Difficult conversation, but how I think Ichabbie would talk about this. If anything in here is wrong, let me know. And tell me what you think. I hope this is okay and didn't get off track and that I wrote this well. Please let me know.
"I can finish up," Abbie said.
She took up their plates, left them on the counter. She ran some water in the sink. Crane stood. She was in one of her moods where she wanted to be alone for a bit. Something must have happened at work. She was awfully quiet at dinner, but Crane wanted to be there for her.
"It's no problem, Leftenant."
"Crane." She looked at him.
"Very well." He kissed her forehead and exited the kitchen.
He spotted her on the couch when he came downstairs after his shower. She didn't join him this time. He would've given her a bath and washed her hair.
An opened Rice Krispy was in her hand. The square was bitten at a corner. Her day must've been something terrible if she ate one of those.
Abbie didn't face him. She didn't acknowledge him even when he sat by her. Her eyes stared into her sticky treat.
She messed with the wrapper. "One of the white teachers at an elementary school shot four beautiful little black children in her classroom today. All because of the color of their skin and who she assumed them to be. We didn't get there in time to save them."
She nibbled another bite. Crane never knew what to say when Abbie told him such horrifying stories about her job and how it affected her. He definitely didn't know what to say in this case. This was new. This hit home. He could empathize with her, but he could never fully understand its magnitude. He couldn't relate.
He got on his knees in front of her. His hands sat on her thighs. He kissed her forehead. He had no idea what she felt.
She lets her tears drip down her neck. "It's 2016. This is still happening. We die all because we exist. Some people hate us, Crane. They were children. Babies."
He touched her cheek, wished he could have done something. Saved them.
"I think of us, history, everything in the past." She sniffs. "You would've owned me. I would've been your slave."
He couldn't breathe anymore. He shook his head and stood and paced. His fingers twitched. What could he say? That he wouldn't have done it? That her life and other African-American lives mattered? The idea of him or anyone else even owning Abbie and her family, treating them like animals and not humans of a free will...He balled his fists, bit the inside of his cheek.
"Please, don't say that, Abbie."
"Maybe you would've tied me to whipping post and beat me until sundown."
His rolled up his sleeves; his skin burned as he strode across the living room. "Stop."
"Or maybe you would've raped me. I would've bore your children." Her laugh was dry. "Children."
Why wouldn't she quite?
"Damn it, Abigail." He faced her.
"We can't ignore it, Ichabod."
"No, but...it's disgusting to even..." He sighed.
"Sit down, Crane." She put the Krispy bar on the arm of the sofa.
He bent in front of her again, grabbed her hands, and kissed them. She touched his cheek; he kissed her palm. She wanted them to have an honest conversation. He just had to admit that their race mattered, that it's always going to matter.
"We would've been about to do this. We were against the law," she said.
He doesn't like to think about her as a...slave or segregated from him or God forbid, lynched. That was not who she was or any other African-American. No one deserved that. No one should be treated like that. It's despicable and unimaginable. Yet, as a history professor, Crane knew this was American history. It was also a part of English history. He always felt a little uncomfortable discussing that dark period with his students. How do you speak about such a horrid time?
When Black History Month came, Abbie took him to a few museums, and they'd watch documentaries and films. Crane forced himself to endure to the end. It was hard, but it was important. Abbie asked him afterwards what he thought. Something along the lines of, "Thank God this isn't our era anymore." or "Thank you for sharing this with me." always escaped his mouth. He never went into detail. What could he say? If he were honest, it made him sick to know what his ancestors did to Abbie's. He hated it. Yes, they acknowledged history and their relationship in terms of race, but they never had an in-depth discussion.
He glanced away from her, played with her fingers. It saddened him. "We were."
"Maybe we would've been like the Lovings. Interracial marriage was outlawed in Virginia and other Southern states. They got married in Washington, but when they came back, they had to leave Virginia. Eventually, they went to court about it. The Supreme Court ruled they had a right to marry and that they could return to Virginia."
He touched her cheek, nodded. "We live in that world now, where we can freely marry one another. I am most grateful for it."
"Crane, talk to me."
He paid attention to their hands. "I am talking to you, Leftenant."
"Bullshit."
He sighed.
She got on the floor with him, crossed her legs, and patted the space in front of her.
"That isn't necessary."
"Crane."
He sat in front of her; she held out her hands. He took them.
"This isn't easy for me either, but we have to. You're angry. Me, too, but I need you to tell me. It's how we grow from the past, how we heal, if that's possible."
Where does he start?
He didn't look at her. "I note the stares we sometimes receive from others. We could be walking or dinning in, grocery shopping. I've seen them. I don't quite like it. It…I get so livid."
Some shook their heads, turned their backs, lifted their noses. Some scooted over or went the opposite direction. Some wouldn't even acknowledge Abbie's presence. Whenever they wouldn't, Abbie and Crane left the restaurant or store. Forehead kisses, a squeezed hand, a reassuring smile covered the sting. He never asked her how she felt; she never told him.
"I know the feeling." She played with his fingernail.
"Would you like to talk to me about it?"
She shook her head. He lifted her chin. "I thought we were talking."
She smiled small. "We are talking."
He chuckled. She bit her lip.
"At moments, it's like I don't matter when we're in public. Some people look at me like… like I'm a filthy nigger."
He clinched her hands, put them to his heart. Why would she ever refer to herself as such?
"Grace—"
"That's the truth."
He cleared his throat to keep his tears in check. This wasn't about him right now. She wouldn't let their eyes meet. Her throat swelled; she let the tears slip down her neck again, wiped her face with her sleeve.
"It angers me. It makes me feel like a dirty animal. As if we don't belong together or that I'm beneath you. Inferior. Less than."
Her tears slipped out the corner of her eyes as she slightly tilted her head back. She couldn't face him.
He took both of her cheeks. He kissed her forehead multiple times; he stared at her. His skin scalded again.
"No. Never, Abbie. You are my better half, my equal, my entirety, the muscle that makes my heart beat."
She kissed his lips. "You're mine, too."
"Are you ever angry at me?"
She nodded. "You don't defend me when it happens. You don't defend us. I get mad at myself, too. I don't stand up for myself or us either. We let them win. Everytime."
It hurt to hear. She was right though.
"I am so very sorry."
What else could he say? He was a coward. Why did he let them do that to her, to them?
"It's easy to ignore. We pretend it doesn't bother us and that we're strong enough to handle it when we aren't. It's going to always bother us whether we want it to or not."
"I will change that."
"It's something we both have to work on. I've done my fair share of not defending you and our relationship, too."
She'd tell him the comments people, even some of her co-workers, have made about them and how she wouldn't respond. "You're dating him? A white guy?" "You're his property, right?", and "What do you call him? Master?" These are some of the things she'd been told.
"Maybe we do it because we want them to change their minds about us. However, some of them will never see us for us: two people in love," he said.
"That's the thing. We aren't just two people. I'm a black woman in love with a white man. You're white man in love with a black woman. We can't help our skin color, and we can't change the past. We can't change the opinions of others either. All we can do is show them who we are as a black woman and a white man together."
"Our race will always matter, won't it?"
She nodded, and he leaned back against the sofa as she sat between his legs. He held her like he wanted to, kissed her neck. She fell back into his chest, then grabbed her Rice Krispy treat off the arm of the sofa. Split it in half. One piece was for her. She have him the other. They chewed with one hand and watched their fingers twist and untie together on the other.