Harsh Reality made clear

The days that followed after Mary's accusation expanded upon this new world I was seemingly thrown into. Things that I never noticed in the past became clear as day. There was this one-sided struggle where the colour of your skin determined your fate in this world and unfortunately, if you were black, nothing good was in store for you.

I found it ironic that the moment school became less uneventful for me, I longed for it to return to the way it was. Every day became a constant fight for survival. I was always on the lookout for children and even teachers-who didn't even hesitate to throw some negative comment, regarding my father's association with the black minority.

But I suppose their disgust for my father had its limits since they never raised their hand at me, and any attempt to do so was blocked by the adults. Perhaps they thought I just needed to wake up, but little did they know I thought the same about them.

The word on the street was that my father intended to allow both black and white folks to shop in the minimart, which was considered gross disrespect to white supremacy. "Shouldn't feel sorry for them." was a common notion; after all, they weren't really humans in their eyes. 

No matter how much I tried to reason with the children in my class and tell them that what they believed in was wrong, the power and pleasure that came from being above someone of another colour blinded them.

However, we got a break from school for once, but that didn't mean I could escape this new world. It was early Monday morning when I woke up to an almost white neighbourhood. The snow covered the whole town and blocked many doors and windows. 

While we were eating breakfast, the telephone operator, Miss Barbara Miller, reported that due to the heavy snowfall, there would be no school that day, and residents were encouraged to stay inside.

My father, however, didn't protest when John asked him if we could go outside to play in the snow. However, he cautioned us to come in if it got too cold. After putting on a sweater that made me look twice my size we rushed outside. The place was definitely freezing, but the snowball fight was so much fun I forgot about it. The moment we got on the pasture, John moulded together three snowballs and threw them at me.

So I grabbed up some snow and launched four back at him before he could mould more snow, but John had already made more snowballs, so the moment I threw mine, he threw his, and we both fell to the ground laughing.

It was the first time I laughed with such joy. If not for the snow, I would probably be mopping in some corner at school. Thinking about that made me wonder what school was like for John, but my thoughts vanquished when I heard my father's voice, "Y'all kids enjoying yourselves?"

"Yes," we both shouted.

"That's good, but we're gonna have to go inside soon; it's too cold out," he answered, rubbing his hands together.

Both John and I became disappointed, but he brightened our mood when he mentioned making a snowman before we went inside. So we quickly got to work. Using our hands, we mushed together large clumps of snow as my father did his best to mould out the foundation of the snowman.

When we were done, he ordered John to get two sticks to act as hands while my father and I started on the belly of the snowman. When we completed the belly, John arrived just in time with two sticks and plunged each one on each side of the snowman's belly.

It was a perfect representation of what I saw in magazines at the mall. "It's not even finished, but it looks so good already," I mentioned, admiring the sculpture.

"The sticks made it look perfect, right, Dad?" John added.

"Hmm, yeah," my father answered, but he wasn't looking at the snowman. His eyes were fixated on the road, then he added, "Hold on just a minute." He started towards the road, which confused me until I saw it. A dark-skinned boy who didn't look much older than I; was dragging a wagon filled with chopped wood down the street. 

He was bareback, and frostbite had taken over most of his body. I assumed that's why he was moving so slow. My father stood at the edge of the road and called to the boy, but we couldn't hear much, so John and I moved closer.

"What's your name, son?" my father asked.

The boy looked up at him and started moving his mouth. You could barely see his eyes since frostbite covered them, and his lips were extremely dry. "My…"

"Did you come out here by yourself?" my father went on to ask.

The boy shook his head, "Why?" my father further questioned.

Just then, a cold breeze swept across town, and the boy shivered. I felt sorry for him. He looked frail and hungry, as if he would fall over at any moment. Then he mustered his strength and said, "They took my father away, sir; so I have to get the firewood now."

My father sighed, "Can I go now, sir?" the boy asked.

"No, you're coming with us," my father replied sternly, "You'll die out here." He took off his jacket and wrapped it around the boy, then he told John to grab his wagon. However, when my brother tried to drag it, he claimed it was too heavy, so my father dragged it himself.

As we walked, I reminded him about the snowman, "What about the snowman?"

"We'll finish it another time, Lucy," he replied.

When we arrived home, the fireplace was raging and managed to keep the whole house warm. My mother had just finished some hot cocoa. And the sad look on her face brought the mood even lower. She rushed over to the boy and welcomed him.

"What's your name?" she asked, holding his two shoulders.

It seemed the heat had cooled him down because he answered as if he had regained his life, "Willie, ma'am."

"Alright, Willie, go and have a seat at the table. There's hot cocoa, and I'll fix everyone something to eat."

After having a small snack, my father spoke to Willie on various topics, including why his father was put in jail. The boy said his father took the share of potatoes he was allotted which was half a bag but they accused him of taking a full bag which was true. 

The farm owner refused to believe him and eventually had him put in jail. Since then Wille became responsible for his 3 siblings and pregnant mother. Right after the story my father assured Wille everything would be alright and decided it was time to take him home.

But before they left, my mother dressed him in some of my brother's clothes, and my father took a large bag of potatoes with him. I soon realised it was the bag of potatoes Mr. Skinner had left for us the day before.

When I heard my father's car engine start, I hurried to my bedroom window and watched as he reversed onto the street, then he pressed on the gas and drove towards the main part of town. I managed to follow the small black car all the way to the town square before it escaped my view, and that was the last I ever heard or saw of Willie.