Red Cave

Mary

1979

The tires rattle across the uneven dirt road. The vehicle's light French orange hue complements the leafless trees lining the sides. Mary squeezes the leather steering wheel, her fingers fitting in the grooves behind it. Tears stream down her flushed cheeks.

Children's joyous screams flood through her car, resonating in her ears though she ignores them. Her venomous eyes are trained to the end of the dirt road while little blonde and dark-haired kids sprint from one trailer to another. She knows some, but others she doesn't recognize. Not that she cares. Any other day, she'd yield to them beyond the fact that she loves kids, but at that moment, if she hit one, she wouldn't stop. 

Her mind drifts to David and when they met. She'd gone through a breakup and couldn't bear to see him in class, so she hid in the student lounge within the comfort of her preferred sofa and her favorite book: Romance Goes Tenting. The man on the cover reminded her of Frank Sinatra. She adored the singer and the pearl-tinted smile he always bore. He reminded her of her dad in the way his gentle and warm demeanor would soothe her, though as she grew older, her father grew colder.

Though there were the occasional white women and men going in and out, studying or jiving, she felt alone. That was until she saw him, and he saw her. And when they talked, it was no longer that their eyes met, it was that he emotionally saw her.

She slams on the brakes when she reaches the end of her driveway and rushes out of her vehicle, leaving the door ajar. Mary finds her way across the cut lawn and onto the trailer's porch, passing gnomes, Nazi paraphernalia, and tattered beach chairs. She opens the storm door, and before it can collide with her back, she bangs her fists against the door.

After a moment, a dainty woman with long blonde hair and blue eyes opens the door. Her hair is silver, whereas Mary's is brown at the roots and honey-tinted down the rest, and their facial structures bear an uncanny resemblance. If it weren't for the faded scar under the woman's left eye and her hair color, they could pass as identical twins.

"Mary, what's wrong," she asks while looking her up and down. Mary's eyes are burning, and her throat clenches at her sister's question.

"Sandra," she begins, pausing to shut her eyes and take a deep breath. "I'm in a rush right now. Is Daddy home?"

"Uh, no, he went with Momma to the store. She wants to fry some fish, but the few Benjamin caught aren't even big enough to feed a baby." Mary pushes past her sister who veers her head to watch her enter the living room. She knits her brows when Mary stops in front of their father's double-barrel shotgun leaning next to the television. "What're you doing?"

"Tell them I'll be back in an hour or so." She lifts the firearm by the shaft, and with determination in her empty gaze, she carries it toward the front door. Sandra steps in her path, staring down at her. "Sandy, I don't have time for this!"

"Well, you best make time because I'm not moving until you tell me what the hell happened! What do you need with his gun?" Mary rolls her eyes onto the window beside the door, the olive-green drapes translucent enough for her to see that her driver's door is open. "Hello? Earth to Mary!"

"I don't gotta explain anything to you," she rushes the words out of her mouth as she takes a step past her sister. Before she can go any further, Sandra whips around and grabs the bend of her arm.

"Tell me what's goin' on," she demands over her sister's constant protests and groans. With each desperate tug of freedom, her hands tighten around her flesh. "I'm not letting you leave until you do!"

"Leave me alone!" She jerks Mary around to face her and bounces her narrowed eyes between the vengeful ones glaring up at her. Mary is well acquainted with the look she's being given. It's a glare Sandra would give not just her but their brother, Benjamin, whenever they stepped out of line. With her teeth clenched and her face closer, she says, "I'm gonna kill a nigger."