thing I wondered when he told me he was moving was, what took him so long. I burst out of the gate like a Cumberland horse towards the sandy shores as soon as I heard the gunshot.

Blake's still down there swallowed up inside of the hole. Refusing to change and growing more hateful by the day. It's difficult to have conversations with him because his mind is as one-dimensional as Momma's. Even more so. At least she has a softer side. Blake ain't got that. He's like a poisonous dart, aimed at the same spot on the wall every day.

He's married with children now. His wife seems to be just as wicked. I guess that would be a requirement for socially acceptable relationships. Mutual agreement to hate what the other hates. And, queue disgust.

9.

I recall the first time that Snap attempted to rationalize the ignorant behavior of others when I'd tell him about me and Cami's encounters with idiots.

He said, "Maybe it's because they just don't understand."

I doused my surmounting fiery anger because I'd picked up on the double entendres he'd been dropping during our conversation. He's a good man. He wanted to know for himself so that he could understand. He just didn't know how to ask.

Let me dispel the first common misconception about us humans. I don't hate men. Not being sexually attracted isn't the equivalent of hate, let me tell ya. But society automatically place me and Cami inside of the "hate all men" category. In my short time on this planet, I've yet to meet a man who has had his heart broken by a woman and didn't blame the entire female species for that heart break. Including my brothers. But, they get a pass for that of course.

I also wasn't sexually abused by anyone, I never joined an all-girl sex cult nor have I spent time in prison. All of these are society's grasps at reasons why someone falls in love with someone of the same sex. If there's no mathematical, life-altering or scientific reason why Lisa fell in love with Bob, then there doesn't need to be a reason why Crackle fell in love with Cami. Not that I haven't struggled with it because I initially felt that I owed people an answer. A reason.

The struggle came about as I was regularly viewed as some alien from another planet. Men couldn't understand why I didn't want them sexually. A college classmate Richard wouldn't stop pursuing me until I had no choice but to report him for harassment. In all honesty, it doesn't matter why someone isn't interested in us. All that we should accept is that they're not. Richard was extremely egotistical, and honestly, repelled me in every possible way. I'm sure I would've hated him if he had a vagina.

He was just one of the dozens who couldn't accept that I didn't fit society's perception of how a young girl should carry herself if she's attracted to other girls. According to them, I should have multiple piercings, tattoos, have a deep voice, short black spikey hair, wear men's clothing, have male mannerisms or just simply not exist. Where do people get this shit from?

After deciding that it didn't matter where the ignorance came from, I made things right with Cami. We laid ourselves out on the table, kicking black and white's asses to the imaginary curb. It wasn't our responsibility to cure the minds of the masses. No matter how tiny the desire may have been, I let it go because it was a greater burden than I was willing to carry.

My best advice to anyone who may feel that they just can't understand how or why, is this: Stop. Remove the gender restriction that's been embedded inside the core of your morality and just think about love. Problem fucking solved.

The apartment is filled with the aroma of pot roast and potatoes. Cami is laying on the bed watching the tube, and I'm setting the table for dinner. She's topless — wearing only purple-lace boy shorts that reveal the roundness of her bottom, and I can't stop staring. It looks like an inverted heart, smiling at me. Her skin is glowing, and I feel my vagina tingle in that familiar way. My body is screaming out for hers.

I drop the silverware that I'm holding, and walk over to her. Standing next to the bed, I lift my pajama top over my head and drop it on the floor. I feel my breasts jiggle as I remove my hair tie, freeing my golden strands from captivity. With a mischievous grin on her face, she rolls over onto her back and spreads her legs apart — welcoming me.

I climb onto the bed, and lay my body on top of hers. Her whole body is soft. Every inch. Her ample breasts are like firm pillows, and her dark areolas are fucking amazing. I run my fingertips across her nipples, and they become even more engorged. I enjoy the look in her eyes.

Feeling the intense heat rising from her damp folds, I tease her by moving my body against hers. Undulating in a vertical fashion. Every time I come up, I hungrily demand her mouth and she delivers. Nibbling and sucking.

She pushes me onto my back and runs the tips of her fingers along my neck, down my ribs and grazes my slit through my panties. I cry out and pin my knees against the mattress. Through glazed eyes, I look up at her and she's in complete control. Slowly, she tugs at my panties until they're around my hips. Before I can lift to assist, she rips them off and pushes her palms against the back of my thighs — forcing my legs where she wants them to go.

My breathing is so ragged that I couldn't speak even if I tried. All I can do is desperately reach my hands out for her. But her mouth is already covering my labia, and I close my eyes in ecstasy.

The alarm clock buzzes. We simultaneously groan in disappointment. Monday, I fucking hate you. I immediately begin contemplating dropping out of school or skipping class. One day can't be that detrimental to a college degree can it? Ugh, I'm exhausted. I guess Cami and I shouldn't have gone three rounds last night. Can't be lazy now right? Or can I? Argh! Rules suck! Reaching over, I grab a hand full of Cami's perfect supple bottom and squeeze.

"Time to get up, babe. Life is waiting for its turn to punch us in the face, and we can't disappoint." My tone dripping with sarcasm and angst.

She groans and kicks her feet like a toddler.

"Noooo, fuck life! Ten more minutes, Crackle."

I giggle and make my way into the restroom. I turn on the faucet and stretch my arms to the ceiling, waiting for the water to warm. I grab my toothbrush from the holder and listen to the running water. I remember the time I rushed Miracle into the house to wash her hand after she's cut herself playing in the backyard. Momma went through the roof.

I didn't know what else I should have done at the time. Let her bleed to death? Send her all the way home when we had a perfectly functional sink? Momma yelled at me like I was one of her stupid friends before hauling off and slapping me in the face. She had never hit me before then, so I was startled, and angry. Very, very angry.

Miracle just stood there. Helpless and afraid. Apologizing repeatedly as Momma spit fire at us. I was only seven years old at the time but I know the look on my face had to be one that could kill because Momma slowly backed out the restroom, and continued shouting instructions from the doorway.

"Don't eva let me catch her in this bathroom again, Crackle," she'd huffed before storming away.

Every household on the block had a colored maid but us. Meaning, they had a person of color cook their meals, wash their clothes, tend their children, scrub their toilets, anything else and everything else in between. But lil ole Miracle couldn't wash her hands in our bathroom sink. I owed her an apology.

"I'm sorry, Miracle."

She stormed out of the house, through the back door. Crying. That's one of my most hated memories of how deeply imbedded Jim Crow was even though it had already been outlawed. Before it had been outlawed, the hateful community rationalized their actions by citing the law. Feigning helplessness. So, imagine the excuses they couldn't up with after the laws changed.

"Save some hot water for me," Cami says — snapping me out of my daze and kissing me on my right cheek. I brush my teeth in a daze, and watch her move around like a zombie the in the reflection of the mirror. Times have changed and are changing. I am grateful for it.

10.

The birds chirp harmoniously outside my window from the sparse green trees. Cami calls to ensure that I'm not reminiscing, and drags me back to the present. Not kicking or screaming. We cupcake for hours on the phone before we plan to meet up for lunch. She always prefers to meet here in the Village. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear she was hiding me from her family. As I dress with glee, I shake off the negative thoughts and smile to myself. I am actually doing it. I'm living independently as an adult. Away from Senoia. I'd been planning my escape since the age of eleven.

I need to be careful about the chip I carry on my shoulder or I'll just create another Senoia around me wherever I go. I don't want to cage myself unnecessarily. But when something hurts, it hurts. I don't know if it ever stops hurting or if we just learn to deal with it. Either way, it still hurts. Perhaps my bitterness has something to do with the resentment I harbor against the most evil people I've ever come across in my life — who just so happen to be my kin. I don't have time for this. I need to get to Cami.

Before I begin my routine, I stop by the bookshelf and contemplate between Michael Jackson and Mozart. Deciding on Mozart, I gently place the needle on the spinning vinyl, and turn on the shower water. I brush my teeth to the overture. The Marriage of Figaro fills the tiny apartment and I glide from spot to spot. Playing my invisible violin, I undress and hop into the shower. I thoroughly wash and rinse myself clean. Allowing all of the dirt from my skin and mind to enter the drain.

Arriving at Mercutio's six blocks from home, I see Cami sitting outside waiting for me. The day couldn't be any more perfect and the weather is actually fair. She's like a teddy bear filled with sunshine and joy. She looks up and sees me approaching. Her entire facial expression changes from bored to glee. I smile in return and hasten my stride. She bounds from her chair and embraces me. I wrap my arms around her and squeeze.

"How are you able to dress down and manage to be flawless?" she beams.

"Oh Cami stop it. You're so gorgeous, as always."

"I'll never stop telling you that you're beautiful so that's a request you can never make." She smiles and bats her long lashes.

"Babe, I ordered you a diet cola. I hope that's alright with you."

Cami knows that I don't drink that poison.

"Er yes, thank you for ordering eight fizzing ounces of death for me. I greatly appreciate that." I laugh.

"Well, I plan to die with you so you may as well drink what I drink." She winks her eye and I don't know why her Romeo & Juliet-like reference sends tingles up my spine. I guess it truly is nice to know that someone feels the same way you feel. I just blush, and open the menu wide enough to cover my face.

"Can I come home with you tonight and never leave?" she asks flirtatiously. Uh duh.

"Don't play with my emotions. You already know the answer so don't go there until you're ready."

She suddenly gets quiet and I lower my menu to view her face. She's serious. After she sighs, she reaches for my hand. I grab hers anxiously. Cami's never been a fan of PDA's (public displays of attention). So the fact that she's holding my hand at a restaurant is huge. We massage each other's hands and I wait for her to speak her thoughts. When my concern boils over, I open my mouth to speak but she beats me to it.

"I'm ready. I'm ready to move in and take the next step. Whatever that may be. I'm beyond that simple being in love romance that we see in the movies. You're my spiritual mate, Crackle and I never wanna be away from you. I'd rather die."

After she completes her intimate confession, she lowers her head. I didn't realize that my mouth was hanging open until I formed an actual thought — which subsequently required the use of my mouth to express it.

"Cami, come home. It's always been your home."

She smiles and lets out a sigh of relief. I know she couldn't have possibly thought that I'd feel unsure about this. Or even contemplative. I've never held back, been embarrassed or fearful. I've always been ready for forever.

"Well, will you look at that? No confetti. No violins or harps. Just a waitress waiting in the wings to take our order. Not as big screen of a moment as you thought it'd be right?" I chuckle.

Just as I raise my menu, Cami leans over and kisses me on my lips. I'm startled and delighted. I can't imagine how doofus I must look right now but I'm literally over the moon with joy. I cup her beautiful cocoa face between my hands and taste her mouth. Over and over again. By the time I lean back in my chair, I forget what I was even there for.

"Uh hem." The waitress clears her throat to get out attention.

Oh right, food. Cami laughs at me and we order our meals. She orders the Caprese salad and French fries. I order a margherita pizza.

When our food arrives, Cami perks up.

"I'm really behind on my studies. Do you mind if I do a little reading while we eat?" she asks.

"Of course not babe," I reply with a smile.

She can do whatever she wants, except leave me. She buries her head inside of a textbook, sticks her fork into the salad without looking at what she's shoveling into her mouth and I smile.

She attends BMCC —a junior college in Manhattan— where she majors in Business. I major in Sociology but have seriously considered switching to Psychology or Behavioral Neuroscience. I plan to speak to a counselor about a double major.

Today is a day that I want to always remember so I reach over and remove my journal from my bag. I open it and the gentle breeze rustles the cream colored pages. Hopeful for a future that I've been praying for, I know that I need to heal my past. I pull a cheesy slice of pizza from the pan and bite into it.

I take a sip of my iced tea, sigh and glance over at Cami. She's still buried in her studies, completely unaware that I'm staring at her. I know that I need to get a handle on the mixed emotions I have regarding Blake and Momma. I stopped calling him Pop when I was eleven. He just didn't deserve the loving pet name anymore. Not in my eyes. I exiled him from my heart completely. He just didn't deserve to be there. But family is family.

Sometimes we plant destructive seeds in our own gardens because we're hurt and allow bull thistle weeds to outgrow the roses — hurting us even more and for longer. Hmm before I go trying to fix something that I didn't break, I've never met anyone in Cami's family. She's at least met Snap and sees him often. It's not like I'm hiding her from anyone. The rest of my family lives in Georgia while her family is right here in New York.

"Cami, let's invite your family out to dinner next weekend after you've settled in," I offer.

She stops chewing her food and closes her textbook. I'm preparing myself for whatever her response may be. No matter what it is, we'll work through it.

"Crackle, my family isn't like yours," she begins. "Not only do they have a problem when my sexual preference, some of our family in California are former Black Panthers."

She seems to lower her head in shame. But she has nothing to be ashamed of. She doesn't know that my family isn't perfect. Far from it, in fact. Snap is just an awesome representative of dysfunction.

I scoot my chair next to hers and hold her hand.

"You don't need to explain," I comfort her — lifting her face to mine, "and you don't ever need to feel ashamed. I completely understand. When the time is right, you'll know." I kiss her lips and she leans her head against my shoulder.

I imagine that certain members of her family would advise her not to date a white girl and might resent me for the actions of others. After all, her family is oppressed. Human thoughts of them versus us is the foundation of the divide and I don't want to further separate us by choosing selective blindness over recognition.

But at some point in time, they'll need to accept that I'm not an Ambassador. I'm just one person who happens to be in love with their daughter.

If I'm hopeful for that minimal acceptance from them, then I need to square my own shit away. Starting with Blake. Momma is older and will be the most difficult. I'm not trying to change their minds anymore. I just need to find a place in my heart that wants to forgive them. Forgiveness is the gateway to peace.

11.

Cami's gone. She has class today. She'd transferred to NYU two years back, and has been working her butt off ever since. We're graduating together and that advancement required her to take additional classes — temporarily foregoing a social life. She'd literally matured before my very eyes. I am extremely proud of her. Not everyone cares to see her succeed. I constantly snatch her face away from the negativity. It's too easy to get caught in its web.

I'm at home studying for midterms. Which, honestly is the same as studying for finals because they're only 45 to 50 days apart. It's so unbelievable that four years have passed so quickly. I'm officially legal this year. I'm old enough to purchase alcoholic beverages now.

Wowee, I sarcastically soliloquize. What a wonderful feeling to have the legal right to destroy my liver at an accelerated rate. Laughing at myself, I bounce onto my bed and grab my diary. I've grown bored of Durkheim. I need a break.

I don't know why, but my big brother comes to mind. I should have made more attempts to crack his shell. Without realizing it, I pick up the telephone and dial his number.

"Hello?"

"Hi Ann," I greet his wife.

Clearing my throat nervously.

"This is Aleese. Po — uh, Blake's sister. I apologize for calling so late."

"Hi Aleese. It's quite alright. I'll just run and get him."

I twirl the thick spiraled phone around my index finger as I wait apprehensively for Blake to come to the phone. After a few minutes, I resign myself. I'm sure he doesn't even wanna speak to me. Just as I'm about to remove the receiver from my ear, I hear his voice.

"Crackle?"

Suddenly, my voice is stuck in my throat.

"Hello? Crackle are you still there? Hello!"

"Hi. How are you?" I greet him. I don't really know what to say. We haven't spoken in over 4 years.

"I'm fine. I'm just fine. How're you doin' all the way up there in the Big Apple?" he inquires in his southern twang.

"Oh, everything here is fine. I graduate soon."

I don't know how to make small talk, but I'm definitely willing to try.

"Oh yeah? Congratulations there lil sister. I'm uh — I'm proud of you."

The sincerity and sorrow in his voice are tugging at my heart strings.

"Thanks," I giggle nervously.

There's an uncomfortable moment of silence as we both search for the proper conversation to have.

"Do you plan to move back to Georgia after graduation?"

"No!" I exclaim before laughing.

"I mean, no. I like it here. I plan to stay. How are things in Senoia?"

"Ah we moved to Laurens County a couple years back. Rockledge. It's a 2 hour drive into Atlanta but that's just fine by me. It's better for the kids here and Ann loves it."

I feel horrible because I don't know my niece and nephew Richie and Constance, and they don't know me. They're 3 and 4 years old now.

"Oh that's nice. What's in Atlanta?" I investigate.

Why would my brother be traveling to a city where the demographics aren't quite to his liking?

"I volunteer at Peachtree Baptist Church every weekend."

His revelation floors me. That's the church the Buford's used to attend. But why would he? I gasp when I realize what he's telling me.

"Blake, you — I..." I struggle for the words. "How long?"

"Since before your prom," he reveals.

After I fail to speak for several seconds, he reopens the lines of communication.

"I'd like to come out for your graduation. If — if that's okay. I mean, I'd understand if you wouldn't want me to come. I — I know we haven't —"

"Blake, I'd love for you come," I interrupt his ramble.

We converse for another hour before finally hanging up. I sit in a daze for a few. Ashamed of myself and grateful to God. We can't be right all the time, even if we were right when it all began. We can still end up in the wrong if we're unforgiving.

Just as I am completing my entry, I hear the key in the door lock before Cami enters, holding a paper grocery bag in her left arm. I'm eager to tell her that Blake's attending graduation.

Pop. For all that I've judged him for, I've accordingly misjudged. Pop has dedicated his life to making reparations for what he harbored guilt over. Every weekend he's been driving into Atlanta and volunteering his time to urban youth. Assisting at Peachtree Baptist Church. Donating everything he could and taking up collections for Miracle's family every week.

Now, I never knew any of this because I'd separated myself from him instead of allowing him the change that I'd hoped for. He'd changed but I didn't care to know that. I was angry, and it devoured my insides. I had unwillingly become a part of the evil that I couldn't understand.

He'd even been writing me letters every single day since he left Daddy's house. His wife held on to all of the sealed letters that he refused to mail. He had believed that I would refuse the letters, and I believed that he would never change. We had both stolen each other's choice by refusing opportunity. I have done nothing but be angry, resentful and damaged.

Today's the last Monday I'll spend as an undergrad. Thank the Good Lord in heaven. Graduation is this weekend and Pop's staying at Snap's apartment. Poor Blake. Snap's a pig. Pop had driven from Georgia to New York, 14 hours straight, without stopping to sleep. I can't stop thinking about that part.

Momma and Daddy are flying out on Friday. Daddy's made some calls to his friends in the marketing business on my behalf. I told him that I can find my own job. Cami told me that I was being ridiculous because so few black families maintain a vantage point to be able to help their children. "That's what parents are supposed to do, and I sure expect that we'll do the same when we have children," she'd said.

She'd made a great point. As usual. She's graduating Summa Cum Laude. Starting from a junior college and working her entire way through. I'm so damn proud of her. Her family is proud of her. Well, her Momma is. Her Daddy is another story.

When we'd finally all sat down for dinner, that topic was the saving grace of the evening. At first they'd gone on and on about how she couldn't afford to be lesbian as a black woman. How she had to follow the rules of life in order to succeed. How being in a relationship with me would ruin her life and so on.

I sat for as long as I could, allowing them to talk about me like I wasn't there. Cami, near tears, was about to get up from the table until her Daddy yelled at her.

"Cameron, sit your black ass down! Don't run out on us while we're talking to you!"

Talking? That's not exactly what he was doing but I tried to stay out of it. It should have been a slap in her face, but it was a slap in mine because my head whipped back. Not hers.

I don't know all of their family history but I've witnessed Cami bust her ass every single day, and I felt that her father was using her sexual orientation as an excuse to overlook her accomplishments. I felt the least they could do was acknowledge her efforts. I politely interrupted him as he talked down to his daughter.

"Excuse me Mr. Johnson, sir. I understand how you may feel about me but Cami works diligently every single day. She never misses class. She studies all night. She works part-time. She doesn't party —"

He stops me mid-sentence, "Now hold on there Miss 'MacNeil', but this is my daughter. I can talk to her any way I damn well please in my own house.'"

Lord help me because I couldn't hold back, so I took the risk of being thrown out on my ass. I'm her first line of defense, and I bravely drew my gun. Seeing the tears streaming down Cami's cheeks, I suddenly didn't give a damn about being rude anymore. I chambered a round before firing.

"Mr. Johnson, my last name is McNeil. Not MacNeil. I think Cami has enough people in the world going against her. That shouldn't include you. We've been sitting here for an hour, and not once have you acknowledged your daughter's hard work. She's graduating Summa Cum Laude. That is the highest possible honor any student can receive."

"A black woman, transferring from a junior college to one that's predominately white, and surpassing them in every possible way. She's eclipsed every white and black student at that college who've had their parents pay their way. No one else at that school is graduating with higher honors than your daughter, sir. Without help. Without money or privilege. With society rooting for her to fail. I think she deserves a pat on the back for that."

I notice a smile form on Mrs. Johnson's lips. Just as he rose from his chair to resume yelling at me, his wife intercedes.

"Daniel, sit down. The young lady is right."

Mrs. Johnson grabbed her daughter's hand. "Cameron we are proud of you. We are baby. We've just — seen so many horrible things happen. We only wanted to save you from the same fate, if we could. Now we understand that you're going to live your life the way you want and you should. You're living in a time where black people have more freedom than we ever have before. We can't keep living in the past — in fear. So you go on ahead and be happy. That's all we've ever wanted for you."

She hugs her crying daughter, and Mr. Johnson glares at me. I didn't give a damn then and I give less than a damn now.

I knew Cum Laude would be my highest honor because of the direction I'd taken my education. I spread myself pretty thin so I could have more options. I didn't want to invest in just one thing, and I've already decided that I won't be pursuing a Master's. My heart is just not pulling me in that direction. I want to help people who need it. Hard to do that as a career student.

12.

I decide to do some light shopping while Cami's at work. Finals are over, so all that's left is paperwork. This is actually quite a relief. I've been looking forward to some freedom.

I always knew that New York would be rich and cultured, and I was excited about it. I just never imagined that I'd meet someone like Cami. That's made all of this worthwhile. Not the degree.

I walk into Macy's on 34th and make up my mind that I'm not here to buy anything that I don't need. Aaahhhh the trap. As soon as I enter, there are salesmen lined up offering samples of perfumes. I place my palms up to block my view and run past them screaming "no thank you" along the way. I'm not falling for it this time.

I run to the escalator and ride it to hosiery and lingerie. "Just pantyhose and shoes Crackle. Nothing else," I repeat aloud. I know other patrons are looking at me crazy but a real woman will understand the need for the self-talk. I have a watch that I don't need that's sitting on my desk at home right now from my last trip to Macy's.

I grab the nude pantyhose and swiftly approach the cash register, eying the pink teddy as I do. Cami would love to see me in this. As I reach my hand out to trace my fingertips across the fabric, I snatch my hand away.

"Just pantyhose, and shoes."

The clerk is confused, "Excuse me?"

Geez, my breathing is actually labored.

"Oh nothing ma'am. I'd just like this please." I place the pantyhose on the counter. I'm anxious for her to take my money so I can get the hell out of here. The shoe department will be easier because Cami prefers bare feet. So do I.

As I remove a ten dollar bill from my pocket, I notice that the clerk is just staring at me. Maybe I have a booger in my nose. I rub the bridge of my nose with the tip of my index finger. She giggles and I don't get what's so funny. But when I see her cheeks flushing, I get it. Oh. Oh! She's flirting with her eyes. Um, well I guess she is. I wonder what's taking her so damn long to complete my purchase and she starts a conversation.

I look back, hoping that someone else would be in line behind me. But alas — there wasn't anyone else in sight to save me. I gulp and turn back around to face her. I hadn't noticed how pretty she was until now. She's speaking but I don't really understand the words.

She has jet black hair that's arranged in a signature Farrah Fawcett feather. Her left wrist is decorated with dozens of colorful neon bracelets, a la Madonna. White circular earrings, pink lip gloss, dimpled lips and a pair of green eyes that made my stomach turn flips.

"You must still be stressing over finals. That's all I've been getting this week." Her words finally begin to register.

"What? Oh, no. Finals are over for me. I just have a lot on my mind." Words are leaving my mouth but my eyes aren't leaving hers.

I begin making deals with God. Get me out here Lord. I'll gladly pay you on Tuesday for an escape route today. She tells me my total and I hastily shove the money at her — hoping that she can't see the effect she's having on me.

I turn around, and close my eyes. Lead me not into temptation Lord. I take a few deep breaths before turning back around for my change and merchandise. She hands me my change, and I grab the bag. I swiftly walk away, nearly running into a wall. Left feet don't fail me now. Somehow I find my way to the elevator, when I'd meant to go the escalator. Oh well. As long as I get off of this floor.

Stepping onto the elevator, I press the button for the corresponding floor. I begin checking my pockets for the receipt, just in case the hose doesn't fit. I don't immediately locate it and I swear aloud.

"Shit!"

I don't wanna go back to her. She probably set this trap to make me come back to her. Damn witchy woman! I open the bag and see the receipt staring up at me. Now I feel stupid. Gee, did we get ahead of ourselves or what? I laugh at how ridiculous I'm being.

I sigh, and remove the receipt from the bag. I flip the receipt over and she's written her name and number on the back. "Izzie." She doesn't look anything like an Izzie. I can't trash it because I may need to return the pantyhose. Smart move Izzie. Well played. I smile and shove the receipt into my back pocket. The elevator dings and I exit.

"Shoes, Crackle. Just one pair of shoes." Lord please let me have a male salesman. Please!

In the middle of my prayer, an older gentleman approaches me. Yes Lord! Thank you! I breathe a deep sigh of relief and joyfully explain to him what I'm looking for. An hour later, I exit Macy's with my two items. I'm relieved to breathe in the fresh air, but I choke a little bit. Okay, well the semi-fresh air. It's almost noon. I'm supposed to be meeting Blake and Snap for lunch near home in a few. Putting pep in my step, I arrive at Grand Central, and hop on the F train.

I actually make it back to Greenwich thirty minutes ahead of schedule, so I decide to drop my bags off at home. When I walk through the door, there's a note stuck to the mirror by my desk. It's from Cami. She'd come home while I was gone. For what, I don't know. Her note says that she's picking up an extra shift, but she'll make it for lunch with my brothers. I pout and kick the chair because I wanted her to be home with me tonight.

After sulking, I make my way to Café Reggio on MacDougal, near 3rd. The boys haven't arrived yet. I'm relieved because I'll have a few moments to collect my thoughts before laying eyes on Blake. I'm trying not to be nervous about it. But the truth is that I am. He's a grown man now. We're not little kids anymore. I choose a table that's in a corner so we won't have ears behind us. I'm famished but I'll wait until the others arrive before I order anything. I just start with a ginger ale and wait.

I didn't notice when Cami entered the restaurant. She caught me off guard when she approached the table.

"We're graduating this week. You should be just smiling for no reason right now."

I look up and I'd swear the sun was right behind her head. Her smile makes my heart skip a couple beats. She's wearing a fitted, black-sleeveless dress, white pearls and a pair of black heels. Wowzers! When did she find the time to do all of this? She's standing there with her hands on her perfect hips and I anxiously wrap my arms around her. Her waist is so small and her backside is so plump. So luscious. I just wanna grab it, but now is not the right time.

She sits next to me and I grab her hand.

"Where are they? It's almost 1 o'clock now. I thought I was running late," she inquires.

She's right. They should've been here by now.

"I don't know, Cami. I'm sure they'll be here any moment."

She orders herself a frappe and we wait. I'm actually beginning to feel a little relieved as I resign myself, accepting that they're not coming.

"Well, let's just order some food then because —"

I hear a familiar voice speaking.

"McNeil, party of four."

Looking up, I spot them. Snap is dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. Blake is wearing tan khaki's, a dark blue cashmere button down sweater over a pattern-collared shirt. He appears to have grown taller, and more muscular. Neatly trimmed short hair. He's — handsome and his face isn't all twisted up like it used to be. I look down and prepare myself. I stand to greet them, and Snap's silly ass blurts, "Brother, meet sister. Sister, meet brother." He laughs at his own ridiculous joke and I roll my eyes.

"Shut up dummy," Blake says, elbowing him and smiling. Wow. A sense of humor. He's never one of those before.

I hug Snap, and he sits across from Cami. I twiddle my thumbs uncomfortably and lower my eyes. As I open my mouth to speak, Blake puts his arms around me. He's so tall that I feel his chin rest against the crown of my head. I return his embrace as he speaks. His voice is deep and resonating.

"I missed you sis."

If I don't let go, I'll start crying so I push away from him without being rude.

"You look great," I compliment him.

"Thanks. I know it's a bit stale but I'm used to it," he smiles.

"Blake, this is Cami." I reach for her hand and pull her from her seat. "My girlfriend." I'm sure Snap has already told him everything so I don't expect any drama.

"Nice to meet ya," he greets as he smiles warmly at her —kissing her on the cheek.

Double wow. Blake's been captured by Martians. I just know it. We all sit, and the waiter comes to take our orders. I beat Snap to the punch and order my food first, sticking my tongue out at him like a little kid. He smirks and rolls his eyes. Some things never change.

As we enjoy our meals, Cami announces that she has to return to work. She apologizes to Blake first, and Snap feigns jealously. She tousles his hair, and they playfully slap each other's hands. I walk her outside.

"I really wanted you to be home with me tonight," I whine.

"I know, but we need the cash to cover the money we've shelled out for graduation. After this week, no more doubles," she promises.

I kiss her and watch her walk away, swinging her hips erotically. I have the most beautiful girlfriend in the world.

I return to the table and they're talking olden times. Uh oh. I'll take a raincheck on that one. Blake sees the look on my face so he changes the subject.

"Well, I can see why you like out here so much. It's so — big, and busy." He smiles and chuckles. I smile too. New York is definitely both big and busy. Big enough to where two insignificant people should be able to gloriously drown among the masses.

"I've never been to Rockledge. What's it like"? I ask.

"Uh, small. Tiny. Quiet. The polar opposite of New Yawk."

His accent is still thick. Makes me homesick a little. We talk for about an hour before surrendering the table.

As the three of us walk along the streets of Greenwich, I feel like I've traveled back in time to when we'd form our totem poles to get what we wanted. We were a team then. Blake has clearly changed, and I don't wanna live in the past any more. I don't wanna be mad. I want to forgive him.

13.

I return to Senoia to visit Momma and Daddy. But I also came to lay flowers on Miracle and Jusef's memorial sites. I ran away many times to Atlanta when I was younger, trying to find where the Buford family had moved so I could pay my respects. No one would give me any information because my family's guilt became public knowledge. In their eyes, so was I. I was responsible for Miracle and Jusef's death. They were killed because of their interaction with my family. That knowledge is a burden I carry with fortified strength.

I never knew where they were buried, so I'd initially created a memorial for them beside the trees where they'd spent their last moments of life. That didn't sit right inside of my soul, so I moved them to the sunflower field. Where they could be surrounded by brightness every day. A place Miracle enjoyed and was happy.

I grab the fresh flowers off the counter, preparing to walk to the field, but Daddy stops me with his words.

"Their family buried them in Fayetteville. On their family plantation. Close to the fruit trees."

"How long have you known, Daddy?"

"Long time. I didn't want nobody from this family going over there and makin things any worse than they already were. I wanted them to have time to heal."

He hands me his car keys. I snatch them and run out of the door. How many years have I grieved over their deaths? Wanting nothing more than to kneel before them and offer my apologies?

I drive angrily out to Fayetteville. When I arrive, I approach the front door. Prepared to have it slammed in my face. Ready to be cursed to hell as soon as I tell them who I am. I fix my hair, straighten the straps on my dress, grip the bouquet of yellow sunflowers, and ring the doorbell.

I recognize the eyes staring back at me when the door opens.

"Hi, Mrs. Buford. I know it's been a long time, but I came to pay my respects. Say that I'm sorry. I know you probably still hate me, but I loved Miracle — I mean Janette. I loved her more than my own life. I swear."

Tears break free.

She steps out onto the porch with her arms folded across her chest. Poker faced.

"I've had a long time to come to terms with what happened to my babies. As much as I've blamed every white person I have ever known, I don't blame you. I know that you loved her, and I know that she loved you. I know that what happened wasn't your fault. You were a baby, just like my babies."

I grab my aching chest. Unworthy of her forgiveness.

"But I do blame your Momma. You should know that. I blame the beasts who whipped them. Who raped my baby gurl. Who castrated my baby boy. I will always hold your Momma responsible for what happened. Knowing that, do you still want my forgiveness?"

I wipe my tears, straighten my face and spine.

"Yes, ma'am. I do."

"Then come on."

She escorts me to the gravesites.

"I'll give you some privacy. Stay as long as you like."

I kneel. Laying sunflowers on Miracle and Jusef's graves. One across their headstones. Then a dozen on the soil. I sit with my legs crossed, facing the marker that displays her name. Janette Lee Buford.

I close my eyes, lay down on my back, and imagine that we're in the sunflower field. I have so many apologies to make, and I need to see her face for them.

We're holding hands under the bright blue sky. Racing each other into the field. I smile at her as I say my final goodbyes. We sit across from each other, and have a full-fledged conversation.

I return home, and walk through the door — ready to chew Daddy out for not telling me that he'd known where they were buried all of this time. But as soon as I open my mouth, he tells me that Momma is sick. Lung cancer.

All of the time I've spent holding a grudge against Momma has been time wasted. I could have used that time to try to understand her. To grow with her, instead of apart from her. Growing apart is an addition to the already deep divide. Increasing the mass of the abyss we're all drowning inside of.

I spend the entire week taking care of Momma. Listening to her, bathing her, feeding her, and reminiscing with her. Listening to Momma's childhood experiences give me the greatest understanding of how poisonous minds remain — contaminating others. It's because those minds are unaware of the tainted information being imbedded, since that's what's acceptable at the time. Something accepted by the majority of society is deemed morally right. When you believe something is right, everyone who believes otherwise is evil. So, in Momma's mind, when she told the neighborhood women about Snap and Miracle's kiss, she was doing the right thing.

Since good drives out evil, believers of the "good" band together to destroy what they view as evil. Momma was raised by a woman that she rebelled against. I'm not her judge. Never was. No more than she is mine.

You see, I'm the guilty one here because I'd made up my mind to feel a certain way without learning her for the person she is. Not the parent she had to be. Without rationalizing any wrongdoing against another human, I understand her parental actions were believed to be her form of help and protection.

We never know when the world is going to change. We view change as something afar. Away. Ahead. In a distant future that is not yet. It allows us time to toil and squander. But that's a very powerful and harmful misconception. Change is now. Right now. Happening around us and within us. We're so intently focused on where it should be, rather than on where it actually is. In every thought and action.

Gramma probably didn't realize that she was an instrument of instantaneous change when she was doing what she thought she was supposed to be doing. I'm sure she wanted to do other things, but we all have a tendency to go with the flow. Even when it's flowing downhill.

When someone is standing atop the hill looking down, they prefer to "what if" and "maybe someday" their thoughts. Toil and squander. Those on the bottom, buried underneath the mud, have hope that those atop will reach out their hands in help — so, they pray for that. For what they believe should be.

In Momma's mind, she wasn't atop nor below. She was sliding. Not fully realizing that she'd never left hilltop. I, however, willingly slid because I preferred to be where I could actually lend a hand. Can't reach anyone below if you're standing at too great a distance.

We buried Momma the following week. A very large part of my spirit went right along with her. I exit the airport, bags on shoulders, holes in my heart. Cami grabs my bags and hails us a taxi. I hold myself together until we get home. She unlocks the front door, and enter. I immediately fall to pieces inside of her arms.

"She's gone, and she's never coming back!"

She does the only thing she can do. Allow me to whimper inside of her arms until I have no more energy. When I wake up the next morning, I shrink down onto the bathroom floor, and cry until Cami wakes up. This cycle continues for months until Cami pulls me out of mourning with a surprise.

She blindfolds me during the drive, checking to make sure that I don't peek.

She assists me out of the car.

"Can I take off the blindfold now?"

She finally removes it.

"Tada!"

I blink the blurriness away until the signage on the building comes into focus.

The Miracle Foundation.

"Cam, what is this?"

"It's yours. Well, it's for the community really. Come on, let me give you a tour."

She takes me by the hand. I walk stoically along as she describes in detail how the foundation will help urban youth by donating everything from clothing, food, money, housing, scholarships, and making reparations to families who were unjustly killed. I cry tears of joy for the first time in months.

I ask her tons of questions. Mainly how, just in a dozen different ways. She tells me only that Etan, Blake, and Daddy helped her set everything up by donating their portion of Momma's life insurance proceeds.

The daily tasks of the Miracle Foundation happily consume my days. I eventually add educational classes that teach youth the dangers of hatred, intolerance, and racism. Also encouraging them to actively participate in their community in positive ways.

I thought I would never smile again, but Cami loved me enough to endure with me. Lovingly lifting me up. She is most certainly my eternal.

EPILOGUE: SHAPPY ENDINGS

I look up and realize that I've been writing pages inside of this old journal for 46 years. I'm tired of writing. Every time I put ink to these pages, I find myself reminiscing on the parts of my life that I've already lived, while committing less energy to today.

In the beginning, it was a great form of release to see how naïve I once was as a child, or one cup of coffee turned into a lifelong commitment. But now, I'm more interested in just living and honoring that commitment.

I've always referred to my life as shappy. Not quite shitty, not quite happy. That's the realest of the real. Happiness is a worldly description that's human-defined, and it varies from person to person. Joy is eternal. Spiritual. I prefer that.

If I'm still here thirty years from now, and I remember any of these moments, fine. If I don't, it couldn't hurt any. The point is that I'm done with this. Maybe one day, my descendants will read these words and it'll help them not make the same mistakes humans have been making for a millennia. Maybe. Hopefully.

But now in my golden years, I'm content knowing that I've never settled for anything in life. I never allowed society to mold my thoughts or emotions. I wouldn't call myself a rebel, but I will call myself a free thinker. A lover of all creations of God. Even the ones other humans label as abominations.

My wife Cami and I don't ask people to leave us alone with our shappiness anymore. We've decided to leave them to their complete unhappiness. The easiest decision I've ever made in my life.

"Crackle, dinner is ready!"

I smile to myself at Cami's reference. After 32 years, she still calls me by my childhood nickname. I return to my final entry.

Considering from whence I came, I'm grateful to still be among the living. Since this is the last time I'll open this journal, I take a moment to reflect — but I'm quickly interrupted as our daughter, Miracle, imitates her mother.

"Yeah, Crackle. Dinner is ready."

They both laugh.

I roll my eyes, and giggle. Sometimes, we grow up without growing up. That might be one of the best parts of this life.

"Come on, Mom. We're starving!" Miracle whines, bursting through my bedroom door.

I smile at her beautiful chocolate face, and turn back around before I start crying.

"I'm coming now, baby."

"Good, because Richie and Constance are grating my nerves."

They've been thick as thieves all their lives. I'm done trying to make the final entry a memorable one. Time to focus on making the rest of my life a memorable one.

I must be doing something right because God has blessed me with three miracles in my lifetime. I'm wasting them right now on pen and paper. I permanently close my journal, place the pen inside of the Happy Mother's Day mug on my desk, and join my girls.

Thank You God, for them. My precious daughter, Miracle Janette McNeil. My beautiful wife, Cameron Johnson-McNeil. Thank you God, for life. This life. Our life. Though it is a shappy one.

