A STORY I HAD TO WRITE FOR CLASS, BASED OFF OF ROLL OF THUNDER HEAR MY CRY, PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!

Face My Fear

The blazing summer afternoon sun poured down onto my back and beads of sweat formed slowly. Fanning myself gently I opened my parasol and lifted it up to rest onto my shoulder, effectively shading my back and face. Looking down I made sure that Clara was still walking next to me.

An inquisitive girl of four, she was known for wandering off exploring the world before her. I've had many a scare with her going off on lazy Strawberry afternoons as these. Reaching down I pulled her small, delicate hand into mine. She looked up smiling and gripped my hand as hard as she could.

Clara tilted her head up at me in an curious way and said, "Mama, why are we shoppin' for groceries instead of Angeline?"

Sighing I gave her 'the look' as David, my husband, loved to call it. Making sure that I kept my voice light and cheerful I replied, "Because dear, Angeline goes to the market six days a week, every week shopping for our food. I thought that it would be nice to relieve her from that chore for a day. And dear, do try not to say shoppin', use the proper word, shopping."

"Shopping.", she replied dutifully, making sure to enunciate.

She didn't speak for a few more minutes, but soon she looked up at me again dying to know the answer to her unspoken question.

"But Mama.", her voice excited, " Mama, Grandfather says that's what slaves are for, so we don't have to do chores like this." She stopped before starting again, "He says that we are the higher race." Her eyes shining like stars as she spoke.

"Clara Grace! Don't you ever say that again! Your Grandfather is seriously mistaken. No matter what he says, you remember this. We are not the 'higher race', we never have and never will be. The only difference between us and blacks are the colors of our skins, which isn't that much. Don't you ever forget that, young lady."

My harsh reprimand stuck to Clara, for her eyes swelled with tears that would never fall. She bowed her head sorrowfully and murmured quietly, voice thick with the unshed tears. "Yes Mama, I'm sorry."

Remorse at my harsh words I scolded had her with, forgetting that she was only a four year old and repeating what her Grandfather had said. I sank to my knees in front at her, not caring that I was dirtying my dress. I gently enveloped her in a warm hug.

"Dear, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so short with you but, I must stress that not all that your grandfather thinks is true. Evr'yone is equal no matter what they look like or how they talk."

"I will, Mama." Her sallow expression suddenly changed to a look of joy and her bubbling laughter broke through and she asked me, her voice more cautious than before, " Mama shall we go get food?"

"Lets Clara." ,my voice cheerful once more.

I rose up from the sidewalk and gently brushed the dirt that had caught onto my dress. Once again, we began to walk down the sidewalk and soon we reached the heart of the square.

"Mama! What's happening to that girl over there?" Clara's excited voice tore through my thoughts.

"Where is she Clara?" I asked her looking around.

She didn't need to show me where the girl was. I saw her across the street, a little black girl standing in front of a white girl who had a haughty look upon her face.

"Come on Clara, let's go. Quickly now.", I told her, trying to rush her along.

"But Mama, shouldn't we help her? You always say that we should help everyone."

"Come on Clara, let's keep walking, this isn't our fight to pick." I replied, my stomach twisting uncomfortably, but I just kept walking.

Clara kept quiet and walked beside me quietly for a while before speaking again softly, a little subdued, "Mama? Is it because she's black?", her voice trembling slightly.

"Keep walking Clara.", my voice too, trembling with my unshed tears.

I didn't mention that day to anyone ever, for fear of what they might say. Clara never said a word either, she forgot about it I believe as some children forget days they had as well, but sometimes I can look into her eyes and almost see the afternoon replay before me.

I realize now that I should have helped the girl, protected her from harm. I should have forgotten my fear of being recognized, pushed down that uneasiness in my stomach and helped her, but I didn't and that is something I have had to deal with.

And even now when I lay in bed waiting for sleep to overtake me, I still dream of that day in Strawberry. The memory haunts me even now years later, and I am sure that it will 'till the end of my living days.