Freedom

March 4, 2012
"Love?" she asked. His back was turned to her, and he didn't answer. "David?" she asked again, but this time with his name. What had happened to him? He had transformed into something else. Someone else.

David turned, but didn't speak, just stared at his wife hard. His eyes were bloodshot, his glasses askew, and his hands were swollen. His face was covered in black soot, his clothes so dirty the white didn't show beneath the mud, and he was bleeding from behind his ear. His eyes were filled with emptiness and grief.

Amanda stared. "What did they do to you, love?"

His voice was hoarse and weak. It sounded like Amanda imagined sandpaper feeling like. "No sleep for one whole month. No showers. Put me to work, they did. Thought tha' jus' 'cause I was black, they could pu' me to work fo' them. But no they can't pu' me to work fo' them. I am not their servant, no, I am not. Made me write the checks, they did. Made me work harder than ever. Tortured me. And you know the wors' par', honey?" He was standing up, pacing towards her. David grabbed her by the shoulders. "Do you, honey? Do you know the wors' par'?"

Amanda was paralyzed. Her husband shocked her every day with his intelligence, but never like this. Never had he dared to approach her and tell her what was troubling him, never had she ever heard him speak with such a burning passion before. "No, sir, I do not."

David stared at her. "All over the world, honey. It happens everywhere. We are American, we are citizens. We shall not be treat'd like we ain't got no brain in our heads. 'Cause we do. We can fight them with their own intolerance, we can. I won't stan' dere and let them attack us withou' us doing nothin' to stop it. We will figh' back, yes, we will."





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