Colour My World

He held her tightly in his arms, swaying with the rhythm of the record that played. It was such a sweet song and Jack loved dancing with Marie; the way her hips would move slowly and his hand would dip down to the small of her back as he pulled her in closer. Even the music was defined by color, whether you listened to the negro songs or the white people ones. But to Jack, both shades of music -- and skin -- were beautiful.

Like a river flows, surely to the sea. Darling so it goes. Some things are meant to be.

Jack Adams was meant to love this dark skinned woman. Meant to create a life with her and to start a beautiful family. He knew it even from the first time he held her. Marie had mentioned their first dance on their first date. The memory hung in Jack’s mind and he knew it was a secret he would cherish forever.

He wasn’t sure if she would actually show. Why would she, really? Jack was a white man who had no real reason to be interested in a black woman. Except that he did; he had all the reasons in the world to want to know the pretty waitress that smiled at him. In a bold move, he would leave her notes on napkins in chicken scratch handwriting. Carefully folding them and sliding under the cups of coffee, he hoped that Marie -- and Marie alone -- would find them and read it. They were usually small compliments or song lyrics, just small things to let her know that he noticed her. On this occasion, he had prompted her to meet with him at the park, a risky move indeed.

Waiting by his car for what felt like hours, Jack grew worried that she wouldn’t come. But hope filled his eyes once more when he saw the figure appear out of the darkness. Her yellow dress stood out against the night sky and Jack smiled at her. She looked stunning. It was the first time he had seen her without her work uniform on and Jack was in awe. She approached him slowly, her fight or flight kicking in. Marie appeared that at any moment, she would take off in the other direction, leaving Jack standing alone.

But she didn’t, against whatever judgment that told her to flee. Still, she had gotten in the car with him and agreed to go to a different location. The ride was okay but there was a silence that fell between them. Jack had tried to make small talk and Marie did answer every question he had. But she was still nervous, he sensed that.

The green sign that told them they were leaving one state and entering another reflected the headlights on the car. It was safer there, where they weren’t so far south and where people didn’t know either of them. Jack pulled off the road and turned down a small dirt path, only wide enough for one car to fit. Soon, a clearing opened up, the road turned back solid, and a building appeared at the bottom of a hill. Jack parked the car, still several hundred yards away. They could hear the faint sound of music from inside.

“What is this place?” Marie asked.

“It’s a club or a bar, or something. I’m not sure.” Jack answered, turning off the ignition and getting out to open Marie’s door. “They always throw parties here.”

They stood at the top of the hill, looking down over the bright lights of the venue, the music louder than it was before.

“Can I have this dance?” Jack asked, smiling coolly. He reached out his hand and Marie took it, hesitantly.
“It’s okay. No one can see us up here. I promise.”

The song -- sung from a man whose skin was darker than Marie’s -- traveled up the hill and met their ears. They swayed, clumsily at first but then finding their rhythm. It felt natural to Jack to hold her. He had dreamed about it many times, yearning to see what it felt like.

When a man loves a woman, he can’t keep his mind on nothing else.

“This is lovely,” Marie said quietly.

“You are lovely.” Jack felt the heat coming from Marie’s face as she blushed.

He’ll trade the world, for the good thing he’s found.

Jack may not have known it then -- or perhaps deep down he already knew -- but would have traded the entire world to have Marie. And now, as they danced in their living room, Jack smiled because he knew he had truly found something good even amidst all the bad in the world.



Jack walked into the garage, his eyes focused on the oil stained concrete floor. He was the last to arrive at work and the men that tried to torment him were present. He didn’t dare look them in the eyes or even glance in their direction. If he did, Jack knew that the anger would swell back up inside of him. And Marie had done so well at easing that anger. Not sure how he was going to manage to work beside them. He decided to just take it one moment at a time.

He worked in silence all day; none of the men brought up the previous night and Jack didn’t make mention of it either. Mindlessly, he changed the oil, rotated tires, buffed out scratches, and cleaned air filters. It was a day full of odds-and-ends jobs, small things with the cars in the shop that needed to be done. He opted for working alone, not volunteering for any of the tasks that required more than one man. A bell rang out over the garage, signaling that the men were free to take their lunch break. Jack noticed the shifting eyes as his coworkers set down their tools and grabbed their lunches. Pulling out a brown paper bag filled with a bologna sandwich and an apple, Jack slide a metal stool up and used the hood of an old Chevrolet as a table.

“Hey Jack,” he heard a voice behind him. It was Scott, a young man around Jack’s age.

“Hey.”

“So uh, I heard about what happened last night. Is it true?”

Scott had not been with the guys at Jack’s home the night before. Jack wasn’t sure if it was because he wasn’t invited or because he didn’t want to go. Either way, he had caught wind of what happened and was now questioning Jack.

“What did you hear?” Jack asked.

“I heard that you were shaking up with a negro girl and the guys came to your house to mess with her.”

Jack knew he could only admit to one part of the story. He liked Scott well enough; he seemed like a decent guy but Jack also knew he couldn’t trust anyone with such a secret.

“Yeah, they came by. But they were just drunk, a little rowdy. They don’t know what they were talking about.” He hated having to defend them and their actions but it was the only way.

“So it aint true about the black girl?” Scott asked, the thick southern drawl dripping from his words.

“Of course it’s not true!” Jack managed to say in a fake laugh. Lying set his stomach on fire and he yearned for the day that he could look every man in the garage in the face and yell, “Hell yes it’s true! I love a black woman and I’m proud!.”

But he knew today would not be that day. Scott shook his head and smiled, “Good.” He patted Jack on the back and walked away, joining the group of men on the other side of the garage.

Jack worked the rest of his eight hour day much like the first half: in silence. When the alarm went off, telling them that they could clock out, Jack was the first one out the door. He got into his car, which was in bad need of a fresh painting, and headed home to his wife. As he drove, he glanced down at his ring finger and cursed out loud to nobody about how unfair it was that he had to leave his wedding band at home. The radio played and when an ad for the upcoming march came on, Jack turned the volume dial and listened.

“As I have urged you all before, please come out and support the local brothers and sisters. We will meet at 8 o’clock, but you are welcome to come early to make protest signs. We had some people donate cardboard but we still need paint. Remember, it is at the First Presbyterian Church. Together, we will fight for racial justice!”

The words got Jack pumped up; he had to lie to his coworkers and keep his wife hidden inside of a house that needed many repairs. But he was bound and determined to be at that march. It was the least he could do, in his mind. He pulled into the driveway, his adrenaline still pumping from the advertisement. Opening the door, he felt a change in the atmosphere. Something felt off, felt wrong. He stepped inside and saw Marie seated at the kitchen table, her back turned to him.

“Hey baby, I’m home,” he said as he approached her. “What are you doing?”

He heard a sniffle come from her and he was quickly by her side. Horror and anger washed over him as his wife looked up at him. Her mascara had ran down her cheeks from the tears and her nose was red. But that wasn’t what caught Jack’s attention. It was the discoloration around her eye. A dark bruise -- several shades darker than her already warm skin -- framed her left eye. The skin around it was swollen and red and tears continued to fall, despite her obvious efforts to stop them.

“Baby, who did this to you?” Jack asked, bending down and taking her hands in his. “Tell me, please.”

If his mind wasn’t already made up, it would have been in that moment. There was no way that the march was going to happen without him.