Fade To Black

More Than Hate

I woke up next to Clementine. She was sprawled out, her legs and arms were spread across my body. I laughed gingerly as I softly moved her legs and arms off me so I could get up. I hovered over her small body as I gently shook her shoulder. “Clemy… Clemy, wake up.” I said. Her eyes opened slowly as she yawned and stretched her arms over her head. “I’ve got to head back up stairs before my mama realizes I wasn’t in my bed all night.” I said. Clementine stopped stretching and reached up to me, wrapping her arms round my neck.

“Don’t go just yet! Please!” She whined, smiling. I smiley as she pulled me back down reside her. Our noses were touching and she moved closer to give me a quick kiss. I licked my lips.

“Your kisses taste good in the morning’.” I flirted.

“Anytime Jack. Now get up!” She then proceeded to push me off the bed onto the stone cold floor. I got up quickly.

“What? I thought you wanted me to stay?” I asked.

“Hush up Jackson Sawyer! I’ve got to make breakfast.” She said, smiling, one wagging finger in my face. As I turned for the door, she smacked my behind and I just about nearly jumped out of my pants. Before I could say anything back, she closed the door. I stopped in the kitchen to rub my sore behind but then Clemy stuck her head out the crack of her door. “I love you!” She exclaimed.

“You sure got a funny way of showing it.” I said under my breath and she smirked.

After pretending to sleep in my room when my mama came in I then joined my family down at the dining table. My sisters and I grabbed our forks and knives and pounded on the table. My mother had both hands massaging her temples, frustrated. My dad sat like a statue as the three of us chanted “food, food, food!” We cheered finally as Clementine delivered the steaming plate of sausage, red rice, fried eggs and gravy and biscuits. I patted my growling stomach hungrily. I was craving Clemy’s good cooking. I dug in as I helped myself to a heaping plate. I gobbled the plate down and went for seconds.

“Whoa Jackson!” Liza exclaimed, rice falling from her gaping mouth.

“If you don’t slow down you’ll end up like Mr. Smith. All chubby and stuff…” Mary mumbled Stifling a giggle. I patted my belly playfully, wiping my mouth with a napkin.

“What are you talking about? I would look handsome with a big ol’ belly! How bout’ it Clemy?” I asked. My sisters giggled as Clementine looked incredulously at me as I pushed me belly out. Then my mother said something softly, setting down her silverware.

“Clemy?” She asked.

“What ma’?” I replied.

“You called our slave Clemy?” She said in a warning tone. I did not know how to reply except for an obvious yes. “Do hear the words coming out of this boys mouth Jackson?” She yelled at me dad. My dad pushed his plate back and stood up from the table. He grabbed my mother’s wrist.

“What are you doing?” She demanded, trying to pull away.

“I need to talk to you out on the porch.” My father said calmly pulling her behind him. As the front door lamed shut after them we all grew silent as we heard, our parents begin to yell.

“What is the matter with you lately? It’s like everything I’m saying’ is wrong!” My mother exclaimed.

“That’s because everything your saying is wrong Johanna!” He said.

“He called her Clemy Jackson. Clemy! I think she needs to be back in the fields! That devil is luring in our son! If only Susie hadn’t died!”

“How dare you! You can’t even accept your own son?”

“What, your saying you approve of their… their unorthodox relationship?”

“Stop talking about things not being right. You know what isn’t right?” My father asked my mother.

“What?”

“You and this marriage.” He said. Suddenly there was a loud cry as my mother rushed back inside and howled up the stairs. A few minutes later, she came down with luggage in her hands a coat draping over her shoulder and a hat over her eyes. She sped past my father and disappeared down the road back into town. My father stayed outside but Clementine was worried so she brewed some tea. My sisters and I peered out the open kitchen window and looked as my father accepted the tea. Clementine intervened then.

“What it be too much to ask what is wrong?” She asked.

“No, it wouldn’t Clementine.”

“Drink up! It’s good for digestion!” She urged him. He chuckled as he sipped. He set the cup down and looked directly at Clemy.

“You guys heard everything didn’t you?” She nodded yes. “Well, can’t be helped I guess.” My father huffed, scratching his scruffy beard.

“Well, if it makes you feel anybody, you’re a wonderful person regardless. Personally, from what I’ve seen living in this house, despite your marital problems you’ve both brought up wonderful children. I think that’s one positive thing to look at.” She smiled, patting my father’s hand before heading back inside.

　

　

　

　

The Smith Plantation House:

Mr. Smith was sitting in the parlor again, smoking his cigar. The funeral had been a disaster because of his sister and he couldn’t let it go. He wouldn’t. The doorbell rang twice as the young slave answered the door. Mr. Smith then got up and proceeded to close his heavily ornate coat closet. It was small and skinny and it’s contents were very sacred to him: a lock of his late daughter’s hair, his Klan robe and hood, his wife’s picture, and a small braided rope he sometimes took with him whenever he needed good luck. It was a voodoo object his great grandfather had given him when the African slaves were first brought to Louisiana, coming down from the Carolinas. His grandfather had supposedly found it when clearing out the slave ships from the ports. He had said it felt powerful, a sort of black magic. He was to only use it when ever something important needed to be done. The guest was led inside the parlor. It was a rather short woman that wore a long dress, a coat over her shoulder and a black, weaved hat covering her face. In her hands were two suitcases which she set down at her feet. Mr. Smith was genuinely surprised of his visitor. Since his wife’s death he hadn’t gotten any female visitors and this female presence felt odd to him.

“Hello. And who might you be?” He asked politely. The woman took off her hat and shoved it under her free arm. Mr. Smith was taken aback.

“Johanna?” He asked,

“Good afternoon Samuel.” Johanna smiled.

“What is it that you need? Don’t you have a family to tend to?” He asked suspiciously.

“Well, of course. But, all in due time. Samuel, I’ve got a favor to ask of you.” She asked. Mr. Smith sat back down in his chair and looked at Johanna Sawyer, motioning for her to continue.

“Jackson and I got into an argument and-” She began. Samuel cut her off.

“Now listen here! You know I respect you very much, mainly because of our past, but why exactly are you here?” He said again, wanting to get straight to the point.

“I came here because I knew this would be the place that would upset Jackson the most… and…”

“And?”

“I need you to get rid of somebody.”

“And who might this somebody be?” Mr. Smith was relatively interested now, sitting on the edge of his seat, his chubby legs quivering out of habit.

“Clementine…”