False Southern Gentility
Hot Georgia Suns...
A train whistle broke into Christine's troubled sleep.
"You're awake." Michael said as he lifted a few of his clothes into a bag, and then lifted a few of her clothes into her bags.
Christine shook her head yes.
"Is your throat sore?"
She nodded yes again.
"Here, take some water. We've just arrived in Savannah, I'm sure that you are very anxious about being back home." he said as he lifted a small blue-crystal glass to her lips. When Christine finally swallowed the cool water, she spoke.
"Did you say Savannah?" she asked as she looked at her bruised wrist. "What happened?" she asked as she ran her other hand over where the needle still sat in her arm.
"You're really full of questions, aren't you?" he asked with a laugh. "Yes, I did say Savannah, and that, my lovely lady, is an I.V. Don't ask what it means, because honestly, I couldn't pronounce the name myself. I only know how to preform one." he said with a laugh as he pushed a small wheelchair beside her bed.
"Oh no, I won't sit in one of those things." she demanded as sternly as she could. Despite her protests, she could not keep her voice from shaking.
"You're not well enough to walk, the last time you tried, you about killed over. Besides, it's much more comfortable than having to walk, believe me, I was in one until I was seventeen." he smiled as he lifted her up off of her bed.
"I do not know you, nor do I intend to know you. Now put me down. I will not be treated like a child, Christopher!" she screamed. She stopped as soon as she said his name. Michael was not Christopher, and she had to learn that. Though he looked like him, he was not him.
That was what stopped her.
"Who is he? You've cried out for him for the last few days, through fever. You opened your eyes once, your fever was at it's highest, and you spoke to me, asking me why I didn't stop you from leaving, why I didn't help you."
Christine's face turned scarlet as he finally sat her down in the wheelchair. "I--I'm very sorry. Christopher was my husband--he died a few days ago. I'm--I'm visiting my Aunt Ann-Marie Lawson in Savannah, going back home is the way that I see it myself. I'm originally from--South Carolina though. Charleston to be exact." she said quietly.
As a tall black man lifted the wheelchair up off of the train and onto the platform, Michael finally spoke. He had been turning the things that she had said, over and over in his mind, trying to make sense of them. He knew, from better sense, that she was not from South Carolina. And certainly not from Charleston. She lacked the accent.
He would not say anything about her lies, for he knew, or thought that he knew, that she was grieving for her husband, this--Christopher that she called out for in her sickness. She needed someone to help her, and he could be that person.
For some reason, he felt a connection to her, one very much like the one that he had felt with his wife, Prudence. Just the thought of her name made him smile, she was a one of a kind woman. Kind, gentle, sweet, but broken. She had been broken for years. He had met her after the siege on her hometown. He had found her, alone and shivering, with several different slashings all over her chest.
He had taken care of her, and in that short time, he had fallen in love with her.
"Did you grow up in Charleston? You honestly don't seem to have the accent that would belong to the lady of Southern Carolina." he said as he pushed her up through the dark cobblestone street. "One of you take her bags to the widow Ann-Marie Lawson's home, I'm sure that all of you know which house is hers. I'll be taking Mrs.--" he stopped as he looked down at the strangely pale Christine.
"I'm sorry. Um--what did you ask again?"
"Your name. I know your aunt's, but yours has seemed to elude me."
She smiled to herself, thinking of the different names she had taken up over the years. "Jacqueline. Jacqueline Lawson. My Aunt is from my husbands side." she said with a small smile.
If you want to be a lady, act like one, take the place of one that left everyone else behind. If you're leaving everyone behind, her mind thought, why stop at acting like mother--I could BE mother.
"Alright then. I'll be taking Mrs. Jacqueline Lawson around for a while, show her a bit of what's left of Savanna."
As they walked, he showed her burnt districts, places that had been sat on fire, and were now being rebuilt. It surprised her how much Savannah was like Atlanta. From ashes sprung beautiful bomb flowers, flourishing brightly beneath the harsh Georgia sun.
"You're awake." Michael said as he lifted a few of his clothes into a bag, and then lifted a few of her clothes into her bags.
Christine shook her head yes.
"Is your throat sore?"
She nodded yes again.
"Here, take some water. We've just arrived in Savannah, I'm sure that you are very anxious about being back home." he said as he lifted a small blue-crystal glass to her lips. When Christine finally swallowed the cool water, she spoke.
"Did you say Savannah?" she asked as she looked at her bruised wrist. "What happened?" she asked as she ran her other hand over where the needle still sat in her arm.
"You're really full of questions, aren't you?" he asked with a laugh. "Yes, I did say Savannah, and that, my lovely lady, is an I.V. Don't ask what it means, because honestly, I couldn't pronounce the name myself. I only know how to preform one." he said with a laugh as he pushed a small wheelchair beside her bed.
"Oh no, I won't sit in one of those things." she demanded as sternly as she could. Despite her protests, she could not keep her voice from shaking.
"You're not well enough to walk, the last time you tried, you about killed over. Besides, it's much more comfortable than having to walk, believe me, I was in one until I was seventeen." he smiled as he lifted her up off of her bed.
"I do not know you, nor do I intend to know you. Now put me down. I will not be treated like a child, Christopher!" she screamed. She stopped as soon as she said his name. Michael was not Christopher, and she had to learn that. Though he looked like him, he was not him.
That was what stopped her.
"Who is he? You've cried out for him for the last few days, through fever. You opened your eyes once, your fever was at it's highest, and you spoke to me, asking me why I didn't stop you from leaving, why I didn't help you."
Christine's face turned scarlet as he finally sat her down in the wheelchair. "I--I'm very sorry. Christopher was my husband--he died a few days ago. I'm--I'm visiting my Aunt Ann-Marie Lawson in Savannah, going back home is the way that I see it myself. I'm originally from--South Carolina though. Charleston to be exact." she said quietly.
As a tall black man lifted the wheelchair up off of the train and onto the platform, Michael finally spoke. He had been turning the things that she had said, over and over in his mind, trying to make sense of them. He knew, from better sense, that she was not from South Carolina. And certainly not from Charleston. She lacked the accent.
He would not say anything about her lies, for he knew, or thought that he knew, that she was grieving for her husband, this--Christopher that she called out for in her sickness. She needed someone to help her, and he could be that person.
For some reason, he felt a connection to her, one very much like the one that he had felt with his wife, Prudence. Just the thought of her name made him smile, she was a one of a kind woman. Kind, gentle, sweet, but broken. She had been broken for years. He had met her after the siege on her hometown. He had found her, alone and shivering, with several different slashings all over her chest.
He had taken care of her, and in that short time, he had fallen in love with her.
"Did you grow up in Charleston? You honestly don't seem to have the accent that would belong to the lady of Southern Carolina." he said as he pushed her up through the dark cobblestone street. "One of you take her bags to the widow Ann-Marie Lawson's home, I'm sure that all of you know which house is hers. I'll be taking Mrs.--" he stopped as he looked down at the strangely pale Christine.
"I'm sorry. Um--what did you ask again?"
"Your name. I know your aunt's, but yours has seemed to elude me."
She smiled to herself, thinking of the different names she had taken up over the years. "Jacqueline. Jacqueline Lawson. My Aunt is from my husbands side." she said with a small smile.
If you want to be a lady, act like one, take the place of one that left everyone else behind. If you're leaving everyone behind, her mind thought, why stop at acting like mother--I could BE mother.
"Alright then. I'll be taking Mrs. Jacqueline Lawson around for a while, show her a bit of what's left of Savanna."
As they walked, he showed her burnt districts, places that had been sat on fire, and were now being rebuilt. It surprised her how much Savannah was like Atlanta. From ashes sprung beautiful bomb flowers, flourishing brightly beneath the harsh Georgia sun.