A Love Lost in Hate

Somewhere there are two teenagers sitting under a great oak tree in the middle of a field, hiding under its shade in the sweltering heat, stroking each other's hair and giggling in each other's ears. Chewing on honey suckle. Sticking out their tongues to lick the breeze that sweeps under the tree. Surely, they're in love or at least they think they are. Surely, they believe they'll spend their life together. The boy strokes his sweetheart's chestnut brown face and runs his fingers over her full lips. The girl tussles his silky blond hair and kisses his milky white cheeks. But wherever they are is definitely not here. Not here in the state of Mississippi. Not here in the town of Rusty Creek. I know. I've had love like that before. Unconditional color-blind love. And thanks to the hate-filled people in this town, I'll never have love like that again.

Rusty Creek, Mississippi is filled with the most racist people you'll ever meet. If you're not white, you're nothing. Barely human. A piece of trash walking around the streets. I thank God everyday I'm white, not because I like looking like the racist people in my town, but because if I was anything else, I'd be dead. Hanging from a tree somewhere. Found shot behind an old plantation out house. Floating face down in the Mississippi River. That's how it is here. I've seen it my whole life. I've listened to some of my own family members describe how they can't wait until the weekend so they can go watch a lynching. It's a sport to them. They even bet money on how long it'll take a poor hanging black man to choke to death. But my parent's aren't like that. My father is the preacher of the biggest church in town, Rusty Creek Baptist Church. He's one of those rare white pastors who actually believes in treating everybody the same way, no matter their skin color. He's one of those men who has risked his life to help a black. The last black man he helped was a man named Sammy who was running from the owner of the land he was sharecropping. He claimed the landowner, Mr. Hubert, threatened to shoot him for stealing some chickens that he swore up and down he didn't touch. So he was running. He was a young guy, about twenty-one or twenty-two, with light brown skin and broad shoulders. You could look at his brawny arms and blistered hands and tell that he had been working in the fields his whole life. He towered over my father and it was hard to believe that a man so big could appear at our door step at three o'clock in the morning begging like a child for my father to let him stay with us.

"Hello, suh," he said, panting as my father opened the door. He quickly removed his raggedy cotton hat and squeezed it in his hands while nodding at me and my mother, who were standing behind my father with our eyes open wide, eager to see what was the matter.

"Hello, son. Can I help you?" My father remained calm and talked slowly. He was never quick to panic.

"Yes, suh. 'Dis the Hooper place?"

"Yes it is. What can I do for you, son?"

"Well, suh. I'm a sharecropper, suh. Sammy's my name by the way. And I needs a place to hide. Jus' for tonight and the 'morrow. The landowner, you might knows him, Mr. Hubert? Well, he said he was gon' shoot me 'cuz he say I stole some chickens that was his and I swear I ain't do it, suh. I swear. It's jus' me and my lil' sister living on dat plantation. Mos' my family is dead. And so I been workin' hard, suh. And I don't steal, Mr. Hooper. I swear I don't. And I can't die. I gotta take care of my sister. And Mr. Hubert, he seem real serious, suh. He was real upset. This ain't the first time he done shot a sharecropper for stealin', Mr. Hooper. I just knows he gonna do it. So I would just 'preciate it, suh, if--"

"Alight, Alright! Now just slow down a minute now, Sammy. Sammy? That's right ain't it? Now just slow down! Now how do you know my name? How did you know to come here, son?" My father was now getting impatient. Sammy's urgency was making us all uneasy.

"My cousin, suh. He live not too far down the road on another plantation. Said you a good man. Said you help blacks in trouble. And I promise, Mr. Hooper if you take me--"

"Now wait a minute Sammy! Just wait a minute!" My father turned his head to the side and shooed my mother and me away with his right hand. We didn't move. "Now, you said you had a sister. Where is she right now? You left her at the plantation?" Sammy turned around and pointed to the dark woods in front of our house.

"No, suh. She hidin' over there in the woods. She wanted to come up here wit' me, but I told 'er to stay there just in case this was the wrong house."

"Oh....well tell her to come on out. It's alright. We're not gonna hurt her."

"So you'll let us stay, suh? You'll let us--"

"Now just wait a minute Sammy! I didn't say all that, now! Just do what I tell you, son. Just do what I tell you. One thing at a time." Sammy nodded quickly and turned around.

"Sticks!" he whispered loudly. "Sticks! It's alright! Come on out!" My mother and I glanced at each other. Sticks. A crazy name for a girl, or anybody at that. We stood on our tip toes to see over my father as a rustling noise came from the woods. Slowly, the figure of a young girl began to appear in the moonlight in front of the house. She had light brown skin just like her brother and was tall like him too. She looked to be about fourteen or fifteen years old and was wearing a plain brown cotton dress with holes and dirt stains around the bottom. Her feet were bare. She looked around cautiously as she walked as if someone might jump out and grab her at any moment. All of us stood on the porch in complete silence as she walked quickly towards us. Sammy kept waving his hand impatiently, motioning her to hurry up. My father stood in the doorway, squinting. My mother was behind him on her tip toes with her hands on my father's shoulders. I had managed to squeeze between my mother and the door frame to get to the middle of the porch next to Sammy. I couldn't take my eyes off her. She stopped when she got to the foot of the steps and glanced at me quickly, then looked down at her feet. My father turned around to look at my mother who was smirking. Then he turned to glance at me, still standing motionless in the middle of the porch.

"Alright," he said to Sammy, putting his hand on his shoulder. "Come on in."

Sticks was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. I had made that up in my mind the moment I saw her. I couldn't keep my eyes off of her as she strode quickly towards our house in the moonlight. She was tall and slender with a confident gait. When she stopped in front of our steps I got a better look at her features. She had her brother's high cheek bones and full lips. Her hair was short and fluffy and was pulled back in a pony tail with a piece of blue ribbon. Her skin glistened. But her eyes. Her eyes were the most beautiful thing about her. They were shaped just like two almonds and shaded by long, thick eye lashes that curled upward. The quick glance she gave me when she stopped at the steps made my heart beat faster. I stared at her as she walked slowly up the steps and followed her brother into the house with my mother and father in front of them. I followed behind her and noticed a long scar on the back of her neck. It was dark brown and raised and ran from the nape of her neck all the way down to the top of her back. I wanted to touch it. I was curious about how she got it. But my thoughts were interrupted by my father's deep voice...