Southern Rain
I, Starlette Daily, have the perfect life. Head cheerleader, straight A’s, rich family, great friends, best style, and every guy’s fantasy. Yes. I had it all. My life was so perfect. My life was so… boring. Until I met Jim.
Autumn 1983
I met Jim Robinson in the local drug store. He was, as I will bluntly put it, black. I know it’s not a big deal today, Frieda. But that was the 80’s in Maybloom, Texas. Even though segregation was dead, old racism still lived on. Your great-grandparents were bigots. I was guilty of being of closed-minded until I met your grandfather.
Anyway, I met Jim while I was buying rollers. He was in front of me, buying cigarettes. At first, he meant nothing to me. I actually thought he was crass, harry, and a plain nigger. He and the clerk’s wife were fighting with each other like howler monkeys. Two ladies behind me and I became annoyed. I wanted to straggle that nigger for holding up the line.
Fed up, I yelled out, “Move it nigger!!!” Your grandfather and the clerk’s wife turned to me. Jim looked cross. “Shut up, white bitch!!!” Oh, I was pissed now! I stepped forward and slapped him in the head. Everyone stood stunned. I didn’t care. He was just being rude. I just had to do something.
I was so livid that I threw down the rollers and stormed out of the store. I thought that was the end. It was really just the beginning.
After my daily routine, I began to head home. On my way home, I heard someone whistle at me. I turned to see your grandfather leaning against the tall wooden fence. He was dark and grinning. I grew suspicious instantly. “What do you want?” I hissed. The boy just turned to me sweetly. “Aw, miss.” he addressed. “I followed you to apologize.” I stared at him blankly. “For what?” I finally asked. “Being rude or holding up the line?” The boy stepped closer. “Both.” he answered. “You see, Mrs. White was trying to short-change me for the cigarettes. I was only trying to get justice. And here.” Then, he reached into his bag and pulled out my rollers. I took them cautiously. “I bought those for you, before you accuse me of stealing!” he said quickly. I was still staring at him. “Why did you do it?” I asked. The boy just kept smiling at me. “Because,” he replied. “It’s the least I could do for calling you a white bitch.” I was confused now. “Uh… thanks…. uh….” I replied. “Jim.” the boy said. “Okay, Jim.” I said uneasily. “I am Starlette.” “I know.” your grandfather replied. Then, he walked off. I just stood there and stared at him. He was an odd duck. But this would be your grandfather and your father and aunt’s father.
1983
