Separate But Not Equal

Chapter XV

The heels of my shoes repeatedly taps on the wooden stairs, as I wipe the sweat off my forehead looking for my father.

Where is he?

Where is he?

There he is.

Only a few metres away from a very irritated man.

I watch as Papa unknowingly approaches Christopher's Father, pushing his way closer to him.

My body freezes going stiff immediately, when Papa goes to turn around with the rest of the joyous group, only to be stopped by a rough, demanding hand.

I watch Papa, eye the man, timidly, questioning him with his eyes, trying to shake out of his grip.

"Mr Jones?" Mr Evans questions, making it vividly clear that he believes the role of being my guardian is a disappointing deed.

Papa barely nods, his eyes evaluating the situation, searching for a way out of it.

"I have to talk to you," he states.

"I- can I just need t-to find my daughter first, she-"

"I wasn't asking," he pulls at Papa's wrist, Papa, himself, being too cautious to even move away from Christopher's Father.

I limp over, trying to catch up with them, getting caught between a bush, and a larger mob of enraged, white Americans.

No, no, no.

My head spins, the judgemental sneers making me nauseous, my legs feel dead, as though a dagger is being placed in different areas of my skin, and I'm not sure whether I should scream, cry or throw up.

"Ivory?"

"Nieve," I breathe, instantly clearing my head.

"What are you doing here?" she looks at me, a look she has never given me before.

A look of disliking? Of disgust? Or maybe, hate?

The kind of look that you don't want to receive.

"You're ask as though it's a bad thing," I laugh, awkwardly stretching to see around her.

"Well, I wouldn't exactly say it's a good thing," she whispers, thinking that I can't hear.

"What?"

"Never mind."

Nieve has been acting... to put it simply, spiteful. Unlike her usual, joking attitude towards me, she has been rude, insulting, reluctant.

Which is the reason I have been avoiding her for the most part.

"Your dad," she says looking past me. "He just left with Mr Evans."

"I know."

"Oh I just thought that you'd be doing something about it?"

Yeah, I was going to.

"Actually, I-"

"So, you're still hanging around with The Evans family?" she interrupts.

The Evans Family?

"What?"

I really want her to move.

Now.

"I swear I already told you, it just doesn't seem smart doing that."

"You did?"

"Come on Ivory, I'm literally just worried about you. He's one of them, he probably doesn't want you around him, I only said it because I care but don't you think you should just stay away from Christopher."

"I barely speak to him, why do you care about who I talk to anyway?" Initially I wanted Nieve to leave, but now I just want to know why she won't leave.

"Because he probably doesn't - you shouldn't be speaking him."

"Since when did you warrant who i speak to?" I squint at her.

"Ivory, come on be realistic, you two aren't happening."

"I-I never said I was."

"No, because he has other options, you know people like us can't really compete with his options," She pauses looking at me. "Don't look at me like that I'm trying to be a good friend."

I try to argue with her realising that regardless of me not liking what she says it is true.

I don't care about Christopher that way but someone like that shouldn't want to speak to me anyway.

So instead of arguing with Nieve, I give up giving her a small discouraged smile.

***************

I rest my weight onto the bottom stairs, biting at my nails. Inefficiently, trying to make myself comfortable in the broken, light-flicker filled house. Switching between laying my head in my hand, from grief, or pacing around the kitchen, from fear.

The storm outside progressed to lightning, and the rain transferred to hail, uneven and rough spheres strong enough to cause any man pain and sorrow.

I decide that it's better to just do both.

The sound of heavy panting has the effect and ability on my body to either make me spontaneously smile or run. Most likely the latter.

There he is.

His clothes weeping from the rain, his short, curly hair, clinging to him, carelessly, white, melted ice spread out upon it. His whole appearance gives off a sullen feeling. His muscles, his limbs, weak, as told by his steps which lack all pattern and rhyme.

He avoids looking at me, talking to me, and judging by his movements he is also avoiding touching me.

His slouched posture, and watered eyes already tell me enough.

"Papa?" It's the same sweet, innocent voice that I always use, but it doesn't have the predicted effect.

"NO, no, don't. Don't look at me like that." The roughness of his voice slightly catches me off-guard.

"What happened?" Now I'm the one avoiding all contact.

"What happened?" he scoffs. "Well, I'll tell you what happened. Mr Evans, the leader of The Klan, forced me to follow him, away from Birmingham-" he shivers, gritting his teeth together. "I was then told that I got promoted for a new job. Except, I didn't agree to work for the job. But, guess what?"

Oh, no.

"What?" I'm already conscious of the answer, but it would be better if I didn't hear it.

"You did! You, Ivory. I had no idea about the job, but it doesn't matter, because you agreed to it!" He speaks to me, his tone laced with fake enthusiasm.

"Papa?"

"Not today, Ivory" Papa turns around and heaves himself up the stairs.