1. Rosie


    Date: 4/16/2018, Categories: Interracial, Author: billy, Source: LushStories

    Many years later, after taking my virginity, Rosie would tell me that it was what I wrote to her in third grade that initially endeared me to her. A couple mean boys had taunted her about her skin color on the playground and I was a silent observer of the incident. My heart went out to her when I saw her lower lip tremble, followed closely by a steady stream of large tears wetting her dark cheeks. She didn’t run away in spite of the hurt put on her by her young white tormentors. She just stood and took the abuse that was heaped upon her. To my lifelong regret, I stood and watched and did nothing. Rosie was one of only two black girls attending Holy Cross elementary school. The year was 1960. Rosie was a tiny little thing, with thin legs and brightly colored ribbons in her kinky hair. Her parents were immigrants from Kenya who had come to America for a better life. Rosie and her family were true outsiders in the Northwest corner of Indiana we grew up in. On that warm day in May I heard terrible things said to her by our classmates, things that I would never forget, and I was ashamed and angered by what I heard. Even after Rosie was reduced to tears the torrents of insults continued until the recess bell rang and we returned to our classroom. Rosie wiped away her tears and gathered herself, and by the time she was seated in our classroom her bright eyes were clear. I noticed a stoic, defiant expression on her face. Anger that would never leave her had established a place ...
    within her. She sat in the next row, one seat up from mine, so I could observe her that year without her being aware of it, or so I thought. It was toward the end of the afternoon that I finally decided to take some sort of action. I had thought about the possible ways I might make her feel better, so I wrote a note to her surreptitiously, because if the nun caught me she would make me stand up and read it to the class. It was a one sentence note, and I quickly folded it up and stuck it in my shirt pocket. When the dismissal bell rang, I managed to get right behind Rosie as the students rushed the door. In the general hubbub of the dash to freedom, I found a moment and quickly tapped her on the shoulder. She looked back at me and smiled when she saw it was me, and I quickly said, “I think you dropped this,” and handed her my note. I then took a turn and walked briskly away from her, putting as much distance between us as I could. “Dear Rosie, I like you,” my note read. I drew a misshapen heart below my name. She would later tell me, as we lay in her bed together, that my note had given her encouragement on a day when she had felt shattered and alone. She saved it and read it whenever she felt low or sad. After telling me that, she would take my head in her hands and give me one deep sensual kiss after another. The years plodded by, and it was two years later that my parents moved out of our small house in the city into a more rural area a few miles outside of town. We were ...
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