Colour My World

“I have to march,” His words seemed to tense up her shoulders now. Outside it had quietened down, the guys had left due to their unresponsiveness. That was how she wanted it. She could take the words, she could take the disgusted looks, yet she could not have him hurt. She would not have him hurt.

Softly she folded her hands, closed her eyes and muttered words she had spoken many times before.
“The Lord is my light and my salvation—whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life—of whom shall I be afraid? When evil men advance against me to devour my flesh, when my enemies and my foes attack me, they will stumble and fall.Though an army besiege me, my heart will not fear; though war break out against me, even then will I be confident.”

Jack sat across from her, looking at the bat that was still on the ground. She was proud of him. Her strong man. He had wanted to storm out, protect her from those words she did hear. He had wanted to be her guardian, yet if he had, he would have done more damage. They would have beaten him, maybe even dragged him with them. He was sinning in their eyes, he was breaking the law in their books.

“The world will change,” she said to him, grasping his attention again. His beautiful loyal blue eyes looked at her, but that boyish grin was gone. She wished they were back in bed again. She wished she was laying against his soft rising chest and hearing his strong thumping heart. In that bedroom, things were clear. They were easy. She loved him, she needed him, she craved him. He loved her, he needed her, he craved her. Yet outside that bed, lines were drawn. Even at their diner table, a line was drawn. Cast by the lights of that car, it had lightened the position they were in: she was black and he was white.

“The world is not changing fast enough, the world is wrong,” he said. Passion flooded from his lips, a passion she wanted to kiss, yet was too dangerous. He could not go marching outside. He could not be defending her in public. It would get him beaten, pepper-sprayed and convicted. She wanted to show the world he was her man. She wanted to show their pure love. Yet the world was not ready to accept that. Marie rather have him in secret, than not have him at all.

“Having you beat down in that march is not going to change that.” she said. She could not listen to the protest words any longer. The reverend's voice booming in their house was wedging between them and made her feel anxious.

“They won’t catch me, I promise,” Jack said. He looked at his food. It was probably cold by now. It had not bothered her to waste dinner before. Not when they were making love. It did bother her that it was now wasted by words of war.

This would not be just a march. Peaceful it would start, violent it would end.

Marie stood up, took off her apron and straightened her skirt, before moving towards their radio and changing the channel. Suddenly, instead of a exhilarating voice, music streamed into their little home. Marie did not like to fight. Not with anyone and especially not with Jack.

“Just dance with me,” she said, avoiding the matter altogether. She swirled around, making her skirt fly around her legs and stretched out her hand. Her nappy hair could not swirl with her, yet her eyes were pleading enough. With a little grin, Jack slid his chair back and dropped his napkin on the table. As he walked up to her, all she could see was his handsome body. That white undershirt showed his lean muscles and he looked amazing in those dark pants.

He took her hand and she rested the other on his shoulder. While guiding her with his hand on her waist, they swayed to the music. Gently she placed her hand on his torso and sniffed up his scent, calming her from the rowdy evening.

“We should always dance,” she whispered before pressing her lips behind his ears. Slowly, she felt all the tension leaving his body as he relaxed and there was nothing else in this world but the two of them; dancing. Even the voice of Elvis Presley did not wake them from their drunken love.

Shall I stay, would it be a sin. If I can't help, falling in love with you

“There is only one thing I like better than dancing with you,” he whispered back. She laughed silently. She knew what that thing was. They had just done it. The most beautiful act of love. Looking at her finger, the golden band upon her right hand, she wondered. What if she got pregnant? What would they say? How would she explain? The worries welled up inside of her, but were soon stopped by the thoughts of their baby. To bear his child was the only thing she wanted, besides being able to truly call him her husband. The thought of a little boy or girl, with his eyes and his smile. The thought of having his kids, it warmed her up inside as she rested her head on his shoulder again. Jack Jr.

“Remember our first dance?” Jack softly asked, disturbing her daydream. She nodded. She did remember their first dance.

What was she to do? She held the napkin in her hands, her thumb caressing the words scribbled down on it. Would she go? Should she go? She shook her head. She’d be foolish to go. It was way too dangerous. She did not know him. She did not know his intentions to be true and honorable. What if...? What if this was a set up? She could barely imagine him doing such a thing, but it had been done before. Black rapes might not make the newspaper, but they were an everyday thing. White men claimed not to want black women, yet they took without asking either way. The hush-hush stories about maids being raped, molested. The whisperings of elder black women, while they visited each other after long hours of work. She was not a fool. She had heard the stories. What if...

"Marie, please meet me at the park at eight. I’d love to hold your hand outside of my daydream." His handwriting was terrible, but after the shock of his words, they had made her smile. She had dreamed of holding his hand as well. She had dreamed of a whole lot more than just holding his hand. Her impure thoughts had kept her up at night, mad at herself for her feelings. Mad at herself for her feelings for a white man. This could not be. Even with his true honorable intentions, it still could not be.

The park? No, she would stay home. It was a dangerous dumb thing to go meet a white man after dark. It was dangerous. It was dumb. It was dangerously dumb.

“I do remember, like it was yesterday,” she said as he turned her around, twirling her in his arms.

Take my hand, take my whole life too. For I can't help, falling in love with you.

“It was not a white man’s song we danced to,” she said smiling. It had been a different song, yet she felt just as anxious as she did now. He still gave her those butterflies down her stomach. He still amazed her with his love. How could a gorgeous young man like him, love her? He was a catch, with his boyish grin and his great physique. White girls would have thrown themselves at him, if he had a little more cash. That was it with white women. They needed the money too much. Guys with new cars, fast rides, those were the ones they swooned over. Marie did not need the luxury. She did not mind the leaking faucets, as long as his look could still give her the jitters. As long as his touch this tingled upon her skin. He treated her like a lady, but she was not the princess and the pea.

“It was a great song,” he said, piercing right into her eyes with his.

“It was a great song,” she repeated.

“I should not be here,” she said as she reached him. She had sent her friend away once she saw he was alone. She did not want her to know she was meeting a white boy. They would have judged her, called her stupid and moreover they would have stopped it altogether. She did not want it to stop. His looks, his secret messages on napkins, his smile. It was what she thought of when waking in the morning, and the thing she wanted to dream off when she went to sleep.

“Yet here you are,” he said grinning. He was hanging against his old car, looking handsome and she did not quite know what to make of herself. She did not know how to give herself posture, what to say, what to do. Awkwardly she stood there, waiting for him to move.

“You want to dance?” he asked. Confused, she looked around. She did dress herself in her best dress. It was a yellow dress with white lace on the brim. She had tried to tame her wild curls, and eventually just pinned it all together. She had dressed for a date. Yet they were in a silent park, the darkness covering around them.

“But there is no music,” she stuttered.

“I know a place,” he just said as he gallantly opened his car door for her to enter. Conflicted, she looked at his inviting gesture. She’d be crazy to get in a car with a strange white man. Totally insane.

“We did need to cross state borders for it,” she giggled. It was like all the insulting words of earlier that night were forgotten. He loved her. She loved him. It was all that mattered.

"He is not marching that protest", she thought to herself. The world will change, but he needs to still be there to witness it.