Jocelyn's River

Jocelyn's River: Chapter 1

        The water tempted and compelled me.  The ripples were persuasive grins that convinced me not to change my mind.  I wanted to.  I had to.  I could not turn back to the hell that I called my life.  It was nothing but broken glass and my fingers would not stop bleeding ever since my twenty-two year old brother was stabbed in the heart and killed   three days ago.  His murderer, Wayne Martin was a white man.  He was the leader of a racist, redneck street gang.  Wayne was now on trial.  Every colored citizen in Waterloo expected Wayne to only serve no more than a few months in prison.

        In the small town of Waterloo, Alabama and in this day and age, skin color is a heavy issue.  It was the summer of 1963.   John F. Kennedy is president.  Blacks mean very little to white society.  Our right to vote is nonexistent.  My rage skyrocketed when the governor of this state, George Wallace fixedly said, "And I say segregation today, and segregation tomorrow, and segregation forever."  Churches have been burned, the whites allow their dogs to use our water fountains, and when we get on the bus, the back is where we are bound.

        The death of my brother sent another shadow over all colored people, and there have been a multitude of darkened pathways.  I never imagined that my one and only sibling would become a victim to such violence.  I had been so strong and wise before, but my heart was weakening.  I could not handle seeing people being mistreated simply for the reason of their skin color and I can do nothing about it.

        The arrangements for the funeral were too much for me.  I waited until the sky was black to execute my plan.  I rode my bike, crying the entire journey.  My mind was set and no one could stop me.  Eternal peace was now my focus.

        Now, here I was, about to jump over a rail and into the Tennessee River.  I knew how to swim, but I would not use those skills.  Instead, I would breathe in the water and breathe in all my aching pain.

          The second I decided to step down from the rail, my wrist was caught in the circle of a hand.  "You don't wanna do this," said a cool male voice with a heavy southern accent.

            I kept my eyes down at the water and tried to disregard the unfamiliar person.

            "Please...leave me alone," I gasped through uncontrollable tears.

            He tightened his grip on my wrist and the pressure forced me look up into his surprisingly earnest blue-green eyes.  He was white and this stunned me, greatly.  Why was he trying to stop me?

        "Isn't this against the law...you trying to help me?" I questioned with sarcasm laced in my tone.

        "I'm color blind, baby.  I don't see a black girl in front of me.  I see a girl who's about to make a big slip-up."

            My eyes locked with his, and then I let go of the rail with one hand.  He was the only force keeping me from falling back.

            "Trust me, honey!" he shouted.  "Trust me, you don't wanna do this."  He grasped my hand that was free of the rail and pulled me forward.

            "Go away," I ordered softly.  My throat was hoarse from crying.

            "Nope, I refuse to let you do this," he affirmed.  "Take my other hand."

            I shook my head. "No."

            "What are ya?  Crazy!  I bet by the time you're chokin' on that water, you'll regret it!"

            The tears began to fall even faster and I looked down at the water again.

            "Take my hand, damn it!"