Status: First posting on here...
Two Worlds Collide
Two Worlds Collide
You were always there for me. Ever since we met at the park that day in 1955, you were always there, and I knew it. I knew I had the best best-friend and I couldn’t be more grateful.
When I met you, it was under the Alabama sun. The heat was exhausting but Ma had told me to go outside and play anyway. She said it was a nice day to explore, but really she just wanted to do the laundry without me bothering her.
I went to the park down by the pond and that’s when I first saw you. I was only eight, but I knew enough to know I should’ve gone to the park on the other side of the block, closer to where I lived and where I was more likely to see my own friends. But this was a longer bike ride – and we both know how much I loved riding my bike back then – and usually no one was at this park anyway.
But that day, you were. You were on a swing. It wasn’t going high, just gently swinging back and forth, back and forth. You smiled at me, but I didn’t smile back. I didn’t get off my bike, and my guard was up. Your blue eyes burned through me and your blond hair…you were so intimidating.
“You can come if you want!” you yelled across the street where I was still half-sitting half-standing on my bike.
Cautiously I crossed the street, not knowing exactly what to suspect.
“Hi,” you grinned. “I’m Ryan.”
“Keisha,” I introduced myself.
“What are you doing here?” you asked. But not in an aggressive way, but a gentle way. Not mean or rude or snobbish, just your way of asking. “Shouldn’t you be on the other side?”
“I didn’t expect anyone to be here,” I answered honestly.
You were so confident, “Well, I guess you’re lucky it’s just me then, huh?”
“I suppose I am,” I was still a little shy. Then, gaining confidence, I asked what any girl would. “Why are you being nice to me?”
You chuckled. “I’m a nice guy what can I say?”
There was empty silence between us and we listened to the woodchips crumple under my feet as I walked to the swing next to you.
“How old are you?” you asked me.
“I’m eight,” I told you, finally making eye contact. I had always been a shy girl, but never in my life did I feel so apprehensive.
“Nine,” you informed me haughtily like it was some huge difference.
And to this day, I remember your plaid shirt that you wore like all the other rich boys did, but those blue eyes…those are what stood out the most. You kept talking to me and eventually I loosened up and we were laughing together. It was the first laugh I’d had with a boy like you.
From that day on we’d meet secretly. It was like we knew we were doing the right thing, but also knew the rest of the world would judge us. I was so different from you that it just didn’t seem right. We’d go to the different parks if they were abandoned or play hopscotch, almost anything could keep us entertained if we were together.
It stayed that way for four years until I just stopped showing up. I got so busy that I forgot a world outside of the oppressed existed. It was probably a good year before I saw you again, and hearing that now stings. It really, really stings because you were so good to me and I took you for granted like that. And maybe that’s why.
The next time we saw each other was at a restaurant. I was on one side and you were hidden in the back corner of the other. I saw you first, dressed in a shirt with a collar while I just wore my hand-me-down dress that was getting really faded and worn down.
When you met eyes with me you nodded to the bathroom and I was compliant, following you there guiltily. I knew I had messed up, even back then. I shouldn’t have stopped seeing you.
You smiled at me in the hallway though, dragging me to the back.
“How have you been?” you asked with that goofy grin.
Out of all the things you could’ve said, you asked that. I knew that I deserved worse – I could easily have been degraded for my actions – but you didn’t care. It was as if all was forgiven.
“I’ve been okay,” I talked fast because we both knew we didn’t have much time and had a lot of catching up to do. “I’m sorry I stopped hanging out with you. Middle school got really busy.”
He waved his hand through the air, “I understand, Keisha.”
I smiled at those words. They made me happy. “How about you? How have you been?”
“Alright. I hear you’re coming to my school next year,” you brought up the one subject I had tried not to think about for months now. “It’s okay,” he must have seen my panicked look, “I’ll be there. And we really aren’t that mean over at Bradley. Us rich folks just have a bad rep.”
I laughed. If it was just you rich folks I was worried about I wouldn’t be worrying. But you left me at that, walking away with those comforting words straying through the air.
A few weeks later, the school bus pulled up and I got on, going to the back of the bus. This time you saw me first and grabbed my wrist as I walked by. I jumped, thinking the worst, but when I saw the blue eyes I knew I was okay.
You had saved me a seat next to you. Others stared at us – those days in secondary school girls and boys can’t be friends never mind the different social classes we were in – but you didn’t even care who stared. If anything you liked it.
“I missed you,” you smiled. You had a really nice smile, I realized. It was almost uplifting back then. It could make anyone feel just a little better, I’d imagine.
“I missed you too,” I said nervously. I could literally feel boys and girls of every class looking at us.
“It’s so good to see you again. I’m glad you’re going to my school now,” you told me sincerely.
“Yeah, that makes one of us.”
We laughed together and made small talk until we got to school. It felt weird to be in a uniform and with all these new people. You showed me around a little, but that quickly came to an end as well.
You let me find my way to my classes as you found your way to yours.
“You know her?” I heard some kid sneer as they walked away. I’d come to know him as Ryan, your best friend.
“Yeah, that’s Keisha,” you replied evenly.
“You know she’s-“
“Yeah, and what’s your point?” you asked with edge to his voice.
I guess we really were best friends at that point. I mean, after countless summers together one missed summer doesn’t count in the friendship book, I suppose. I felt guilty after that, though. You really didn’t have to stick up for me. I wouldn’t have minded.
It wasn’t long before we began holding hands and that’s when the real stares started. You brought me home to meet your parents one day and they gave me one look of disapproval. They wrote me off before I said a word. And I don’t blame them, I’d write me off too. But you…you saw something in me, and I wasn’t sure why. Because the fact of the matter was, I was less than ordinary. I had brown eyes, and mangy brown hair. You were too good for me and everyone knew it.
Then the slanders started.
“Whore,” someone wrote on my locker. “Slut,” another wrote.
Your locker wasn’t much better, though. “Desperate as fuck,” someone had carved into the metal.
“Nigger lover,” another said.
I found it insulting and wanted to go back, shy away from each other – we were only causing chaos – but you insisted that we shouldn’t be separated for that, so we stayed.
“You’re beautiful to me,” you said, “that’s all that matters, right?” then you kissed my forehead and I knew instantly that other people didn’t matter to us. All that mattered was that you liked me and I liked you.
And then you did the most incredible thing. You began inviting me as your date to the white parties and I knew it was wrong, but I went anyways. And that first party, the one where people spat in both our faces was when I knew that I loved you. You were willing to do anything for me, including getting treated like a black girl would. It was like a switch went off in that instant and I realized how much you mattered to me.
When I brought you to my house my parents were shocked. They knew I had a boyfriend, but I had forgotten to mention you were white.
“This is Ryan,” I introduced you.
My dad was a good five inches taller than you and stood over you, crossing his arms. “What’s your game, kid?” he asked.
“No game, sir,” you said politely. “I’m in love with your daughter, sir. And, I’d really like your approval.”
My parents were both skeptical, but they couldn’t exactly force me to break up with you. But it was nearing 1964, I was 17 at this point and you 18, getting ready to graduate secondary school.
We had been friends for almost nine years and I’m not sure when they accepted us but it took a long time. The first 5 years we were both far too embarrassed to even address the issue we were making, so by the time rumor had gotten around that we were even friends…Let’s just say we never did go over well with anyone.
It was when you graduated was when people began to die down. They didn’t approve, but they got tired of fighting with us. I was there to watch you, but being a year younger I just sat in the crowd (on the black side, of course).
But to us it didn’t matter who accepted us anyway. We couldn’t do much, we knew that. We knew our love was forbidden. Interracial marriage wasn’t legalized until a few years later and you weren’t around for that.
It was when we separated for schools. That’s the last time I saw you. You were heading off to Harvard (you worked your ass off for that scholarship) and I was going to a school that I still hated. White had privilege back then, and we both had accepted that.
But I didn’t expect you to stop calling me. And I didn’t expect that good-bye to be good-bye, I didn’t expect it to be final. I didn’t expect you to disappear. I didn’t expect you to disintegrate into white life without me.
But you did.
And now I miss you.
And I’m alone.
And you were always there for me, but I hate you Ryan. I hate you because how can you do that to someone? How do you love someone one day and disappear the next? I hate you so much that I love the hell out of you. And you will linger with me every second of every single fucking day, your toxins pulsating through my veins. I hate you so much, Ry. And that’s what is killing me slowly.
When I met you, it was under the Alabama sun. The heat was exhausting but Ma had told me to go outside and play anyway. She said it was a nice day to explore, but really she just wanted to do the laundry without me bothering her.
I went to the park down by the pond and that’s when I first saw you. I was only eight, but I knew enough to know I should’ve gone to the park on the other side of the block, closer to where I lived and where I was more likely to see my own friends. But this was a longer bike ride – and we both know how much I loved riding my bike back then – and usually no one was at this park anyway.
But that day, you were. You were on a swing. It wasn’t going high, just gently swinging back and forth, back and forth. You smiled at me, but I didn’t smile back. I didn’t get off my bike, and my guard was up. Your blue eyes burned through me and your blond hair…you were so intimidating.
“You can come if you want!” you yelled across the street where I was still half-sitting half-standing on my bike.
Cautiously I crossed the street, not knowing exactly what to suspect.
“Hi,” you grinned. “I’m Ryan.”
“Keisha,” I introduced myself.
“What are you doing here?” you asked. But not in an aggressive way, but a gentle way. Not mean or rude or snobbish, just your way of asking. “Shouldn’t you be on the other side?”
“I didn’t expect anyone to be here,” I answered honestly.
You were so confident, “Well, I guess you’re lucky it’s just me then, huh?”
“I suppose I am,” I was still a little shy. Then, gaining confidence, I asked what any girl would. “Why are you being nice to me?”
You chuckled. “I’m a nice guy what can I say?”
There was empty silence between us and we listened to the woodchips crumple under my feet as I walked to the swing next to you.
“How old are you?” you asked me.
“I’m eight,” I told you, finally making eye contact. I had always been a shy girl, but never in my life did I feel so apprehensive.
“Nine,” you informed me haughtily like it was some huge difference.
And to this day, I remember your plaid shirt that you wore like all the other rich boys did, but those blue eyes…those are what stood out the most. You kept talking to me and eventually I loosened up and we were laughing together. It was the first laugh I’d had with a boy like you.
From that day on we’d meet secretly. It was like we knew we were doing the right thing, but also knew the rest of the world would judge us. I was so different from you that it just didn’t seem right. We’d go to the different parks if they were abandoned or play hopscotch, almost anything could keep us entertained if we were together.
It stayed that way for four years until I just stopped showing up. I got so busy that I forgot a world outside of the oppressed existed. It was probably a good year before I saw you again, and hearing that now stings. It really, really stings because you were so good to me and I took you for granted like that. And maybe that’s why.
The next time we saw each other was at a restaurant. I was on one side and you were hidden in the back corner of the other. I saw you first, dressed in a shirt with a collar while I just wore my hand-me-down dress that was getting really faded and worn down.
When you met eyes with me you nodded to the bathroom and I was compliant, following you there guiltily. I knew I had messed up, even back then. I shouldn’t have stopped seeing you.
You smiled at me in the hallway though, dragging me to the back.
“How have you been?” you asked with that goofy grin.
Out of all the things you could’ve said, you asked that. I knew that I deserved worse – I could easily have been degraded for my actions – but you didn’t care. It was as if all was forgiven.
“I’ve been okay,” I talked fast because we both knew we didn’t have much time and had a lot of catching up to do. “I’m sorry I stopped hanging out with you. Middle school got really busy.”
He waved his hand through the air, “I understand, Keisha.”
I smiled at those words. They made me happy. “How about you? How have you been?”
“Alright. I hear you’re coming to my school next year,” you brought up the one subject I had tried not to think about for months now. “It’s okay,” he must have seen my panicked look, “I’ll be there. And we really aren’t that mean over at Bradley. Us rich folks just have a bad rep.”
I laughed. If it was just you rich folks I was worried about I wouldn’t be worrying. But you left me at that, walking away with those comforting words straying through the air.
A few weeks later, the school bus pulled up and I got on, going to the back of the bus. This time you saw me first and grabbed my wrist as I walked by. I jumped, thinking the worst, but when I saw the blue eyes I knew I was okay.
You had saved me a seat next to you. Others stared at us – those days in secondary school girls and boys can’t be friends never mind the different social classes we were in – but you didn’t even care who stared. If anything you liked it.
“I missed you,” you smiled. You had a really nice smile, I realized. It was almost uplifting back then. It could make anyone feel just a little better, I’d imagine.
“I missed you too,” I said nervously. I could literally feel boys and girls of every class looking at us.
“It’s so good to see you again. I’m glad you’re going to my school now,” you told me sincerely.
“Yeah, that makes one of us.”
We laughed together and made small talk until we got to school. It felt weird to be in a uniform and with all these new people. You showed me around a little, but that quickly came to an end as well.
You let me find my way to my classes as you found your way to yours.
“You know her?” I heard some kid sneer as they walked away. I’d come to know him as Ryan, your best friend.
“Yeah, that’s Keisha,” you replied evenly.
“You know she’s-“
“Yeah, and what’s your point?” you asked with edge to his voice.
I guess we really were best friends at that point. I mean, after countless summers together one missed summer doesn’t count in the friendship book, I suppose. I felt guilty after that, though. You really didn’t have to stick up for me. I wouldn’t have minded.
It wasn’t long before we began holding hands and that’s when the real stares started. You brought me home to meet your parents one day and they gave me one look of disapproval. They wrote me off before I said a word. And I don’t blame them, I’d write me off too. But you…you saw something in me, and I wasn’t sure why. Because the fact of the matter was, I was less than ordinary. I had brown eyes, and mangy brown hair. You were too good for me and everyone knew it.
Then the slanders started.
“Whore,” someone wrote on my locker. “Slut,” another wrote.
Your locker wasn’t much better, though. “Desperate as fuck,” someone had carved into the metal.
“Nigger lover,” another said.
I found it insulting and wanted to go back, shy away from each other – we were only causing chaos – but you insisted that we shouldn’t be separated for that, so we stayed.
“You’re beautiful to me,” you said, “that’s all that matters, right?” then you kissed my forehead and I knew instantly that other people didn’t matter to us. All that mattered was that you liked me and I liked you.
And then you did the most incredible thing. You began inviting me as your date to the white parties and I knew it was wrong, but I went anyways. And that first party, the one where people spat in both our faces was when I knew that I loved you. You were willing to do anything for me, including getting treated like a black girl would. It was like a switch went off in that instant and I realized how much you mattered to me.
When I brought you to my house my parents were shocked. They knew I had a boyfriend, but I had forgotten to mention you were white.
“This is Ryan,” I introduced you.
My dad was a good five inches taller than you and stood over you, crossing his arms. “What’s your game, kid?” he asked.
“No game, sir,” you said politely. “I’m in love with your daughter, sir. And, I’d really like your approval.”
My parents were both skeptical, but they couldn’t exactly force me to break up with you. But it was nearing 1964, I was 17 at this point and you 18, getting ready to graduate secondary school.
We had been friends for almost nine years and I’m not sure when they accepted us but it took a long time. The first 5 years we were both far too embarrassed to even address the issue we were making, so by the time rumor had gotten around that we were even friends…Let’s just say we never did go over well with anyone.
It was when you graduated was when people began to die down. They didn’t approve, but they got tired of fighting with us. I was there to watch you, but being a year younger I just sat in the crowd (on the black side, of course).
But to us it didn’t matter who accepted us anyway. We couldn’t do much, we knew that. We knew our love was forbidden. Interracial marriage wasn’t legalized until a few years later and you weren’t around for that.
It was when we separated for schools. That’s the last time I saw you. You were heading off to Harvard (you worked your ass off for that scholarship) and I was going to a school that I still hated. White had privilege back then, and we both had accepted that.
But I didn’t expect you to stop calling me. And I didn’t expect that good-bye to be good-bye, I didn’t expect it to be final. I didn’t expect you to disappear. I didn’t expect you to disintegrate into white life without me.
But you did.
And now I miss you.
And I’m alone.
And you were always there for me, but I hate you Ryan. I hate you because how can you do that to someone? How do you love someone one day and disappear the next? I hate you so much that I love the hell out of you. And you will linger with me every second of every single fucking day, your toxins pulsating through my veins. I hate you so much, Ry. And that’s what is killing me slowly.
♠ ♠ ♠
First story :)