My new manuscript is an interracial love story.
When an eight year old boy is abandoned by his mother who then marries a black man, a joint custody battle begins over his soul, the father being racist, the mother the opposite.
In chapter 1, the hero, now twenty, decides to reject his father's hate, when he's confronted by a life and death situation.
The heroine, a black girl of nearly eighteen, would rather have died drowning than be saved by scum.
What a great way to build a relationship, but journey they must, for herein lies a surprising story of growth (by him) in which the protagonists are equals as we all are.
It's university, at first they're after. It's murderous racists chasing them. They must hide. Like the great movie (one of the best)
If interracial stories offend you, please do write me because through dialogue we may both learn something. Just don't ask me to hate.
Cinnamon
& Sugar
goes well with toast and a bit of butter
Chapter
1
Humphrey was a smart eight-year-old.
His daddy said so. He learned how to build karts, repair cars, study math, and learn
about architecture. Someday he’d go to Virginia Tech, maybe, or be president.
On too many nights, Daddy went
out to a bar with the white power boys, especially Tuesday. On this hot Tuesday
night, Momma came into Humphrey’s room to tuck him in. She set the fan on blast
and sat next to him on the bed. Stroking his long blond locks, she started what
would soon be the worst day of his life. “My dearest boy, you know Momma loves
you, right?”
“Yes, Momma.” She was always
fussing on him, telling him how handsome he was, giving him the best toys and school
stuff.
“You know your daddy loves
you to pieces.”
“Yes, Momma.”
“Well, your father doesn’t
love me. Much. He’s been hitting me, and I’m afraid of him. You wouldn’t want
me to get hurt?”
“Not my daddy. He loves you,
Momma. He says so.” Daddy was as perfect as Superman.
“How’d I get this shiner?”
“You said you ran into the
clothesline post.” On a second look, the roundish yellow and purple marks did
look like a fist, not a clothes pole. His daddy’s fist?
“Yeah, I didn’t. I’ve been
telling fibs for months now.”
“He loves you. He kisses and
hugs you. He tells me so. I can see.”
“He loves you, momma. You are
his everything. Me, not so much.” She looked at the ceiling as if searching for
a bug. “Okay, I’m afraid I’ll be pushed, shoved or hit again. He’s big and I
could die. You want your mommy to live, don’t you? To help you when you need
me?”
He was crying now, something
terrible was going to happen. “I need you every day, every hour, all the time.”
“You stay in bed. Go to
sleep. You have school. Did you do your human geography report?”
“Easy peasy. Did it on
Saturday.”
“Good. Always do what is
right. Treat everybody, black or white, fairly.”
“There are red, blue and
yellow people too, Momma.”
“Blue.”
“Yes momma, very rare genetically.”
“And what does all these
people tell you?”
“God likes to use colors.”
“And?”
“They’re all people.”
“Good, never forget this
simple fact.”
“I won’t.”
“Know that I love you more
than anything.” Momma cried, kissed him on the head. Got up to leave.
“Yes, Momma.”
She smiled and closed the
door.
He watched from his window as
she ran out the door into the arms of a black man. His daddy told him black
people were bad. Momma said they were good. Just
people.
There under the street lamp
for the whole world to see, she kissed him, on the lips, can you believe that? They jumped into his Stingray and off they roared.
Momma forgot the prayers.
He hated that man for taking
his mother away from him.
#
For the next twelve years,
mom and dad fought for Humphrey’s soul in court and in his heart. Dad was
winning until…
