Colour My World

The cigarette between Jack’s lips burned bright as he drew a breath in. He had already smoked a couple, their buds lay in the ashtray that he rested on the pillow beside him. The red at the end glowed and then smoldered out as he pressed it firmly in the tray, putting the fire out. A smirk found its way to his face as he heard Marie in the kitchen; the clangs and bangs of pots and pans echoed throughout the small house. Jack was madly in love with this dark skinned woman and he knew how lucky he was to have her.

It had never been easy, though. The first time he had laid eyes upon her she was wearing her work uniform, serving a group of white men at the local diner. Jack has walked in one morning before work to get his daily dose of coffee. He had lived in the southern town his entire life and the diner was a regular hangout for him. But on this particular day, a new beauty had started work and she instantly caught Jack’s attention. She wasn’t what most men would like. Her figure was slim; Jack figured he could place his hands around her waist and hold most if not all of her. Marie was not well endowed in the chest but he didn’t fall in love with something as shallow as outer looks.

What drew him in was her smile and innocence. She would float around the diner, her eyes soft and sweet but still hesitant to make eye contact with the white patrons. Jack would steal glances at her, silently trying to draw her attention. Often times, he found himself chuckling as he walked out the door, the mystery behind that woman weighing on his mind.

Now, as he laid in bed with the scent of her skin still floating in the air and mixed with the smoke, he smiled. The first day in the diner he knew he wanted her and pride swelled up in this chest because he had succeeded.

“Jack!” he heard Marie call out. “Diner is ready, dear!”

Jack pushed himself up and found the clothes that were stripped so elegantly from him. Putting them back on, he made his way into the kitchen. He took a deep breath in through his nose, allowing the aroma of the food to sweep over him.

“I managed to salvage most of it,” Marie declared proudly. She was a decent cook even though she was young and a new wife.

“It looks great,” he said, kissing her cheek as he took a seat at the table.

Slowly, a sound arose from outside. It started softly and Jack couldn’t quite figure out the source. Marie’s face contorted and worry lines formed between her brows. Suddenly, a bright light shone in through the front window. The thin curtains that hung down did not filter it out; it cast shadows across the living room and kitchen as the sound grew louder.

“It’s a car,” Marie said matter of factly. The worry still showing in her face. The car was clearly in their driveway, its headlights pointed towards the house.

Jack stood up and walked to the window, careful to not show himself through the drapes. He peaked out slightly, his curiosity flooding him. However he knew he had to be stealthy; he was living with a black woman and it was a fact that he couldn’t make public. He saw through the lights shining at him that the car was an old Ford, although he couldn’t make out the model.

“Jack??!” he heard a loud voice yell from outside. It took a moment for him to realize who it was.

“Is that David?” Jack whispered to himself.

“Jack! Are you hiding a groid in there?!” the man yelled out.

Jack’s face turned red as the insult found its way inside of his home. The word – used in reference as slang for a negro – hit Jack’s ears with a stinging rage.

“Jack, who is it?” Marie asked. Jack waved his hand at her, urging her to stay back. He didn’t want her to hear the insults that were directed at her.

“Stay in the kitchen, Marie.”

Jack worked at a garage with several other men. All day long they worked side by side on cars and motors. They had suspected that Jack was seeing a black woman; he had heard the off handed comments from time to time. But he knew they had no real proof, no solid evidence of the ‘sin’ they were accusing him of. Peering back out the window, Jack saw two more figures emerge from the car. They were all from the garage.

“Jack Adams is wanting some chocolate for dinner!” he heard one of them yell.

“Is she in there, Jacky?? Aunt Jemima hiding away?” another screaming out, his speech slurred. Jack knew they were probably drunk.

“Baby, who is that?” Marie asked.

“Some idiots from work.”

“Come eat, your plate is getting cold.” But Jack didn’t move. His temper was flaring up and his stomach was no longer telling him that he was hungry.

“I bet she can ride you like an animal! A wild ape!” Laughter spilled from the men’s lips as they shouted. “Get her out here, Jack! We’ll share!”

Soon a crash came, the breaking of glass. One of the men – Jack didn’t care which – had thrown a beer bottle against the house. If their aim had been better it would have crashed right through the window. Without much thought and hesitation, Jack darted into their bedroom and returned with a baseball bat.

“I’ll show those sons of bitches,” Jack said, rage blinding him. He made his way past Marie who was now begging him to stop. He still gripped the bat tightly, his intentions were to storm outside and show the men the fight they were looking for.

“I hate violence!” Marie yelled out, stopping Jack in his tracks. “Please…”

“Marie, I’m just protecting you,” he responded. She came up behind him and began to rub his shoulders, alleviating the tension in them. Her lanky fingers cooling down the heat inside of him. He heard Marie praying quietly to herself as she massaged his shoulders.

“Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do,” she whispered.

Marie had the faith of a saint. She believed in the higher power of God but Jack had his doubts. Growing up in the south, he had been raised in a Christian household and a Christian church and was once a strong believer. But now, he didn’t see the point in praying to a God that allowed such hatred to thrive. What God would punish them for being in love?

Only because Marie urged him so strongly and because he knew she had seen enough violence being black, Jack let the bat fall from his hands and drop to the floor. He only wanted to protect her and he had a hard time standing down. It was not the first time he had acted on this instinct.

Jack sat at the counter, Marie as his server. A group of older white men sat beside him and were staring rudely at Marie. They thought they could treat her like that, because of the color of her skin. They rudely gave her their orders, demanding that she hurry them up. Jack was taken aback at how they were treating her but he stayed quiet, knowing that drawing too much attention would place him in the outcast category. These men were old southerners; Jack’s liberal and young heart stood no chance against their racist attitudes.

Marie came back to the side of the counter where the men sat. She handed one of them a cup of coffee with his order and smiled sweetly despite their lack of friendliness. Jack watched as he sipped it with a look of disgust.

“I specifically said no sugar, woman,” the man said hatefully. Marie looked frightened, her head hung low as she apologized.

“Oh, that’s my fault, “ Jack spoke up. “See sir, I ordered the same things as you just with sugar. It’s my fault for confusing her.

“Taking up for a negro?” the man had scoffed, clearly upset at Jack’s actions.

Staying silent and keeping his eyes on Marie, Jack just smiled at her. She smiled back, silently thanking him. When she reached to refill Jack’s cup he asked softly, “are you okay?” Marie nodded softly and smiled again.

Even then, Jack had been protective of this woman. He wouldn’t allow people to degrade his wife or his love. In an almost ironic twist of fate, Marie walked over to the small radio they had and flipped it on to drown out the noise outside. But instead of music filling their little home, something else caught his ears.

“Brothers and sister, I urge you all to come join us! The negro people have been surpressed for too long!” The dark voice that was now booming through the room reminded Jack of a pastor, preaching the gospel on a Sunday morning.

A black radio newscaster – on one of the only black stations that the town had – was telling of a march that would be happening in the upcoming days. The man encouraged blacks and whites to join together to protest the injustice and discrimination that was still happening.

“What’s he saying?” Jack asked, moving closer so he could hear. He stepped over the ball bat on the floor and sat down at the table. The food in front of him went unseen as he listened.

“We will meet at the First Presbyterian Church on Fifth Street next Saturday at 8 A.M. United, we will march through the streets! Our signs held high and our voices raised even higher! Let’s make this a protest even Dr. King himself would be proud of! Let’s show this town and these white people that the color of our skin has no bearing on our souls! ”

The words came to Jack like a prayer that he never prayed – if he couldn’t stand up to the men outside, he could at least march. The broadcast filled the room and seemed to bounce off of the walls of the tiny home. Jack, eyes wide and eager, looked up at his wife. Her hand was resting on her cheek as she listened to the same radio. Jack’s blood started pumping fast of excitement. He wanted a way to show Marie that he could take care of his family and that he could stand up to injustice. He wanted her to know they had no right to call her names, or show her disrespect. She did not deserve it.

“I have to march,” he said, turning around in his chair to look at her. Marie hung her head and Jack heard her whispering another prayer to herself, although he couldn’t make out the words.