After reading That Was Then This Is Now, I was really interested in the Mike character, and his whole story about the black girl who he helped.

I thought, "what was going on through her mind to let him get beaten like that? why did she seem so shy, scared, hurt, and then turn so hateful instantly?" Clearly, she has been through some serious crap with white guys/people before and the discrimination/humiliation that blacks were subjucted to in those times caused her to snap. or something of that sort. i'm just using my imagination and musings to create this little "backstory", if you will.

i own nothing of course, except what is written here. the charcters aren't mine, but for some original ones. =)

EDIT: I revised a bit. Realized some things were not quite right.

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I hated coming home from work. Hated getting off my shift, walking down the streets, waiting at the bus station and sitting on that bus with all those people. The way they stared, as if they'd never seen a black girl before. This ain't 1954, folks, I felt like telling them. With Martin Luther King and Freedom Rides, times were changing. And yet I can't walk down the street without some knucklehead white boy hollering at me or whistling all crude like. It wasn't just the boys though, the white ladies would stare too. One time two old ladies were walking by me, and I heard them plain as day, say "Oh look, that girl is something pretty for a colored girl." And she smiled at me real nice, as if I should be gratified that she had just spoken about me as if I was a sideshow. I didn't smile back. I didn't even look at her. I just ducked my head, like always.

I learned a long time ago that it was better to be ignored.

Back when I was six my Momma took me to the drugstore near her work downtown. See, that was when we lived way down south. before Momma moved us here. There were two sections to get your ice cream: one for whites and one for us. We sat there in the summer sun, with our matching pink sunglasses and summer dresses, enjoying the feel of the cold ice cream on her tongues. A tall white man kept looking our way, his blue eyes steely with some kind of glint. I didn't know then why he was staring at us, or why he walked over and told my Momma she was sitting too close and needed to stay with her people.

"But it looks like your kind prefers being close with white folks, am I right?" He snaked his fingers around my Momma's wrist, and she dropped her ice cream to the hot cement.

There were only a few people there, all white and staring. One lady took her little boy and walked away quickly. One man grinned. I knew my Momma was different, even at a young age I saw how others treated her. Even in our neighborhood she would get treated like she wasn't one of the family, or even one of the residents. I thought it was because she was so pretty, like the Dorothy Dandridge lady I saw once in a movie. She was slender and graceful, with sloping eyes and fine wavy hair and skin that shined like copper in the sunlight. But as I would find out, my Momma wasn't beautiful enough to save us both from the cruel world.

"I'm sorry, sir." My Momma told the man quietly, just as he let her go. She stood and took my hand, and the man turned his cold eyes on me. His smile widened.

"Well, looks like you passed some of your white blood to your little half breed there. She's almost as cute as a white girl."

That was when I looked at my Momma and saw the tears I had never seen before. She held me closer and walked away, ignoring the man and his words. But the damage was done and when we got home she sat down and cried. I laid my head on her lap and she stroked my hair.

"Momma, I'm sorry." I whispered, because I hated seeing her so sad.

"Baby, you didn't do anything."

"But you're sad. And I don't know why."

My Momma looked at me, as if she was trying to remember something. "You have the eyes of your Grandpa."

She stroked my eyes, closing them. "You never met him, baby. I'm glad you didn't because he was mean and nothing like you. He was white."

My head shot up at that. I stared at her as if she had just said the moon really was made of cheese. But she only smiled at me, her eyes still trying to remember something. That was when I knew why I had lighter skin than the other girls at my school, why my Momma did. Why her hair was a light shade of brown and my Grandma's was black. I looked at her hand on mine, the lightest shade of caramel against mocha.

"Was my Daddy white, Momma?" I was afraid to ask, but I had to know. It was something we never spoke about. When I was younger I was told my Daddy had died before my Momma knew I was going to be born. They had been married only a few months before he was gone. I never asked who he was. Not even his name.

My Momma looked at me, not hiding the sadness in her face. "Yes and no. He was like me. A mixture. We were two of a kind, baby. We both knew what it was like to be on the outside of both worlds but at the same time inside."

I tried to picture my Momma with the man she talked about. I tried to understand what she was saying, but I couldn't. Why didn't she tell me about my Daddy? Why did everyone care my Momma's father was white? It was our family not theirs. I knew white people hated that kind of thing, but why did our neighbors care?

"Why can't they mind their own lives, Momma? Why do they all care?"

"Because people are afraid of different things, baby. Grandma and Grandpa, they were different and people hated knowing what he did. What Grandma had to go through wasn't right, and all those Christian white folks thinking they were doing her a charity."

I was lost in her words, unsure about everything. "I don't know anything about that. I never knew anything about Grandma."

My Momma told me then. And I listened, finally understanding why our family was different. Why Grandma never spoke of Grandpa, why Momma never spoke of Daddy and why I would never be fully accepted by anyone.

So as I waited at the bus stop, two white boys sauntering my way, I pulled my knitted jacket closer to me as they approached.

"Boy would be dead if it wasn't for me. Ungrateful I tell you." The shorter boy was saying. He was one of those greasy kids from the lower white class neighborhoods. Dressed in a dark jacket and jeans cuffed at the bottoms.

His friend was lean, his hair slicked in the back of his neck, with a piece dangling in front of his eyes. I pulled my knees in together, looking straight ahead.

"Don't sweat it, Buddy. He's a kid. He's stupid." The blonde boy leaned against the stop sign and took out a cigarette. His friend was stockier, with dark hair. He glanced at me and winked. I turned away.

It was about ten minutes until the bus would come by, and the sun was going down. I took a peek at the blonde boy who looked ahead with a grim look on his face. He kept snapping his lighter open and close, open and close. I turned back around because the last thing I needed was another white guy to bug me. But he was staring, looking me up and down.

"Hey, baby." The dark haired one drawled, the word seemed wrong coming from his mouth, nothing like my Momma called me. "Isn't it a little late for a cute chick to be out?"

I kept my eyes glued on the road. If I ignored him, he'd ignore me.

"What's wrong? Scared of little ol' me?"He came closer, tucking his lighter in his jacket. "I ain't gonna bite."

His friend laughed. "That's a lie, Buddy. You ain't nothing but teeth."

The dark haired one, Buddy, was in front of me, looking down and peering at my face. He studied me for a long time, and smiled slowly. I could see a glint in his dark eyes, and I remembered that man at the drugstore. I turned my face up to look at him because there was nothing else to do.

"Leave me alone, please." I mumbled, not really looking him in the eyes. I could feel my whole body flushing with anger and embarrassment.

"Aw, I don't mean any harm, baby. A pretty colored chick like you shouldn't be alone this late though." He leaned over me, his thumb brushing my chin. I pulled back and he smirked. "Some of these cats, they ain't any good. Can cause some real grief for a pretty face, white or otherwise."

"Just leave me alone, please." I got up, but he took my hand, holding me in place. His breath smelled like liquor and he looked no older than me. "Let me go."

"But our bus ain't come yet, baby." He turned to the other boy. "C'mon Eddie, tell doll-face not to be such a drag. It ain't even past my curfew yet."

The blonde looked at me with eyes I couldn't make out. I pleaded with my own, even though I hated it. Maybe he wasn't interested, maybe he felt bad. He stared at me for a few moments, and then he shrugged. "You never were good with the chicks, Bud."

Bud or Buddy whooped. "Well, God damn, Eddie! Go on and cut your man down, why don't you? It's ok baby, he's a sad delinquent. Gets a kick outta putting others down." He mocked a tear and laughed, his breath on my neck.

I tried to shake him off and pull away but he only laughed. "Let go, I don't even know you. Why don't you just let me go?"

I could hear the weakness in my voice but I pulled harder, and his friend came up beside me and I knew they were both drunk and looking for some action.

"Boy, you're fiery, huh? I think you're pretty tough." He leaned in close, his breath disgusting on my chin.

And then I felt his hand around my waist. I pushed him, he tightened his grip. Bud was laughing, his hand pulling at my skirt. "Why are you hiding those pretty legs with these panty hose?"

I felt his hands on my knee and I managed to jut my leg into his shins. He cursed and grabbed my arm, tightening it, just as his friend laughed loudly.

"Come on, Bud. I see the bus coming."

Suddenly I was released. "Too bad. Things were finally getting exciting."

I clutched my arms around me, my eyes fixed on the bus that was slowly approaching. And then I felt Eddie's arm around me. He grinned drunkenly. He said something about not worrying but all I could think of was getting home. I could hear his laughter but my eyes were blurry with tears as I kept my fingers around my arms. I told him to let go. He didn't.

The bus stopped before us and as they led me inside I could see the stares of the few people on the bus. There was one older black lady sitting to the left and she looked alarmed as I walked by her, Eddie's hand on my shoulder. He smirked at her, a kind of smugness in his eyes.

"Right this way Princess," Bud motioned to a seat, making way so I could pass, which I did without looking at him. If I played my part, he would leave.

Instead of sitting beside me, they took a seat farther down. I could hear their loud voices as we drove, trying to ignore the crude way they spoke about me. As if I couldn't hear even though it was obvious they knew exactly how loud they were, and Bud said something about wondering if I was the same color all over. I kept my head down, anger rising inside my chest so that I felt like screaming. I wanted to hit him, yell at him, tell him to go to hell. It scared me; this kind of hate but I couldn't will it away.

Just as I started to calm myself, the bus stopped and they got up. As they passed me, they winked. Bud gestured suggestively at me as they left the bus. I turned away and soon, I could feel the tears daring to escape. It wasn't until I got home and shut myself in my bed that I let one tear fall. After that I slept.

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well, i'll be updating soon peeps. at least i'll try very, VERY hard to. =D

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