Make Me Something Beautiful

Summer, 1954"Tell me something," I ask her, my eyelids half closed in a relaxed state only she can bring on. My hand is snaked underneath the lace of her top and she is breathing steadily, but her skin prickles in goosebumps that tells me my touch is wanted. I meet her here after work on Fridays, out on the hill right outside of town. Far enough away from people that we can exist without others eyes, but close enough to get back in a rush. Our love is reserved for Friday nights. Every other day it is hidden away like a diamond, stuffed deep down in some stuffy box we try and pretend does not exist.Our families do not know each other.Our friends do not know each other.We should not know each other.

I sit at my kitchen table and watch as my mother takes off her maids uniform. She has been working for a new family lately and they keep her out late. I know it bothers her being away from us, but we all do our best to pretend her absence is practically unnoticed. She will be gone again before I wake up. She will need to be at the Smith family home before the sun to wake people up and feed them breakfast. It will not be long until I am doing the same thing. Day after day, cleaning after white people who can’t seem to stop making messes. I try and learn as much as possible now, that way when the day comes I get my own family it will not be so hard. My father died in the war when I was little, but people say he was a kind man, full of things to say to make people laugh. My mother says thats why she married him- he could make her laugh in a way nobody ever did. So far nobody has again. Our home is covered in pictures of him, with his wide smile and happy eyes. I have his

I have never been to a funeral before. The church was packed full of people, each fanning away the heat with a large fan, their faces glistening with sweat and tears. My heart shattered again each time I heard the cries of anguish coming from Mattie in the front pew, her body wracked with sobs over and over until I am not sure I can take it anymore. Finally, it is over, and they try and take the casket out. I try to look away as Mattie throws herself toward the coffin of her baby and her friends gather around to bring her comfort. There is no comfort and we all know it, we just cannot mentally handle the sounds of her heartbreak any longer or our hearts will break too.My mother says we are not here to mourn, but to witness. We would not forget what happened to Mattie’s boy, and we would not forgive. There were two types of evil, she told us. Those who commit evil acts, and those who see them done and do nothing to stop them. We would not allow this to go unwitnes