Separate But Not Equal

Chapter XVI

It's pitch dark outside, the storm has calmed, the rain is splattered on the pavement, my fingers feel like ice, gradually thawing by my side, and the only thing to be seen in the sky is the mist of my lonely sighs, floating above my head.

I push my hood up, and force my hands in my pockets, my head lowered, feet dragging past the floor, as I try to breathe and just clear my head of every single thing that is occupying it.

I stop biting my lip, rubbing my forehead, fiddling with my hand, speed walking.

My heart rate is only starting to get back to normal, when my heart pace starts up again.

"Jones?"

Christopher sits in the middle of the street, at the curve of the sidewalk, rubbing his knuckles and messing with his hair.

I whisper under my breath, reminding myself to stay away from him, to just ignore him and turn the other way.

But, like previously, I just can't walk away, which is stupid but I don't want to walk away.

So I don't.

I make my way towards Christopher, panting heavily, as I pray that neither I nor him, do or say anything stupid, again.

I kneel on the curb, sitting next to him, and looking forward, remembering our last conversation, and tensing slightly in embarrassment.

I feel Christopher's gaze as he turns his head slightly to look at me for a second or two then turns his attention back to looking straight a head of him not saying anything.

I open my mouth, then close it again not wanting to say anything or ruin the silence.

"Ya know, you've never told me anything that's about yourself, Jones. Like anything interesting" he turns to face me, something unfamiliar twinkling in the waves of his dilated eyes.

I laugh nervously, holding myself, tightly, slightly confused.

"What do you want to know?"

I'm an open book, or I think I am to most people, at least. As far as I know, I don't really have anything to hide.

"What's it like?"

In one almost unnoticeable motion, he inches closer to me, the tips of his fingers, millimetres away from mine.

"What?"

"I mean, I guess, because everything has been so great for me. I've never really known or cared about what it's like, being on your side of segregation."

I search his face for any signs of mockery, or humour but upon seeing only curiosity and tenderness I dart my focus away from him, and answer the question, my hands scratching my knees.

"I don't think any of you do. None of you ever wonder what it's like, for an African-American in Birmingham, because it's not your problem." I start rambling letting all my secret thoughts out. "Everything is going perfect for you, and it's going to be perfect for you."

"You don't know that," he mumbles.

"I do know that though, and I know what's going to happen in your perfect, privileged, American life. It's always the same story. Always the same predictable fairytale for all of you." I remind myself to breathe, as my hands clench together. "Christopher, You're going to have a perfect graduation, then you're going to get into a perfect college. You'll get a perfect education, be promoted for a perfect job, and meet an amazing, gorgeous, smart and all together perfect girl. You'll have a perfect marriage. Then, you're going to have beautiful, perfect children, and guess what?"