The sun was shining on my face. I was sitting on our couch, and the warm sun was flowing over me. I could hear the noise from the city just a couple of miles away. 

I was watching a girl with a pink skirt on; it had little yellow flowers on it. She looked the same age as me. I had been watching her for a couple days. A little ball sat at the bottom of my stomach. It had been there for a while. Every time I looked at her, I wanted to go outside and play with her, but I knew I couldn’t. She and I had different worlds. I lived differently from her. If I talked to her she probably wouldn’t like me. I turned away from the warm window and looked into the little living room. There was a little couch on one side of the room, a rocking chair, a coffee table, a little blanket by the couch, and then there was the big light tan couch I was sitting on. My little brother screamed as my mother carried him into the room.

“James, please calm down,” my mother said calmly as he screamed in her arms. She sat him down on the blanket and sat down next to me.

“Huu, that little boy is fussy, he has been throwing a hissy all day long,” she said as she rubbed my back, and then she looked at me. “Mary, what's wrong; you look sad?”

I sighed and then said,  “I am just sick of it, we live next door to some people for so long and we don’t even know them.”

 “The world is different; white and black people are treated differently, but you have to be thankful that we live in an area that is not too bad, because New York is getting better.”

“I guess you are right,” I said while looking at my legs. My light pink skirt had faded, and my shirt was getting older.

“Can you please do the laundry, Sweety?” my mom asked.  

“Okay.” But I didn’t move. My eyes were glued to the bin on the ground with New York Times newspapers. My father never read them much; he didn’t have to. Every week it was the same thing. Protests, sit-ins, arrests on black people for protesting. I liked reading them because it was very interesting.

“Hello. Can you do the laundry?”  She was eyeballing me when she said this.

“Oh sorry,”  I told her.

Just then my father walked in. His eyes were tired and his clothes were dusty.

“Hi guys,” he said calmly as he sat on the other couch.

“Father!” I yelled.

“There's my girl!” he said with a smile. His eyes looked at mine. I looked into those big brown eyes; happiness, sadness and other things whirled through his eyes.

That night when I was about to go to bed I heard my father and mother talking.

“It is just so rude!” my mother was saying.

“Please, Sweetie, don’t get so upset; this happens all the time,” he told her.  “People like me just get treated that way sometimes, and it is not good, but it is what happens.”

“But for them to treat you like a rug! That is so unbearable!” my mother told him, her voice was getting louder. She was upset and annoyed.

“I understand, but it happens; look, I am tired, I better hit the sak,” he said quietly.

I turned around. What could have happened? Was everything okay? My father got treated not great sometimes, but I never heard him so mad before. My heart was pumping really fast. I went to bed worried. I tried to calm myself, but after a little bit, I fell asleep.

The next day when I was all ready, I went back to the couch and tried not to think about the previous night, so I looked at the pile of newspapers, and there was a new one on the top. I picked the paper up; it read: New York Times; 1963 Arrests in local restaurants.  My eyes scanned the rest of the paper; it was still the same as yesterday. Like always there was nothing new.

 I looked at the other newspapers talking about Civil Rights and Jim Crow laws and Martin Luther King Jr.  I didn’t understand why we were so different; we are all people, and we all are the same. My eyes glanced outside where the little girl was riding her bike. Something in my stomach turned, how much I wanted to say hi and how much I wanted for us to be the same. Then something happened, something that never happened before. I started walking to the door. Was I really about to do something I had been wanting to do for such a long time? When I walked out there I pretended to look at the flowers, and then I heard a voice.

“Hey! someone said.  My head looked up so fast I thought my head was going to come off. Then I saw the little girl with her hair put into two braids. She had a bright purple skirt with a light yellow shirt.

“Hi,” I said quietly. I stood there and didn’t move.

“My name is Barbra!” she said happily. “Wanna play?”

I stood there, shocked. It was like she didn’t even notice my skin color. She just was so happy to play with me.

“Okay.” I walked over to her.

“What's your name?” she asked.

“Mary,” I told her.

“That's a pretty name,” she said. “So how about we go in my backyard, we are going to have a ball.”                                                                                                  

She took me to a little bench in her backyard. There was a big tree behind it that made the bench shaded from the hot sun.

“So, I guess you are a little surprised that I asked you to come over here, huh?  I didn’t say anything.  “Well just so you know, my family wants Civil Rights! My brother has been in a protest before.”

I felt more happy;  my head lifted, and I looked right at her.

“I wish you and I went to the same school, if it wasn’t for the dumb law you and I would be best friends! You know I always wished you could come over here.”

My heart jumped. She always wanted me to come over here and said that she wanted to be best friends!

“So how's your family?” she added.

I didn’t answer amidly; I had not talked much, and I didn’t want to mess it up.

“Well, I have a little brother named James. He is two, and my mom stays home to watch us, and my father works in the city; he helps fix shops.”

“Oh that’s cool! My father works in the city also!” she told me.

We talked for hours; it felt weird talking to a girl the same age as me that I never talked to before. It was great though. The warm breeze was nice and the backyard was so pretty. The way she talked calmed me, as did the way she looked past my color and just liked me for who I was. I wished the whole world could be like her.

That night I told my mother and father about Barbra. My mother was so happy that we were friends. I looked at my father and for the first time in a while; I saw a little smile on his face.

In the morning, I sat on the couch and looked down at the pile of newspapers. I sat there thinking about yesterday and how amazing it had been, but there was still a pit at the bottom of my stomach. Things were still the same though, we still went to separate schools and there were lunch places for different people. Things were still not right. I sat there just thinking about all of this.

I woke up from my day dream, and my eyes were frozen to the newspaper on top that said, New York Times: Protests for unsegregated schools and restaurants! Will this law change? My heart skipped a beat. Could this be happening? Could segregation start to stop? I hadn’t felt so happy in a long time. This was what I was waiting for. Then my mother walked into the room. She looked at my startled face. I eyeballed her, and she looked close at me. We sat there for a little bit, just looking at each other. It was like she knew what I was thinking. 

“Is it true?” she asked quietly.

I nodded.

“Oh my!” Her eyes gleamed with happy tears. “This is so wonderful! They are talking about desegregating schools, and maybe restaurants! Oh this is great, and I just found out your father is getting a new job that is so much greater!”

I looked quickly at her; my body was starting to get heavy. I had forgotten about what I heard a couple of nights ago with all this excitement going on.

“What?” I started. “Dad quit or lost his job, why what happened?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you; I didn’t want to worry you.” Her voice was quiet. “Dad quit his job because he didn’t like what was going on at his work.” Then she paused. “Because of the color of his skin, he was treated unfairly.” She looked sad.

“Oh, I am really happy that he got a new job,” I said.

I walked over to Barbara's house after this. I was not as happy as I was before. The reason why my father quit his job really made me sad. What happened that made him quit his job? These thoughts kept going through my head. When I saw Barbra I got so excited to tell her the news about the desegregation.

“What!” she said as we walked into the backyard.

“I can’t believe it! That means we can go out to eat together and we can go to school together!” she said excitedly. She was so happy, but when I told her about my father, the excitement started to go away.

“Ah?” she said sadly. “Your father quit his job because he was treated badly?

I nodded. The sadness overwhelmed me.

“Oh my.” Her voice was sad. “That's so unbelievable.”

We sat there for a little bit, the good news and the bad news in our heads.

“At least he got a good job now, that's great,” Barbara said comfortably.

I smiled at her; the newspaper about desegregation sat between us. Our long hair bounced in the wind. The sun shined down, and the tree shaded us. The little bench felt so comfortable. I looked at my new friend who was so kind. I thought about our friendship that would last a long time. I also thought about the desegregated schools and restaurants and my father who was starting new. A couple days ago I thought that I would always be different, but that pit in my stomach now was gone.

 

 

Emma M.