Colour My World

A death sentence?” Jack asked. “Marie, what good is a life where we have to hide? We have done nothing wrong but exist and exist together and yet we would be treated like lepers!”

“It’s a life where I have you! That’s enough for me! Why can’t it be for you?”

Marie just wasn’t getting what Jack meant. It was about more than defending her honor, it was about defending their home and their love. If this policeman -- a man of the law who was supposed to uphold righteousness -- could beat an innocent black women, there was little hope left. Jack was a man with an ego bigger than his sense of reason. His young blood ran hot and he felt as though he just had to take a stand. What man, if they were truly a man, would sit around while such violence and injustice was directed towards his wife? It was not a man Jack wanted to be.

Marie, with tears swelling in her eyes, turned and walked back to the kitchen. Jack heard the rattling of pans and knew Marie was done talking for the evening. She was too upset, no amount of words he had would convince her that he was right.

“Marie, I know you don’t understand. But I have to do this. Not just for you, but for me and and for us. I love you, Mrs. Adams. But I have to do this.” His words went without a response from Marie but Jack knew she had heard him.

Suddenly, he wasn’t hungry anymore and the tiny home began to shrink even more. The walls felt as though they would close in on him, suffocating the air from his lungs. So many harsh words and hard feelings hung in the air and filled the empty space around Jack. Knowing he couldn’t stay in the house any longer, he shuffled quietly to the door. He paused, his hand on the doorknob, and looked back towards the kitchen. Marie was out of his line of sight but shook his head at her anyway.

“You silly woman, can’t you see, I have to do this,” he whispered to himself before opening the door.

With his keys in his hand and his wedding band in his pocket, Jack stepped out onto the porch. He quickly walked to his car; he didn’t look back to see if Marie had noticed his departure. She would figure it out soon enough, Jack thought. Starting the ignition in his car, Jack saw how the beams of the headlights cast shadows across their quaint little home. They danced across the front door and the side of the house as he pulled out of the driveway. He wouldn’t be gone for too long, just enough time to clear his head and settle his nerves.

The images of the policeman striking Marie filled Jack’s mind as he drove. His lunch from earlier that day threatened to make its way back up his throat; the thought of her being beaten made his stomach churn. Her dark skin -- just one of the many things that made her face so lovely -- was left with a mark of oppression. Jack knew several of the cops in the town and he tried to figure out which ones could be so cruel. Disheartened though, Jack realized that most of them could. Most of them were white men, unrelenting in their racist attitudes towards blacks. They all appeared nice enough with their “serve and protect” attitudes but deep down they held the hatred that resulted in the bruise on his wife.

Jack drove until he came upon a familar place. A place he had called home just a few years back. His childhood home sat in the middle of the town, nestled between two giant oak trees. The house itself was much larger than the one Jack shared with Marie. Jack always found comfort in the building itself, even if he didn’t always see eye to eye with his parents living inside.

Needing a place to stay for the night, Jack felt as though he had very few options. And on such short notice, he figured his parents home was the safest bet. He pulled into the driveway and sat for a moment. He needed an excuse as to why he was there. Simply telling the truth was not an option, his parents were still under the assumption he was a single bachelor. Deciding to wing it as he went along, Jack got out of the car and strolled up to the door. He lit a cigarette and took just a few long drags from it before knocking.
His mother, still youthful in her appearance, opened the door with a smile. She was in her cooking apron, preparing dinner Jack assumed.

“Oh, hello sweatheart. Come in!” she ushered him in. He leaned in and placed a kiss on her cheek, leaving her smiling wider than before.

“Hello, momma.”

“What brings you by?” she asked, motioning him to follow her into the kitchen.

“I just felt like dropping by. Thought maybe I could stay all night, the neighbours have been a little rowdy lately, hard to get much sleep with all the racket,” Jack lied. In reality, their neighbors next door were quiet, hardly ever making any noise worth mentioning. But it was the first thing that came to mind so Jack went with it.

“Well of course, you’re always welcome here.” As she spoke, Jack’s father came in from the garage. He was covered in motor oil, a look that Jack often adorned. Jack’s knowledge about cars came mainly from his father.

“Hey son, you staying for dinner?” he asked.

“Yes sir,” Jack answered.

“Picked a good night. Your momma’s making a casserole.”

“Now, yous go wash up, get all filth off ya,” Jack’s mother said, nodding her head towards the sink. Jack walked over and grabbed the bar of soap that lay in the small dish. He ran water over his hands and lathered the soap up. The scent was soft and lavender; it reminded him of Marie for some reason and a pang of guilt washed over him. He had left without saying anything, leaving her by herself. But he needed time and he was sure that she did too.

“You going to turn that faucet off, son?” Jack’s father asked. “That water aint free, ya know?”

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Jack rinsed the soap off of his hands and shut the water off. He dried them and took a seat at the table that sat in the middle of the room. It was the chair he had sat in every night for many years and Jack wished that things were as simple as they were when he was 5. Back then, he didn’t have a care in the world. He didn’t have to worry about hiding his marriage or his wife getting abused.

The conversation at the dinner table made the typical rounds; Jack talked about work, his father about sports, and his mother gave the latest gossip she heard the previous Sunday in church. The radio was at a soft lull in the living room, the noise barely audible from the kitchen. But when another ad came on about the upcoming march, Jack’s ears caught it and tuned in. The booming voice of the man urging those to come participate could not be drowned out by clanging forks and soft chews. Jack’s parents heard it too and his mother shook her head.

“They’ve been advertising that march for days now. Telling people to come down and help out. Even asking the white folks to march! Isn’t it something?” she asked, looking up from her plate.

“Yeah, it’s something alright,” Jack answered.

“I just think the negros needd to settle down a little bit. Let things happen naturally, ya know?” Jack had to bite his tongue so he wouldn’t make a remark he would later regret. He loved his mother dearly but she was wrong. She was wrong, his father was wrong, and most of the people around him were dead wrong.

After dinner, Jack helped clean up and soon found himself in the garage with his father. He was working on an old motor, tuning and fixing the broken parts. Jack’s eyes wandered around the room and soon fell upon a shelf that housed several cans of spray paint. He remembered the man on the radio urging people to bring supplies to the march.

“Hey dad, do you think I could borrow a couple cans of these?” Jack asked.

“Of what, son?”

“This spray paint. Can I take a can or two?”

“Sure, whatcha need it for?”
“I, uh, I just have a few things around the house and outside that needs some touching up. And these look like the perfect colors.”

“Yeah, you can have them. Take as many as you need,” his father said without looking up from the motor.

“Thanks.”

Jack’s mind was already made up; it had been made up for a while but now his plan was finally taking form and coming to life. He would indeed march, no matter how much Marie begged him not to and no matter how mad it would make his parents. He was done pleasing a world that didn’t care about him or his love. Marie swore the world would change one day and Jack wanted that day to be now. And if change didn’t come naturally, Jack would try his best to force it.