Page 7 of Saving Grace

One of the racist white boys from the town over had caught me just before it had turned dark and tried to get me to kiss him, among other things. He said his daddy told him nigger girls were for his pleasure and should do as he said.

I’d told him to kiss my black ass just like I heard my grandma say.

He’d gotten mad, knocked me down and was straddling me when a dirty boy came running out of the woods behind the lake screaming like a wild boar, waving a stick in the air. He brought it down on the boy’s head, sending him running off and leaving me behind.

I was scared shitless when I realized who had saved me. I didn’t even know his name, but I’d seen him around school.

What I did know for sure was that he’d run away two weeks earlier because there had been an announcement over the intercom at school about him. I also knew that his daddy was a well-known KKK member, and if the rumors were true— he’d taught his son to be exactly like him. But my granny had told me not to listen to rumors, “most of the time it was just sinful gossip,” she preached. So, I didn’t know what to believe at that moment.

A racist wouldn’t have saved me, would he?

Plus, he didn’t seem the type. He was always alone and always quiet, never causing any trouble—even when people picked at him for being poor and dirty.

Some of my fears were alleviated after that thought, but I still pleaded. “Don’t hurt me.” Just In case. Still on the ground. I sat up and scooted away from him.

“I won’t.” he responded, raising his hands defensively. The tone of his voice and the truth in his silver eyes made me believe him. When he reached down to help me off the ground, I let him. Once I made it to my feet, I brushed off my shorts and shirt.

He started walking back towards the woods.

I couldn’t let him go.

“Wait!” I reached out to stop him.

He frowned looking down at my hand that was wrapped around his forearm. I removed it, letting it fall to my side. “Thanks for that. “I whispered.

“No problem,” he nodded. “Now, you better get home. Girls shouldn’t be out here alone at night.” he drawled and tried to walk away again.

I swallowed the smart reply I had to his comment about girls. My granny had told me anything a man could do— a woman could do and probably do better. But he had just helped me, so I kept that to myself.

Instead, I asked if he was hungry. He looked hungry, and I felt the need to thank him by doing more than just saying it.

Lucky for him I had a cooler with sandwiches, some fruit and water. I’d always bring snacks with me when I went out to read by the lake. It was quiet there, different from home. My granny always had somebody over to eat or drink or play cards. I was an introvert. I hated the extra company

He had looked hesitant, like he wanted to lie and say no, but I guess hunger was stronger than his pride.

“Yeah, I’m hungry. “He answered.

“Come on.” I grabbed his hand, he looked surprised by the action. Yes, it was dirty and he smelled terrible, but I didn’t care. He’d saved me.

I pulled him over to where I had set up my picnic blankets and left my cooler and book bag.

I pulled everything I had left out of my cooler and put it on display for him. “Eat whatever you want, I'm not hungry. I got some of my granny’s sweet tea that’s still cold and plenty of water.” I pulled the thermos from my backpack and unscrewed the top; it was still more than half full.

“You sure?” he asked, licking his lips, and staring at the food as he spoke. He immediately reached for a sandwich when I told him I was.

“Wait!” I shouted.

He snatched his hand back, going still like a frightened animal. A sad look crossed his face.

I felt terrible when I realized he probably thought I wasn’t going to let him eat.

“I’m sorry for yelling, but your hands are filthy. You can’t touch food you’re going to eat without cleaning them.”

I pulled out a package of baby wipes from my bag. I used them to clean his hands and face myself. He sat stiff as a board the whole time, barely breathing.

When he finally did eat, he ate everything I’d offered and probably would have eaten more if I had it. I just watched him, no more than ten minutes passed before he was done. I wondered when the last time he had eaten.

“What’s your name?”

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