(Pic of Jordan)
Goddam, it was cold! I wouldn't've been surprised if my arms fell off. Jesus!
Okay, the point.
Quick disclaimer: I was one hundred percent sure wherever I came from this wasn't acceptable. Second of all, if it was, this wasn't like a regular Tuesday type-thing. Thirdly, I definitely bruised a few knuckles.
Johnny slapped me in the back and tried my best to keep from squealing. I jerked my head up. I must've looked like the devil himself. I'd never seen a man stop smiling so fast. "Oh come on, man. You said this morning you were over her."
"And-and I am." That was really believable.
"She's a Negro. She's worthless."
"Yeah!" Michael seemed all too happy. "I loved the sound she made when I slapped her. Sounded like a dog. I wish I could do this all day long. And then get paid for it. God that would be a dream." Okay, calm down frickin' Mickey Mouse.
I stopped walking. Who's Mickey again? "I mean it was fun and all, but--"
"No buts, baby." A slender hand cupped my chin. "We did what needed to be done to be happy."
(Let me pause there. Karen, she was nice. A few kisses here and there were okay. But there was something off. She seemed to be trying a lot harder than me. She made my lunches, she gave me her home phone number the second I got out of the hospital and required me to ring every night, and already has a plethora of nicknames for me: Jordi, Jorbabe, Jordanny, Dan, Dannylove, Danimal (my personal favorite), JorBear, DD, and I'd only known her for a few days. She was clingy. Need I continue?)
"Isn't this illegal?" My voice cracked.
Johnny burst into laughter. "We're in Mississippi, Jordan. We ain't ever gettin' arrested for nothin'."
"It just feels wrong. Like my hands are going to be cut off. Or frozen off."
"I'd love for everyone to get along as much as you do, but I won't sacrifice my life, my rights, for theirs. Why are you so stressed about her?"
"I-I don't know. I feel a...connection."
Everyone stopped.
"Do you remember anything?" Michael, the pale boy with brown hair who woke me up earlier that day, stepped up. (Michael was very quiet. He never spoke and seemed to be Johnny's personal slave (again, no pun). Always doing something for Johnny and it makes me wonder if they were actually friends or bound by a secret contract.) "You were hit pretty hard."
"I don't remember specifics... But I have this gut feeling--"
"Gut feelings won't get you nowhere. Get over them. Now." Johnny scowled.
"As much as I'd hate to agree with Johnny on anything, he has a point." Linda, the short redhead, whose skin was as red as her hair and lipstick, piped up. "You'd be labeled a psycho. A freak. A chocolate lover."
"Chocolate's got nothing to do with it." Johnny smiled. "I wouldn't mind going to a chocolate factory myself."
"Connection or not," I said forcefully, "shouldn't we call her an ambulance? She's practically dying."
"No!" They screamed at me in unison like they were all possessed in a sci-fi movie. I felt my face blush in the cold. I nervously raked a hand through my hair.
"Are you crazy?! No hospital around these parts would take her in. They'd dirty the utensils." Nancy scrunched her non-existent eyebrows.
"But--"
YOU ARE READING
Broken
General Fiction"What year is it?" "1955." "Thank you." I turned around, my fears confirmed. I understood why the world seemed so different now. So hostile towards me for no reason. I was black. I was a girl. I was in rags. And it was 1955. ...
