Dead Man's Land

They said it’ll be awright.

Least that’s what Pa said at suppertime. There’d been talk of blood comin about, of a fight that’d been beggin to break out. Most folk dunno what was goin on about town – I was one of the few that knew the real story. Everybody else was just panickin and gossiping and tellin lies about everything bein awright.

Ruthie Anne just nodded to Pa’s words, though she remained dead quiet like she always is. She had that dull look in her eye that meant she was sad or angry or she just didn’t care too much. Her black eyes were just as dark as her skin; she was a spittin image of me, least that what Uncle Fran used to always say, though I always thought I looked a bit darker. But I couldn’t tell if Ruthie Anne was nodding because she really did think everythin would be awright, or if she was just lyin again. It was always hard to tell with her, cause Ruthie Anne didn’t talk all that much and without words it’s impossible to hear the heart. And I ain’t got the eyes to see the soul, like ol Gran Desdemona had.

Ol Gran was Ma’s ma and had to live through the pain of outlivin her own child. She was somethin else though; half-crazy most of the time, but at least she knew what she was talkin about. She told old stories about who knows what – her tales were all too strange to ever be true. When me and Ruthie Anne were little, back when Ma was still alive, ol Gran would tell us fairytales, and no matter what kind of stuff happened in the story, it always ended with happily-ever-after. I liked them stories. But then Ma got sick and ol Gran’s stories turned into twisted tales about war and blood and ghosts. And then those stories turned into nonsense ramblins, and that’s when we all knew she had gone crazy. But the funny thing is, sometimes her ramblins made more sense to me than what we learned about in school. Ol Gran could see the whole world I think, even those parts of it that are in the dark. But now she dead and in the dirt, and so the parts of the world that are dark will be dark forever.

“What d’you think?” said Pa, and when I looked up I saw that he was lookin right at me. I was a bit surprised cause Pa hardly ever talked to me – I was the dumbest of all his sons and he didn’t like to tell me anything cause he just thought I wouldn’t understand it. And then I realized that everybody else was lookin at me too, which made me even more surprised. They were waitin for an answer, cause now that I was grown up (least accordin to them; last time I checked I’ve been grown up for a while) they thought I was one of the men, the great big all-knowin men, and so I guess that meant that what I say actually meant somethin now. That ain’t how it used to be, not at all, cause people used to think I was pretty damn stupid. Can’t hardly read and certainly can’t write. Nothin that came out of my mouth was worth listenin to. I wanna say that I liked this new change, that I liked bein heard, but I wasn’t real sure if I did enjoy it or not. Sometimes I wanna go back to the way things were before, no matter how bad they was. Sometimes I think it’s better to be unheard, to be invisible, to be nothin more than the shadow under your feet.

Then I realized everybody was still lookin at me, still waitin for me, still hungry for an answer. Me, well I dunno what I think. Didn’t say this out loud though. Instead I shuffled my feet and mumbled, “Yeah, I think so too, everything’ll be awright.”

That’s the answer everybody was waitin for, was hopin for, and so that’s the answer I give. I’m used to lyin like that. Sometimes people’s feelings are more important than what goes on inside my head. So I usually don’t tell the truth no more. I can’t, I won’t.

Course we all knew we were all kiddin ourselves here; we’re just bathin in lies. We all knew about the dumb girl who fell in love with the even dumber boy, and we all knew that a love as forbidden as this one can’t end like them happy fairytales ol Gran used to tell us at bedtime. It’s illegal for a black and a white to be together – everyone with a brain knows that, even me. The law was made pretty clear after Harry Swanson was caught naked with the sheriff’s daughter back by the marshes, where they thought no one would ever catch them. The whole thing was a big ol bloodbath. I was little when this happened but I remember it well enough. They hung Harry’s body on the big oak tree a couple blocks from the school, and the white boys had fun throwin rocks and sticks at his decayin feet as a sick sorta game.

Anyways, this whole thing is happenin again, and we all know how it’s gonna end. We all know that someone’s gonna wind up dead – but who, no one’s really sure. I have a pretty good guess though.

Way back when, my lie probably woulda been the truth, and I would’ve really thought everything would be awright. But then again I would believe that only cause Pa said it first. I used to trust everythin Pa said cause he always was right, least that’s what I thought that whole time bein a youngin. If it was pourin buckets of rain outside and Pa told me it was sunny, I’d go ahead and think it was sunny. As a kid, I might not have been hearin the truth all the time, and I might have been livin a whole bunch of lies, but damn I was sure a whole lot happier way back when.

But now things’ve changed and I’ve gotten big, big enough for the truth to seep into my ears and to soak my brain, and now I dunno if Pa got all the answers anymore. It’s always rainin, no matter if he says it’s sunny or not.

And now I’m always left thinkin. Who’s got the answers to this problem? Who knows a way outta this mess? Who’s gonna end up dead? I wanna find out; I may not know much but I do know that everythin will not be awright.

Pa don’t got the answers no more – t’be honest, I dunno who does. It used to be ol Gran Desdemona but she dead and in the dirt. Sometimes when I hear the birds chirpin loudly and the trees whisperin happily, I think it’s them that have the answers to everythin, the secrets to the world. But then I realize that the only reason why the trees and the birds sing is cause they’re pretty stupid, even stupider than me, and it’s their stupidity that lets em be happy. And anyways if you think about it, the trees go dead and quiet in the wintertime, and the birds’ songs dull and fade away. Even the clouds cry on occasion. And if they don’t know how to be happy, like really truly happy all the time, then they certainly don’t got the answers either.

So who’s got the answers? Who knows the secrets to joy? No one, maybe. No one, probably. Maybe that’s why Ruthie Anne used to tell me to shuddup all the time whenever I asked too many questions. (This was way back when, back in the day when Ruthie Anne still spoke, and I hadn’t realized how dumb I was and that I ought to keep my mouth shut). I used to think it was cause maybe it wasn’t polite to ask that certain question or maybe she just wasn’t supposed to give the answer. But maybe she didn’t give no answers cause she didn’t know the answers. Or maybe she didn’t give no answers because there were no answers. Cause if no one knows the truth then givin any sort of an answer would be a plain lie. And we all know Ruthie Anne hates to lie. That’s why she used to be so quiet.

She’s always quiet now though. She hasn’t spoken a single word since that day when, well, you know what happened. Everybody knows. Well, least we all know enough details bout it to make a guess or two and string the story together. She had come home that night bruised and bleeding all over and she said the white men did it. Well of course they did it, I told her back. Cause who else would be so brutal and cruel as that. “You just gotta accept it, cause that’s about the only thing you can really do,” I said. “It’s easier that way.”

“I hate them. I hate them all,” she returned. And those were her last words.

I dunno if she’s ever gonna say another word fore she dies. Who knows. It’d be sad if she died and the last thing she ever said was words of hatred. I mean it’d be sad if she died in the first place, I s’pose, cause death is a real sad thing. But so is life I guess.

See, what I don’t get is that everybody’s so happy when a baby’s born and everybody’s so sad when an old man dies. But you know I was thinkin that maybe it ought to be the other way around. Cause that baby comes out all dumb of the troubles he’s gonna get for the rest of his years. That baby thinks that he can do anything he wants and have a good ol time. (And maybe he will if his skin’s the right color.) But when that baby’s ol enough to realize that life’s nothin more than a great big load of horseshit, well, that baby’s awful ol by then and pretty soon he’ll be dead anyways. So he might as well celebrate his funeral and we might as well celebrate ours too while we’re at it.

In a life like this, death ain’t nothin to be afraid of. Death ought to be the thing you dream about most, the thing you want more’n anythin. Least, I want it. I won’t die feelin unhappy and scared like a sissy. I can’t, I won’t. I refuse.

Nobody else’s got the same sort of thinkin about death as I do though. Right now, in the ruckus goin on about town, they all think that they gonna die soon and death just terrifies the wits outta them. Rumors been talkin that the white men are gonna do somethin to us, somethin bad. Pa and Uncle Fran, who ain’t really my uncle but may as well be cause he probably loves me more than Pa does, well them two talk bout this round the fire at night. And from what I overhear they just think the white men gonna put us outta work and kick us outta town. Them two just bein bright eyed bout the future though.

I think they gonna kill us, kill all of us. Some of the older women are sayin the white men are angry cause that pretty white girl Lacy fell in love with that black boy who works on the farm, Andre or Tyrone or whatever his name, just like Harry and the sheriff’s daughter had done all those years ago. But in the end they don’t need much of a reason to kill us, I s’pose. They are white and we are black and that’s reason enough. And even though it was just one black boy who was in the wrong, they don’t care, cause to them we all got the same face and so we all ought to be punished.

Course killin anyone’s against the law in the state of Georgia but hey, them cops don’t care too much about that, now do they. Them cops will probably help out if no one’s lookin and if they got the chance. Back in the day when blacks were slaves it wouldn’t matter if we were murdered or not, cause blacks were just property you know. And those days weren’t too long ago, actually ol Gran Desdemona was just a baby then, see. Slavery’s been banned since then but it don’t make much of a difference. We’re still spat on just as much so it all feel the same. We still get dust kicked in our eyes and we still have to look down when a white man talks to us, even if he calls us names like sonuvabitch or dirtface. We still gotta respond with yessuh and nosuh and I dunno suh, and if you say anything else that’s even kinda outta line then you better be plannin on a good beatin heading your way.

So it’s pretty much still slavery minus the iron chains. The chains now are just blows to the jaw or kicks to the ribs, so it’s almost the same. Cept instead of bein able to touch these chains with your hands, you can only feel them with hurt and hatred and broken bones. But you know that’s just how life is. If you ain’t willin to put up with those rules, well you can’t change em cause you may as well try changin the color of the sky. And if you really really ain’t willin to put up with those rules then why try livin in the first place? You may as well give up and die. I’ve thought about doin that sometimes but Lacy’s always talked me outta it. You can’t, you won’t, she says with a stomp of her foot.

Anyways I dunno what to do in a situation like this one. See, I think that only the man who caused this ruckus ought to turn himself in and take the blame for what he done. Least that’s what my morals are sayin. But morals are nothin, absolutely nothing, only made-up thoughts meant to make you feel better than other people, only made-up rules that make you feel like you got meanin in this hellhole they call life. Truth is, morals don’t mean shit when you’re not an onlooker anymore, when you’re the one at the heart of the trouble, when you’re the one bringin on the blood.

See, my name ain’t Andre and it ain’t Tyrone either. Its Jeremiah but I s’pose that don’t matter much, huh. What matters is that I’m the one who caused all the ruckus goin on in town. I’m a thief; I stole Lacy’s heart. She stole mine too, but I sorta let her, so I guess she ain’t as much as a thief as I am a scoundrel.

Lacy. She’s got the prettiest brown hair and these big blue eyes and it ain’t no surprise why all the men in town are after her. It’s kinda a shocker she went for me, the dumb boy who she insisted on teachin how to read. Though she never was able to finish her lessons since we always got distracted by talkin about anythin and everythin and nothin all at the same time. I can’t remember much of what words were actually said – mostly I remembered the jokes she told and the laughs that followed, and the way she listened to the world instead of just lookin at it.

I especially remember the feelin I had when I was around her and that was about it. That, and the way she looked at me when I talked, a way that told me she was really hearin what I was sayin. See, she was the first person to ever listen to me and I think that’s how this whole problem started in the first place. If she just ignored me or called me awful names like any other respectable white girl should, then everything would be fine. But no, Lacy had to be kind and so course we ended up fallin in love.

This all happened in springtime, and now there’s a hint of frost on the dyin grass. I’ve been tryin these last few months to rid myself of Lacy, to rid myself of every last thought of her, but of course it didn’t work. I’m probably more in love with her than she is with me. We still find ways to meet each other late at night, even though it’s been gettin chillier out and I’ve gotten at least three colds from sittin outside all night just to be with her. When we first started these secret meetings, I had tried to deny any feelings I had for her. That lie was only made more and more obvious as I continued to sneak out just to see her face and to hear her voice and to touch her hand. But I still tried to push her away. I had asked her again and again why she couldn’t see that us two were completely different, that we were from two different worlds (even though she lived down the street). To that, she shrugged and said, I dunno, and then she giggled like it was a silly question.

I had tried to get her away from me for both of our sakes. I told her she was too hopeful. To that, she shrugged. She didn’t care. I told her she was stupid. To that, she shrugged again. I told her that she was blind, that she couldn’t see that I was black and she was white. And to that, she actually didn’t shrug. Instead she laughed.

See, the thing is, Lacy used t’be blind as a young girl. I didn’t know that fore I met her, and it stunned me when she told me for the very first time. I felt bad for sayin the things I did but she wouldn’t let me apologize for it. Anyways she said it was some sickness but she was better now, and she didn’t care about all the years lost as a kid when she couldn’t go outside like a normal child and play with her friends and splash in the puddles left by the rain. It didn’t matter that on Christmas mornin she couldn’t see the star on top of the tree or the presents her momma gave her. Cause what mattered was that she was happy now. What mattered was that she could see now. And oh god could she see.

She reminded me of ol Gran Desdemona because she didn’t see the world the same way everybody else did. She saw the world for what it really was, or least what she thought it ought to be like. I dunno if the way she saw it was right or not, but for once having the right answer didn’t matter much. Cause the way she saw it was so beautiful that I didn’t care if her thinkin was right or wrong. She saw it with lovin eyes and that’s what was important.

Most people take seein for granted and don’t think too much about it. They think green is green and red is red. But Lacy was always wonderin if the way I saw green was the way she saw red, or if the way she saw blue was the way everybody else saw yellow. Sometimes I caught myself wonderin if she saw colors that no one else knew even existed. Like secret colors of some sort.

She didn’t see the leaves on the trees or the water in the rivers. What she was the shadowy spaces between the leaves and the way the sunlight bent and curved in the water’s ripples. She was somethin else, that girl. Somethin else entirely.

She loved colors, oh she loved them so much. Any color is beautiful, she told me once, especially black. Then she took my hand but I snatched it away real fast. “A color doesn’t make you better or worse than anyone else,” she said. “That’s what I think, at least,” she finished in a whisper.

“Well I think you’re dumb. Black’s a real ugly color.”

And she just said, “Shuddup Jeremiah,” and then she kissed me for the very first time.

See, the beauty about love is that its colorblind. The problem with the world, though, is that it’s not. To love, color is nothin. To life, it is everythin.

And that’s how I got to where I am now.

That one guy who runs the bar saw us kissin out on her back porch on Tuesday or Wednesday or yesterday night, me and Lacy I mean. Course he told the whole town and now I’m as good as a dead man. Lacy’s dad took her away and I ain’t seen her since. I’ve just been sittin around, waiting for somethin to happen to me, waiting for the white men to come around and just kill me already. I’m as deep into my grave as Harry is.

I haven’t gotten round to confessin the truth yet. That’s why right now everybody with dark skin thinks they’re doomed. I’m sure once I turn myself in everyone else will be fine. I won’t be, but everybody else will. It’s the honorable thing to do.

It’s the honorable thing to do but I ain’t done it yet.

I ain’t done it yet cause I’m scared, as much as it shames me to say it I am scared. I don’t want to turn myself in cause I don’t want to be killed. And I don’t want to get Lacy in trouble neither.

I guess I’m afraid of death a lot more than I thought I was.

All I want is to run, run run run away and bring Lacy with me, to a place where there are so many birds and trees and water and sky, to a place where there is so much to see that your eyes can’t handle it and so the whole image kinda blurs. A place where there are so many colors you can’t even tell the different between white and black. All you see is a blurry rainbow and that’s okay, that’s okay. Cause as long as the details are blurry enough, you can’t see em, and if you can’t see em then maybe you won’t have to see any kinda darkness or pain or even the tear that trails down your cheek. And as long as you’re blind enough then black and white don’t exist and so nothin else matters. You just gotta be blind enough to be happy, that’s all.

It don’t sound too hard but when you try it probably is.

Well anyways, suppertime’s been long over and Pa and Ruthie Anne and everybody else’s gone off to sleep. I’m alone just as I always am. It’s dark enough so that the sky matches my skin but I can’t seem to drift off. When I do finally shut my eyes all I see behind my eyelids is a bunch of white ghosts with torches, and they howl in anger as they chase me down. And when they get me they rip out my heart as I’m still breathin and –

“Jeremiah.”

It’s her voice that says my name. Course it’d be her seein me so late at night. “Lacy, you can’t be here,” I tell her but course I know I can’t shoo her off like that. She crawls into bed next to me, ignorin the dust and the dirt, and fastens her hand in mine.

“I won’t let them hurt you,” she says. “I can’t, I won’t,” she adds in a whisper.

I want to trust her, I really really do, because then we can run away like I want and get out of this town. But who am I to believe her? She’s just a girl an all and she can’t even kill a mosquito to stop from bitin her, so how would she stop an angry crowd of townsfolk who’re after my blood? She can’t, she won’t.

And even if I did believe her, even if I did resort to my childlike ways and trusted every lie that reached my ears, and even if we did run away…then yeah I’d be happy, but what about Pa? Ruthie Anne? Gran Desdemona? (She dead and in the dirt but she still count.) Can’t just leave em here to spill the blood that should be mine.

I want to tell her the opposite of what I told Pa at breakfast, that everythings not gonna be awright, but instead I say, “How’d you get here anyways.” Didn’t say it much like a question but she gets my meanin.

“Ran away,” she says.

“You’re dumb, Lacy.”

“I think I love you, Jeramiah,” she whispers back. “I wanted to say that before…before anything bad could happen.”

I want to say it back but I can’t, I won’t. “You gotta get outta here,” I say instead. “Get outta trouble and be safe. I can’t see you hurt.”

“Shuddup Jeremiah,” she snaps. “If you think that I’m just going to get up and go then you really are as dumb as they say you are.”

All goes silent.

“I didn’t mean that, she says after a moment. I just mean I’m not going to leave your side. I wish – ”

“Yeah, I knew what you meant,” I cut in. I’m not lookin at her, instead up at the ceiling.

“Jeremiah?”

“What.”

“Do you think everything will be all right?”

“Let’s just go to sleep, Lacy.”

And so we do. When I wake up she’s gone, course, just as I had expected and sorta wanted. She left me the ribbon she had worn in her hair, one that’s as blue as her eyes, and I tie it around my wrist without really thinkin about it. I think I meant to wear it as a sort of protection, as a sort of good luck charm that’ll keep me safe somehow, almost like armor kinda. But then I realize I’m just bein stupid once again. But hell who really cares at this point anyways.

I go outside and I realize it’s still night out. Then I realize that not just Lacy’s gone; everybody else is too. I wonder why everybody fled so quickly and that’s when I see the glow of fire over the hills.

And now I know what bein afraid really means. The night is quieter than a graveyard: the animals have fled in fear; the crickets have silenced their songs; my family has abandoned me. Can’t blame em, I s’pose. Ol Gran Desdemona wouldn’t have left me behind, but she dead and in the dirt, so what good can she do now? Everybody’s run off to hide, and I have to face what’s comin for me with no one by my side and nothin more than a ribbon on my wrist to defend myself.

But as fast as that fear had crept upon me, it flees just as fast. “Gotta accept it,” I say to myself, just as I had said to Ruthie Anne a long time ago. “Just gotta accept it.” Lots of blood will be comin my way but that’s okay. Lacy’s worth every drop spilled.

I know they’re comin for me, but I don’t mind too much. I’m not scared anymore and I think it’s got somethin to do with the blue ribbon I wear on my wrist. I know they’re comin for me, but I’m not gonna run away. I’ll let them do what they want because if they don’t get me, they’ll get the next poor fellah and he’ll take my wounds for me, and that ain’t right. I know they’re comin for me and I probably won’t see the sunrise today or the next day or any day after that, but like I said I’m lookin forward to death and plan on greetin it with an embrace and maybe even a smile. Though I’m dumb and I’ve never known too much in my life, I know, I somehow know that death is sorta like love in the way that it’s colorblind. And so I expect that death’ll greet me with a warm embrace as well.

I know they’re comin for me but that’s awright, everything’ll be awright just like Pa said. Cause Lacy’ll be okay and won’t be hurt. I know they’re comin for me but I’ll stand my ground. Cause no matter what they do to me, I’ll always love Lacy and that’s somethin no white man, no matter how strong and ruthless, can ever change. They can’t, they won’t.

And so I wait here. Watchin the glow of their torches come closer. Hearin the roar of their angry voices get louder.

I know they’re comin for me but I won’t run. I won’t, I can’t.

And so I wait.