Chapter Two: Yellow

"There is no easy walk to freedom anywhere, and many of us will have to pass through the valley of the shadow of death again and again before we reach the mountaintop of our desires."

~Nelson Mandela

(EPOV)

There wasn't anything worse than being called a Negro to your face, but my father wore that title proudly, like a drunk wore whiskey on his breath.

He'd come home from the cotton field, unlacing his work boots one at a time and whistling hymns only angels knew the lyrics to. His skin was the color of molasses—a stark contrast to his tan linen clothes—and his heart was bigger than he was. I sat beside him, his brown eyes meeting my green ones, and he laughed that robust laugh that shook God's green earth to its core.

"How was your day, Pa?" I asked.

Pa—or Carlisle Masen to the rest of the world—wrapped his muscular arm around me and kissed me on the forehead. He responded the same way he always did. "I'm breathing, aren't I?"

That usually meant he got a lashin' for cursing or for trying to show off by having more bushels than the rest of the laborers. They were building machines to replace men, but not my father. Birmingham could say a lot of things about my Pa, but they couldn't claim he wasn't a hard worker. It was like he was made for picking, and everybody else just got in the way.

"Ma still couldn't find work this morning," I told him, rehashing the day's events. "I've been telling her I can—"

Pa shook his head, interrupting me. "Son, we've been down this road. Folks are killin' left and right out there. It isn't safe."

I glanced downward and his dark-colored, calloused hand covered mine. Ma always said I was the color of almond buttermilk, and I suppose I was. But to my Pa, I was just his.

"You're my boy, Lincoln, and it's my job to protect you," he always said. "One day, you'll understand that when bullets go flying, it won't matter that you're yellow. You'll bleed like a Negro."

My name's Edward Lincoln Masen, but to everyone else, I didn't even exist. White was white and black was black, and I fell somewhere in between. Ma and Pa kept me hidden since the day I was born. Sixteen years ago, folks were rioting and two mixed babies were burned alive, right in town. Since Ma was pregnant and feared for her life and mine, they concealed me from that day foreword.

In a way, I knew they were justified in keeping me hidden. Every now and then, bitter townspeople would travel right to the outskirts of Birmingham just to throw bricks through our windows. They said it wasn't right for a white woman to marry a Negro, and they showed their disapproval with violence. It didn't bother Pa. He kept on collecting the bricks and just outside their bedroom, he'd built a small fort. It wasn't complete, and though it would be a good hiding spot, I wasn't so sure I wanted it to be finished.

"Carlisle, Lincoln, supper's ready!" Ma called our names from the kitchen as Pa rubbed my head and glared at my buzzed haircut.

"You cut it again," he said, frowning. My tightly curled, bronzed mane was shaved to a centimeter of its life. One day, when I broke out of those four walls, I wanted folks to see me as white. Maybe, just maybe, I'd get away with it and walk into town without anybody noticing.

I remembered asking Dad when I was younger why I didn't have thick, kinky hair like him, or eyes that were as rustic as God's soil.

"'Cause you're a mixture of everything good from me and your ma," he'd said. "Don't let anybody ever tell you different. You're a Masen through and through, Son."

For the time being, I just shrugged. "Getting too hot outside, Pa."

He nodded, but he and I both knew. He didn't say anything else, so I followed him down the tiny, narrow hall into the yellow kitchen, where Ma was setting the table. Our house wasn't big at all, the pipes leaked, and the floor was ready to cave in at a moment's notice. In fact, it only had one bedroom. I slept on the sofa some nights, and others in the old, oversized dumbwaiter in the kitchen. After a lifetime of hiding, it didn't matter where I slept. If someone ever found me, I'd just be dead.

"Smells good, honey," Pa said, licking his lips. He snuck a piece of fatback into his mouth and gave Ma a passionate kiss. The world was stuck on race, but in my house, we were color-blind. Ma smiled, her green eyes twinkling. If there was anything she loved, it was Pa and cooking. We couldn't afford a lot, but Pa made sure he kept food on the table and a roof over our heads.

Ma tucked a blonde strand behind her ear and sat down with us. She spooned out large portions of beans and ham hocks, and we ate as if there was no tomorrow.

"I tried, Carlisle," Ma said in the middle of drinking her sweet tea. "There's nothing available. Since the Smith's moved, there's no one else to do housework for."

Pa didn't really want Ma to work, but she was so insistent on helping with the bills that he'd agree with anything just to make her happy. We rented from Harry, one of the few people who actually liked my parents, but I knew we were falling behind.

"Joe said a new family moved into town. You might want to try them," Pa offered. "I bet they'd be willing to hire you."

Ma got all excited, and I kind of hoped she'd talk so much she'd forget the rest of her food. "Who are they? Do they live on one of those big plantations? Do they have kids? I can be a nanny too!"

Pa laughed as he wiped his mouth. "Calm down, Esme. I'm not sure. Joe just told me their last name was Swan. The man bought one of the textile factories, so I reckon they've got money. I think he said they lived near Dry Creek Road."

Ma grinned happily and I crept my fingers along the kitchen table, inching my way to her food. She paused and slapped me with her spoon. "Cut it out, Lincoln. There's more in the pot."

"I'll call Sue tonight. I'm sure she knows about those Swans already and I'm going over there tomorrow, first thing!" she continued. "I bet they're looking for help. I just know it. I can feel it in my bones."

"Can I come?"

I tried to sneak my way into the conversation and Pa stopped chewing mid-bite. "Lincoln."

"Pa."

"Lincoln."

I hated the way he said my name like that. He couldn't keep me locked up forever. One of those days I was going to see the world and read books other than Ma's Bible, and maybe even work. Or be in school like normal folks. I'd do anything to get out of the house.

I tried sneaking out once a few years earlier. I got halfway down the road and saw a car and high-tailed it back home, my heart pounding while I prayed at the same time. I told Ma what I did and after she stopped crying, she beat me. She asked me why I was trying to commit suicide and I told her living there all by my lonesome was killing me, and she cried all over again.

Her guilt was enough to keep me inside, but it didn't stop me from thinking about what was out there.

I just wanted to be free.

.

.

.

"Lincoln."

I stirred in the uncomfortable space, my cheek pressed against my knee. A loud knock rumbled in my ear and I tried to tune it out.

"Edward Lincoln!"

Go away.

"Lincoln, I can see your sock poking out."

I stifled a tired chuckle from behind the rotting wood of the dumbwaiter and pushed the small door downward. Peeking out, I smiled sheepishly as Ma stood in front of me, holding out her hand to help me out. My feet hit the linoleum floor as she shook her head.

"I told you we'd get you a bed," she complained, wiping the sleep out of my eye. I grumbled, shoving her hand away.

"And put it where, Ma? I'm fine. 'Sides, I like being in the kitchen. It's closer to the fridge."

Ma laughed. "You're gonna eat me out of house and home."

"I'm making it my personal mission," I joked. Yawning, I stretched my arms and noticed Ma wearing her Sunday dress. "Are you leaving already?"

"It's after seven. I want to be at the Swans' first before other women start showing up. It's slim pickings around here."

I glanced around, knowing Pa was already gone. Embry Call came, and every morning they rode to the fields together, long before the birds chirped and wildflowers bloomed.

Sulking, I brushed my way past Ma and trudged down the hall. As I used the bathroom and washed my face, I tried to plan my day in my head. I could catch up on some reading, or actually help Ma around the house and clean. Or, if I was feeling brave, I could slip outside and check on how the tomatoes were growing. If I was lucky, I'd find that little bunny rabbit and her babies.

"Lincoln." Mom knocked on the door and I opened it, brushing my teeth in front of the mirror. She stood behind me, her hands on my shoulder. Anybody with two eyes would be able to tell I was her son, and it was only my skin tone that made me different.

"I know you're upset I'm leaving," she began, "but maybe I'll be able to find some work. You know how hard it's been around here."

I knew that and deep down I understood, but I hated being alone. I felt abandoned. It wasn't right, a 16-year-old begging for his Ma to stay home with him, but I didn't know anything else. Sure, I'd seen a few people around when I peeked through the walls, like Harry and Pa's friend Embry, and even Ma's best friends Sue and Billy, but no one my own age. I'd never played ball with a friend or met a girl or talked to another teen … hell, it was pathetic. And depressing. Mostly just depressing.

"I'll be quick," Ma tried to soothe me, noticing the expression on my face. "They might not even need a housekeeper. They'll probably dismiss me…"

"They won't," I told her, trying to make her feel better. "If they're half as blessed as I am, they'd be lucky to have you."

I gave her a half-smile and shut off the light, walking past her. I searched through the sparse food in the fridge and finally settled on the pitcher of lemonade. I was pouring a glass when Ma appeared beside me.

"I know this is hard, but one day it won't be like this. Times are a'changing, Lincoln. Just you wait and see."

I nodded, saying nothing as she kissed me on the side of my temple.

"Keep the curtains closed," she said, giving me orders I'd heard my entire life. "And if you go outside, make sure no one else is around. And don't turn on too many lights. And—"

"Ma! I got it. I'll be fine. I'm going to go check on the tomatoes." Irritated, I took a sip of my drink, trying to ignore her.

"Okay honey. I'll see you later. Love you."

Ma was nearly out the door when she snapped her fingers. "Oops. Almost forgot my recommendation letter from the Smiths."

She turned back towards her bedroom, muttering to herself as my heart pounded heavily.

What if I didn't have to stay here?

What if I could go out, if only for a little bit?

What's the worst that could happen?

Everything, I told myself.

I could hear Ma rummaging in the back as the seconds ticked by on the antique clock. I could do this. I could sneak out. She wouldn't even know. All I had to do was hide in the bed of our Chevy and she would be none the wiser.

Before I could stop myself, I raced towards the front door, opening it as quietly as I could. I winced as the old wood creaked, but shut it behind me. The rusted Chevy was parked on the side of the house and I nearly jumped off the front porch, rocks flying beneath my sock-covered feet. I glanced back momentarily, but Ma was nowhere to be found.

Using the tire for leverage, I hoisted myself into the back of the truck and crouched down. Pa's tarp was laid across the metal bed and I used it to cover myself. Remnants of bark from wood lay scattered, poking me on my side.

It didn't matter. I had made it out.

The blistering sun heated the truck and my skin burned when it touched the ridges. I heard Ma slam the door and shout, "I love you" as she made her way to her vehicle.

Inhaling the scent of wood, I tried to breathe slowly as Ma climbed inside and the engine roared to life.

What was I doing?

I was going to get caught. This was not good. I should climb out. I needed to climb out.

But it was too late.

The truck started moving and for the second time in sixteen years, I was off of our property.

Except this time, there was no running back.