American Stories. You are Beautiful. Boomer Episode 9 by the American author Dewey Edward Chester. Keep on reading! Still more fascinating!
The wind was threatening the leaves on the Sycamore trees, but sunlight danced and sparkled on the greens. It was one of Pittsburgh’s gold-autumn days when Bigelow Boulevard was decorated with golden Panthers; one of those breezy sort of days.
It held no warmth for Samantha O’Neal; dating a Black man was out of the question. Samantha was thinking this while dodging Bigelow traffic.
She walked barefoot through campus. Her college class was in the Cathedral of Learning.
In the shadows, classmate Laura Ellis stopped her. “No!” she told Laura —— Games were stupid. Why didn’t Laura understand? Life was more important than silly football Games. Samantha was a Conservative girl.
She heard Laura say —– “Michael’s going to be famous.”
“How would you know?”
“I’ve watched him play.”
Cathedral chimes interrupted, and they sprinted their last steps to class.
Laura contrasted Samantha; she was a college girl who admitted she was Liberal, and right about Black men: a girl could never see them as they were. To do so was against the Rules.
She kept her secret, coiled, yet to spring.
I first met Laura inside Panther Hollow. A path went through woods, to the edge of a meadow. I walked past her but glanced back, to say—-“You are beautiful!” We stood under a Sycamore tree. The leaves were red and gold. She walked away, but suddenly turned back to say—-“Your campus speeches intrigue me.”
“Revolutionary at best,” I laughed. She was a fool, I reasoned. Like all White women—– she wore the sash of superiority. Her head stuffed with lies; her belly full of ice.
I studied her closely. She was a bold looking girl: tawny hair, freckled face and a swift athletic style. I hated supremacy. I would tie her to a stake; cut her throat. Inhabit her….destroy her aristocracy. White women followed the Rules.
The breeze inflated her skirt. Her hair floated behind, and for an instant did I see a twinkle in her eyes?
I gazed down her flank. An embrace would start a war; our climax, a blow against the law.
“You’re beautiful,” I said again.
“It’s your eyes,” she replied, puzzled. “I’m good at eyes.”
I warned, “I’ve got baggage.”
“I could care less,” she smiled.
She was in my arms. Her body strained against mine. Her hair was against my face. She turned herself up and I was kissing her thin red mouth.
She clasped her arms about my neck; she called me ‘Loved One’
I pulled her to the ground. “Have you done this before?” I asked.
She answered slowly, “Promiscuity was discouraged in my family.”
My heart leaped. She was a virgin! I would corrupt her.
I pulled her to her knees and said, “I hate the Rules. I hate what they’ve done. I seek to start a revolution!”
She answered easily, “I seek to start one, too!” She grinned.
“Then, you like revolt?”
“I adore it.”
I smelled her passion, and pressed her down upon the grass.