Other End of the Rod
How could they be made for each other? They were on the opposite ends of the rod.
Yes, she was short. He was tall.
She was a brunette. He was a ginger.
She lived on one end of the town. He lived on the other.
But she was African American.
He was Caucasian.
It was not meant to be.
The year 1965. The civil rights movement going full swing. There were protests and many jailings. He couldn’t care less. It gave him more. Who’ll give that away? He would watch the news and laugh at the African Americans fighting for something they would never have. For him, he was the hero of a tale where the world revolved around him. His race. His kind.
She had trouble paying rent. As she watched the protesters from the front window, her heart swelled with pride. This was her people defending their rights. She would sometimes march. March in the lines to freedom. She fought for something that they will have, something they wouldn’t stop fighting for after hundreds of years. It was out of pride she fought. And out of love. Love for her race, her people, her family.
He walked out the door to snicker at the marchers who’s route went in front of his house. One girl caught his eye. This was usually because of the pathetic way the girls would act, but she was different. She had all the features he had been looking for in a girl... All except the fact that she was African. Their eyes met for a second. They had a silent conversation, and she quietly dropped out of the line.
She had been marching when a teasing Caucasian turned and their eyes met. She didn’t know what compelled her, but she dropped out and walked towards that boy.
He watched the girl walk over to him. She went to him, cocked her head and put a hand on her hip. Not your typical African behavior. Yep. She was everything. Something clicked. Something came over him to lean over and kiss her.
When she was kissed, her senses seem to dull, all except her mouth. When he released her, she knew that he was perfect.
But alas, he knew it couldn’t happen. The hate was to great for the world to take. He watched the knees and stared in horror the girl being shot, right in the head. He didn’t know her name. Yet they had shared a kiss.
She felt the bullet go through, and her last thought was the boy. How something felt right with him, even though she knew him for such a short time.
Such a short love changed his perspective. Yes, she was gone, but without her, his understanding of the world would have never been made. Through this love and understanding did America change.
Maybe it was young love, foolish love. Maybe. But I think it is simply true love. Star-Crossed.
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