"Why are you followin' me?" She asked, agitated, as she clutched onto her purse, looking around the area.
"We need to talk." Justin sighed.
"Talk? Oh, you want to talk to me now? I thought I was 'just a maid'." Beyoncé spat. Justin was unsure of how to respond. Beyoncé scoffed, shaking her head as she moved to go around him. However, he stopped her.
"Please, Beyoncé, I didn't mean it when I said that," Justin said genuinely.
"No, I think you did. And that's fine because I have nothing to say to you either." She could only take one last step before he matched her movement, holding her hands.
"Just hear me out," he whispered, taking a quick look at the people who passed them by, giving the two lingering stares. Beyoncé offered no response as she, too, looked at curious individuals who walked just a tad bit slower as they passed her and Justin.
"Listen; we cannot do this here with everyone watching." Beyoncé gave Justin an icy glare.
"We can go somewhere more private; just hear me out." He begged.
Beyoncé addressed him sharply, looking at him directly in the eye. "Justin, you're only gettin' two minutes; that's it." She brought her voice to a quiet hush.
"Fine." Justin nodded, finding that to be reasonable.
"Well, where is this 'more private' place? Because last time I checked, we were on a street corner." Beyoncé looked around.
Justin wasted no time as he pointed behind her towards a small passageway created by the outside walls of two neighboring stores. "Over there?"
Beyoncé quietly nodded as she followed Justin to the spot. He walked towards the end of the small alley so they could have privacy and not be seen from the sidewalk. He heard her already begin to tap her foot against the concrete impatiently, crossing her arms over her chest. The movement momentarily drew his attention to her bust before he heard her clear her throat.
Before finally speaking, Justin paused, giving his best effort to make his voice as soothing and apologetic as possible. "Beyoncé, I don't know where to start except to apologize. I was really out of line last week..in the study."
Beyoncé didn't break eye contact with Justin, though her foot stopped tapping. "If you expect me to stand here and tell you all is well, I'd be a liar." She spoke blatantly. He blinked in slight confusion, preparing a response, but she wasn't done."I heard your apology, and I'll say thank you for it."
"That's it?" Justin could hear his anger seep into his tone, becoming increasingly bitter. "I come here, I apologize, and this is how you're going to act?"
Beyoncé rolled her eyes, looking away momentarily before connecting with Justin's blue eyes again, her voice also taking on a new tone. "Justin, I know I'm just a maid, someone who works for you, but that doesn't give you a right to treat me the way you have!"
"I said I was sorry; what else do you want me to do!" He sighed.
Beyoncé shook her head as if she hadn't even heard him. "How dare you treat me like the dirt on your shoes, disrespecting me on every occasion you could these past weeks. And now, some weak apology is supposed to make me forget?" She was boiling inside.
"Wait, now you hold on a damn minute!" Justin nearly yelled, the hostility in his voice easily matching Beyoncé's.
"No, you listen to me for a minute!" Beyoncé snapped back. "I honestly don't know what your problem is, Justin. You walk around town, and women worship you, the men idle you." She shook her head."Yet you still feel a need to put other people down." She unfolded her arms as she shook her head. "Well, I won't be one of them. I'm not fixing to let you trample all over me one day and then want to change everything with a sorry excuse for an apology. I don't even know what caused all of this."
"It...it wasn't you." Justin hesitated.
"Well, what was it? Because I thought we had—" Beyoncé cut herself off, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of watching her become even more emotional.
"You thought we had what?" He asked quietly.
Beyoncé looked away. "I was wrong; just answer my question."
It was Justin's turn to look away, unprepared to answer that question.
She waited a few moments before laughing cynically. She shifted her purse strap further up her shoulder, preparing to leave. "I think it's been two minutes—" she huffed.
"Beyoncé," Justin said quietly, quickly grasping her forearm to keep her from leaving. She looked down at his large hand, which nearly wrapped around her arm, as she reluctantly turned to face him. Once he knew he had her undivided attention, he spoke again, never choosing words as carefully in his life. "I know I have much to learn. I treat people poorly, use and throw them away; you're right... I have trouble telling the woman that I care about how sorry I am for how badly I've treated her in these past weeks." Justin could hear Beyoncé's voice hitch on the back of her throat. It was clear that this second declaration of affection was no accident. He watched her gaze linger on his hand, which had slightly loosened its grip, and slowly draw back to meet his eyes.
Beyoncé faintly swallowed as she felt her mouth run dry in the moment's intensity. Suddenly, all the angry words she had prepared were lost. She remained silent, unsure if Justin had more to say. "Those are dangerous words." She cautioned quietly, all hostility having evaporated from her voice.
"But what if they're true?" He questioned.
"...Are they?" Beyoncé challenged.
"Yes," Justin stated confidently. His single-syllable confirmation made chills run up Beyoncé's spine, and her knees felt like Jell-O. This wasn't the way this entire conversation was supposed to work out. She was supposed to put him in his place and then leave him with his tail between his legs, never to talk to him again. Instead, here she was in some alleyway, as vulnerable as ever, receiving his second pronouncement of fondness... yet there was part of her that didn't want to give in and believe it so quickly.
"How do I know that you're not just using me, and you do this routine with all your other girls?" Beyoncé didn't want to be treated the same.
"First off, I don't have any other girls. And with the ones in the past, I've never tried so hard to be with them. That's the God-honest truth." Justin assured her.
Beyoncé could only whisper her following words. "Justin, I want to believe you, and it scares me. Because...things like this aren't supposed to happen ...it's just not right. Yet I care for you too," she took a moment to swallow, "and I know it's irrational, just so irrational!"
Justin smiled widely, unable to help himself as he entwined his fingers with hers. "That's all that matters! We both want the same thing; what's stopping us!" He bit his lip.
"Justin, don't you see? It's not that simple! God knows I wish it were, but you and I can never have anything real." She spoke with sadness.
"I don't care that you're colored, Bey; it doesn't change a damn thing. And...we do have something real! Jeez, I mean, every time I look at you or feel your touch, even for the slightest second—every time I think of you! That's something real and something I don't want to lose." Justin made a conscious effort to slow his rapid speech. "I don't want to lose you because of some pig-headed people who have nothing to do with our lives."
Beyoncé shook her head vehemently. "Justin, this is just so much." She felt overwhelmed.
Justin couldn't help himself as he pushed a long, dark curl out of her face. "I don't want to wait anymore."
That statement sent chills down Beyoncé's spine. "Justin..."
"Let's just forget about everyone else because, in the end, they don't matter. We'll take everything one day at a time." He stares deeply into her eyes.
"One day at a time?" She repeated.
"Exactly." He nodded.
"Justin, you know—"
"Yeah, Dad! I'm taking the trash out now!" A young man yelled as a heavy iron door several yards away from Justin and Beyoncé slammed. The two immediately disentangled, both taking generous steps away from each other. Justin looked at the disgruntled young man who walked in the opposite direction towards a dumpster. He stared at the ground, grumbling incoherent curses as he lifted the dumpster lid. The young man turned, stopping cold in his tracks, as he noticed the two admirers for the first time.
Beyoncé clutched her purse, avoiding eye contact with the stranger, as Justin's mouth opened to speak, but no words came out.
"Justin? I didn't see you there," Neil Nelson, the assistant watch repairer of the neighboring shop, stated, offering a handshake. Justin quickly obliged before Neil turned his attention to Beyoncé. "Good afternoon, ma'am," he said, nodding.
Beyoncé turned around, giving him a shy smile.
Neil looked closer at Beyoncé, recognizing her from several months ago when he and his father had to save another boy from Justin's wrath...and the girl was there. His eyes widened before he blinked rapidly several times. "I u-uhh, gotta go. Dad's waiting—" Neil didn't even bother finishing his sentence before rushing back into his shop through the back door.
Beyoncé smiled at Justin once the skittish young man had left.
"He won't say anything, trust me," He assured her. "But we should go. It's only a matter of time until someone else shows up."
"You're right." She agreed.
"Let me drive you home." Justin offered.
Beyoncé raised an eyebrow. "You may have forgotten...but it might be best that we're not seen with each other too much, especially not at my house."
"You're right...at least for now. I'll see you Monday?" Justin winked.
Beyoncé smiled wide. "Yeah, on Monday."
One hour later...
"Daddy? Benjamin? I'm home!" Beyoncé called out, making her presence known. The only response she received was the low hum of the radio coming from the living room. Setting down her purse and jacket on the kitchen table, she walked to the living room, where she found her brother and father hunched over the ham radio, transfixed on a news report.
"Oh, hey, Bey," the two parroted once they saw her in the doorway.
"Hey, did y'all eat already? Or do I have to fix supper?" She asked, resting her shoulder against the wall.
"You can relax tonight, baby; we just ate some leftovers," Mathew answered quickly.
Beyoncé let out an enormous sigh of relief. "Okay, it's just that I'm tired and not in the right mood for cookin'."
"Hard day at work?" Mathew asked his daughter.
She bent over to take off her shoes, placing them at the side of the couch, as she shook her head. "No sir, just a long one. And my feet are achin'." Mathew nodded in understanding. "Did you have a good day?" She asked her father.
"It was alright, I guess. Just the usual: fixin' cars," Mathew answered with a smile.
"Me too!" Benjamin chimed in enthusiastically.
Beyoncé picked up her shoes, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm gonna see what I can scrounge up for supper, then go to bed."
"So early?" Mathew asked, concerned, glancing at his old wristwatch.
Beyoncé scratched her head as she swallowed a yawn. "I need the rest; it's not like I'm missing anything." She left the room without another word, trudging the short distance to the kitchen. Immediately, her eyes focused on the kitchen sink, filled with dirty dishes and pots left from Benjamin and Mathew's meal. Suppressing a series of frustrated groans, she picked up a dishcloth instead, letting the water from the faucet run until it became warm. Humming a hymn, she opened the cupboard beneath the sink, retrieving the bar of dish soap. Lathering the cloth, she looked out of her kitchen window just in time to see a car's lights slowly coming down the street. The Neely's family car pulled into their driveway, with Raymond and Lucianne jumping out soon after. The two siblings picked up some grocery bags in the back seat, with Beyoncé watching quietly across the street.
Taking pause, Beyoncé wondered how the remarkable family continued functioning with relative normalcy despite the rumors that had permeated every area of their community.
Lucianne and Ray disappeared into their illuminated home, and Beyoncé refocused on the dirty dishes. She decided she wouldn't commit a grievous sin if she left the pots and plates in the sink until the morning. As far as eating went, she decided she wasn't that hungry after all; a whole night of sleep was more appealing than a full stomach. "Daddy, Ben, I'm goin' to bed!" She called out as she walked to the bathroom.
A harmony of "'night Beyoncé!" ensued just before she closed the bathroom door.
Quickly going through her nightly routine, Beyoncé was in her nightclothes and closing the blinds on her windows in under fifteen minutes. Going to sleep early made her feel childish, but she didn't care; her tired body would thank her in the morning. Yet, she wasn't ready to go down just yet.
She reasoned that a mere thirty minutes of light reading would only do a little harm. She turned on her side, reaching over to her nightstand, where her crisp copy of "Fahrenheit 451" sat. Lying comfortably on her back, she opened the book to the front pages, as always. Her soft brown eyes made contact with Justin's messy penmanship for the hundredth time.
For Beyoncé, I hope you don't miss the old one too much. Justin.
She smiled as she remembered Justin's unexpected gesture, which seemed ages ago. She happily pondered how much things had changed since then. He was no longer the rich spoiled brat she had met at Rue's Diner or the handsome yet slightly awkward gentleman who had asked for her help on an essay one afternoon in his bedroom. No, the Justin she had known, the true Justin Dukes, was someone she had grown to care for greatly. She knew he was neither a womanizer nor a bully but a caring and compassionate individual with more integrity than most men she knew.
Beyoncé smiled as she finally opened the page where her bookmarker was. Twenty minutes later, she was fast asleep.
*************************
"Justin, would you move your nasty feet!" Kyle complained in disgust as he shoved his friend's feet away from him and off the couch.
"Hey!" Justin called out as he sat up from his reclining position. "It's my house; I'll put my feet wherever the hell I want...and they're not nasty," He added as an afterthought.
As Justin lifted his legs to their former position, Kyle decided to scoot farther down the couch rather than argue with his friend. "Could you change the channel? I'm tired of watching this."
Kyle nodded, walking to the front of the room with the state-of-the-art color television. Squatting to reach the necessary dials, Kyle turned back around to look at Justin.
"You know what I was thinking?" Kyle randomly spoke.
"You...thinking?" Justin laughed.
"Never mind," Kyle said quietly as he faced the television.
Justin quickly overcame his chuckles. "Sorry, sorry, go ahead."
"So, you know how we always—"
"Hey, y'all." Morgan nearly sang as she swung into the room.
"Morgan, I thought you went to bed?" Justin asked.
"No, not yet. Hey, I came by to see if we could join the two of you?" Morgan asked.
Kyle looked up, confused. "Who's 'we'?" Before Morgan could respond, Vivian came around the corner, standing beside Morgan in the doorway.
Justin immediately sat up in surprise, addressing his cousin. "When'd she get here?" He asked, not attempting to hide his scorn in light of Vivian's presence.
"Vivian came over to do some studying; she's gonna spend the night," Morgan explained.
"I came about two hours ago," Vivian added.
Justin quickly looked at Kyle, who stood on the floor in front of the television, watching Vivian and Morgan closely. Justin's lip curled subconsciously as he turned away from his unwanted guest. "Yeah...I guess you guys can sit."
"Vivian, you can sit over there," Morgan pointed to the space next to Justin.
"That was Kyle's seat," Justin informed his cousin, who plopped on the second sofa against the wall.
"Nah, Kyle can sit next to me," Morgan said, patting the cushion beside her. Swallowing a series of grumbles, Justin put as much space between him and Vivian as possible.
"You know Justin," Vivian began as she finally sat, "it's been a while since we've done this."
Justin nodded in silent agreement as he glanced over his shoulder at Morgan and Kyle. He turned to face the television, realizing that his recent 'Vivian intake' had increased dramatically because of his cousin. Why couldn't Morgan have found a friend who wasn't nearly as annoying or perhaps not romantically interested in him? He never did like Morgan's friends.
*************************
Beyonce's body woke her up later that night, her dry throat beckoning for a cool drink of water. She groggily rose from her bed, stepping into the dark, quiet hallway. Benjamin's soft snoring from his open bedroom door across the hall was the only noise that could be heard.
The moonlight spilled in from the living room, and the kitchen windows illuminated the way as she lightly tip-toed to the kitchen. Beyoncé removed a glass from the top cupboard as quietly as possible, filling it with cold water from the tap. Her parched lips and scratchy throat thanked her as she greedily gulped the cool liquid, having never enjoyed water as much. She rested an arm on the counter as she turned to look at the clock which ticked above the gas stove: 1:30 a.m. Relieved that she'd have many more hours of much-needed rest, she placed the dirty glass in the sink next to the dishes she had neglected earlier. Just as she began to walk back to her room, the sound of car tires coming to a screeching halt pierced her ears with a loud squeal.
Startled, she involuntarily hopped back before curiosity quickly overcame her fear. Walking to the sink again, Beyoncé watched an old Ford park with little care. Immediately, she knew something was wrong. Not only had she never seen the dingy truck in the neighborhood before, but it was hardly the time for respectable visitors.
"My God..." Beyoncé whispered as her eyes widened at seeing a band of five white men piling out of the pickup truck. A vast man hopped out of the rickety blue Ford from the driver's side with a...bat? When one of the men picked up a rock from Neely's front yard and shattered the front window of the humble home, she finally let out a yelp of fear.
Immediately, she heard two sets of feet springing up from their bed and running down the hallway toward the kitchen. "Bey! What's wrong?" Benjamin yelled before he reached his sister, holding her shoulders protectively once he did.
When he heard the sound of breaking glass across the street, Mathew looked at his daughter, who was paralyzed in fear. Quickly looking out of the kitchen window, which had captivated Beyoncé's attention, Mathew saw that the Neely's had their front door open and a strange Ford pick-up in their driveway. His eyes darted about the surrounding area as the lights of surrounding homes turned on, and some of their occupants peered onto the street from the slits in their blinds. However, the shades were hurriedly closed instantly, and the lights switched off as quickly as they had turned on.
Mathew swiftly turned to his children, whispering harshly as he pointed to the ground. "Beyoncé! Benjamin! Get away from that window, now!" he commanded. On hearing the urgency in their father's voice, the two siblings dropped to the ground, following their father to the living room on their hands and knees. They put their backs on the sofa as Mathew quickly jumped up, closing the white blinds that covered the living room's large windows.
Benjamin turned to his sister as he spoke, his soft voice barely audible over the swearing and noise across the street. "Beyoncé, what'd you see? What's going on?"
"Those fellas came riding down the street. They all hopped out of the car, and the next thing I knew, Neely's front window was smashed to pieces, and their door kicked open. I saw Lucianne—" Beyoncé had to stop as sobs overcame her, and her shoulders heaved. "They p-pulled her by her hair, shoving her out of their way!" She covered her face in disparity.
"Sweet Jesus..." Mathew whispered, sitting with his children on the ground.
"Daddy, why on earth are we just sitting here? We've gotta do something!" Beyoncé cried.
As Mathew saw his daughter prepare to shoot up in defiance, he grabbed her arm, yanking her back to the ground and next to him. "Bey, honey, we can't do anything! Not a damn thing!"
Benjamin felt like covering his ears, anything to block out the shrill screams of the Neely women begging for help and the matriarch begging the mob to leave her boy alone. Raymond's cries of pain were mingled with the gruff jeering of his attackers, the terrible sounds echoing throughout the dark and otherwise lifeless neighborhood.
Beyoncé covered her mouth as she felt hot tears fall to her burning cheeks. She tried to block out the heart-wrenching pleas from Raymond's mother as she addressed her father with a shaky tone. "Daddy! They're our neighbors." She whispered harshly.
Mathew's voice took on a rough and direct quality, which he had never had to use with his normally complacent daughter before. "Beyoncé, don't you think I know that? But as the man of this house, I must protect my family and our home. Anyone dumb enough to step out there will get it much worse than Raymond is right now!"
"Pop's right, Bey; we can't do anything. We just have to pray that they don't kill him." Benjamin frowned.
"Kill him?" She squealed in panic as her eyes darted about the pitch-black room.
Mathew glared at his son for his dreadful choice of words as he rose to rest his knees on the couch. Raising his index finger, he moved a small portion of the blinds to see if he could observe any part of the Neely's home invasion. After a few moments of tense silence in the dark room, he let out a sigh of relief, perplexing his two children. "Praise the living God. Look, you all, they're leavin'. See, they just wanted to scare the family and rough up Raymond as a warning." He tried his best to reassure his worried children.
Benjamin and Beyoncé rushed to sit beside their father, moving a small portion of the blinds to look across the street. The three front windows of the Neely home had been shattered completely, with thick shards of glass on their front lawn. The Knowles watched with mild relief as they saw three of the five men return to their old car. Benjamin looked at his father, bringing his voice down to a hoarse whisper so Beyoncé couldn't hear.
"Pop, I know the Klan sent 'em that death threat two weeks ago...but that ain't the Klan." Benjamin realized.
"I was thinkin' the same thing...they're just youngins and their sheets? Where are their white sheets?" Mathew completed his son's thought.
"Please, Lord, just make them leave." Beyoncé offered up a quick prayer, wanting the onslaught to stop.
The remaining two men walked out of the humble home, one wiping the blood off of the bat with a rag and throwing it on the front lawn. The same man began to bark orders at the other four.
"Boys, y'all know what to do next."
The small mob could be heard cursing, and blood-curdling screams were still emanating from the small Neely household. However, the rest of the neighborhood appeared to be lifeless. Every other family in the community was huddled together in a room with no windows, praying that the mob wouldn't move on to their area of the neighborhood.
"What the hell..." Benjamin drew out slowly as he gulped.
The Knowles watched as all five men huddled around the pick-up instead of fleeing as they had anticipated. They moved toward the trunk in a singular motion.
"Why aren't they leaving?" Benjamin asked, turning to his father, but he received no answer.
The reason for the mob's prolonged stay soon became evident as a large box was removed from the vehicle's trunk. The cardboard box was filled with glass bottles filled with clear liquid and a thick cloth piece of cloth attached to the neck of each.
The large one, who appeared to be the ring leader, dropped his bat and let out a loud whistle as he fished violently in his pockets, pulling out a lighter a few moments later. "Hold one over here, would ya?"
One of the remaining four men picked up one of the bottles, holding it in front of the large man by the neck. The leader lit the cloth at the end of the cocktail bottle, which incited clapping and diabolical howls of joy from the group. The gasoline cocktail was thrown into the house through one of the shattered windows, instantaneously producing thick flames in the front room of the Neely home.
"Burn to hell, you grimy bastards!" One of the men (who had an unusually gruff voice) yelled, he too lighting his cocktail.