Chapter I
A Southern Wind -
a Novella set in Present Day Texas,
in a World where the South won the American Civil War
Chapter 1 - in which a Movie is Seen, a Puppy is Walked and a Man is Shot
Jimmy Newstead fidgeted in his seat. He would have done more than just fidget, far more, but he had restrain himself as he was on a double date. It would be not very considerate of him to ruin the date his roommate arranged just because they were all stuck watching a terrible movie. The trouble was no one else in the theater seemed to grasp the movie was terrible. He did not turn his head to look around, as that would have caused anxiety to his already nervous arranged date for the evening, whose name he suddenly realized he could not recall, but he did scan the darkened room intently whenever a particular awful line was uttered by the unmotivated actors with bad fake facial hair on the big screen. No one snickered at the unintentional comedy of it all. No one rolled their eyes. They all... seem to enjoy it.
Here was Lt. General Longstreet, played by an aging matinee idol only the aging maiden aunts of Confederacy loved, riding with the Great Robert E. Lee towards Gettysburg and talking about The Great Cause and Noble Sacrifice. Such a thing did not happen. Anyone with a brain knew such a thing did not happen. By every account written during and after the Second American Revolution, Longstreet and Lee did not meet on that fateful day. But here was Longstreet furrowing his brow as he and Lee and their staff ride up to hapless Maj. Gen. Heth and listen to Heth try to explain how he in a search for shoes stumbled his division into half the Union army. At least Heth looked like Heth. Jimmy did not even mind the stunt-casting. Whatever one said of Heth's military skills, he probably did not deserve to be portrayed by an actor most remembered for his role as a New York City born thrill killer stalking buxom Confederate co-eds on the sunny sin-filled beaches of Mexico in a banned in Charleston slasher flick.
Then there was Lee. Granted, casting the Great Robert E. Lee would pose a three pipe problem to even the most able and daring director. Here is a man whose noble face is known to every single citizen and resident of the Confederacy. His very portrait is on the ten dollar bill. Do you grab an actor and slather him with makeup and the latest British made prosthetics until he is a carbon copy of the Great Robert E. Lee? And if so, can any man be expected to emote under such a welder's mask? Would it not be just... creepy and distracting as well, with audience members trying to spot the real man underneath? Perhaps, you find someone who looks like him physically and have him just act without any artificial means. But that too would be... odd, would it not? And it did not help the closest actor in heft, stature and age to Great Robert E. Lee was a Russian defector. A Lee from Moscow was not something one wanted to do unless one desired to cause heart attacks among the inbred remains of the Virginia planter class and to unleash a torrent of terrible newspaper articles written by terrible old men who still unironically wore bowler hats in public. A daring approach would have been to obtain the best actor available and have him capture the spirit if not the image of the Great Robert E. Lee. Such a technique was pioneered, as many things were, by the British when they chose a short craggy Welsh miner's son to portray long limbed efette aristocrat Prime Minister Oswald Mosley in "Mosley: Triumph and Tragedy." But Confederacy was not Britain and thus the movie makers predictably went with the first option. And thus the welder's mask barely moved as Lee politely prodded Heth to explain himself on the screen. A damnyankee battery fired just off screen. And Lee's staff officer, Maj. Taylor, played by an impossible young and ridiculously handsome former pop singer, rode up to Lee and Heth and warned they were within range of enemy guns.
Next to him, Jimmy felt, Violet - that was her name! - stiffen and brace. All across the theater the moviegoers went silent. Jimmy's roommate Billy intertwined his hand through the hand of his date Jenn. For a moment, Jimmy wondered if he should do the same with Violet. His heartbeat rose.
On the big screen, Lee nodded politely to the young man and turned his horse towards the copse of trees. Heth followed. The two men were out of earshot of their respective staffs. Heth cleared his throat and prepared to apologize for getting his division tangled with the damnyankees despite Lee's standing orders to avoid such an engagement until the whole of the Confederate Army of Northern Virginia could be drawn together. The slasher flick actor was clearly committed to the role and punching above his weight. Lee, face immobile thanks to the makeup and prosthetics, reached out with a gloved hand and planted it on Heth's shoulder. "It's all right, General, it is all the Lord's will."
A cannonball screeched and tree next to Lee exploded into jagged shards. One caught Heth in the shoulder, flinging the man to the ground and slashing his half-mad poor horse. The camera panned towards stunned and horrified staff officers. Maj. Taylor in tears riding forward. The camera swished back to the copse and there sat Great Robert E. Lee on his horse, still and timeless. And then he fell off it. Maj. Taylor jumped off the horse - idly Jimmy wondered how many takes it took for a windshield cowboy pop singer to learn how to jump off a horse gracefully while emoting - and cradled Lee's body. And only now, and only with Taylor's suddenly bloody gloves obscuring it, did the camera allow the audience to catch a glimpse of a shard of a tree sticking out of Lee's neck. His eyes were frozen.
Half the audience was in tears. And not all of them women. Jimmy was surprised to find his eyes nearly welling. His arranged date Violet had her head down on her chin, but did not cry. Billy swiped with a thumb at the corner of his eye. Jenn squeezed his hand and put her head on his shoulder.
Jimmy contemplated taking Violet's hand again, but then Longstreet - Longstreet Who Should not Have Been in this Scene - rode up to the weeping and inconsolable staff officers, took off his felt hat, placed it over his heart and uttered or rather muttered, "He will be avenged."
The audience gave a savage cheer. Jimmy wanted to scream, "That never happened!" but restrained himself to merely rubbing the bridge of his nose. The magic was gone. He no longer wanted to hold hands with Violet.
***
Billy exited the theater holding hands with Jenn, closely followed by Violet, her arms awkwardly dangling by her side and fuming Jimmy. Free from the confines of the theater, he was venting his frustrations to an audience of none.
"They completely ignored Vicksburg! It's all well and good we won the Battle of Cashtown when Longstreet pulled us away from Gettysburg and regrouped, but if Grant hadn't been..."
Billy cleared his throat, "Uh, Jimmy, Jenn and I were thinking of going to, uh, the park, to star gaze. Can you escort Violet back?"
Jimmy gave a quick nod.
Billy smiled and slapped him on the back. Billy and Jenn wandered off, arm in arm, chattering low. Jimmy listened to Jenn's back throat chuckle and wished he was on a date with her, not the limp rag standing next to him. He suddenly realized that was an unkind thought, took off his spectacles and cleaned them with the edge of his polo that was not stained by popcorn or sweat. It wasn't Violet's fault she was a "limp rag." He gave her no chance to be anything but a limp rag tonight. Her hair clearly showed signs of salon. The nails were perfect with the shade matching her pink Empire shift and pink tinted white stockings and even the light reddish strap of her low heeled kitten pumps. Christ. She made an effort. Spent time to coordinate. Primped. Tried on different outfits. He... showered. He felt suddenly disgusted with himself and his conduct tonight. "The old intellectual's disease," he mused, "always looking at the issue from both sides, even if it makes you look like a jackass." Had he simply called her a limp rag and stuck with the appellation, he would have been a happier creature. Now...
"Do you want to get some ice cream?"
There was no pivot there. One moment a chubby nerd in a shirt that really was one size too small is complaining about a movie, during which he completely ignored you one might add, the next he's trying to be sweet with all the raw charisma of a none too fresh roadkill. No wonder she simply blinked and shook her head.
Jimmy slipped on his spectacles. And gestured towards the general direction of the dorms. Violet gave a nod. The two walked on in silence. Jimmy replayed his actions in the movie theater, or rather the non-actions over and over and over and over again. There were not just two opportunities to hold hands and perhaps try for, uh, more, there were three. In addition to the anticipation of the death of the Great Robert E. Lee and the actual death itself, there was the pivotal moment during the Battle of Cashtown when...
Jimmy became dimly aware Violet and he were already in off-campus housing when they passed the metal black on white "Whites Only" undersign, bolted to the faux- ye old fashion wooden clapboard sign announcing the name of the apartment complex to be "Garden Oaks." Each apartment complex down the long well lit street tried to outdo its neighbor in having the most unique type of sign while displaying little to no imagination in the choice of name. He oriented.
"Let's take a shortcut?"
Violet blinked. Jimmy's wave was pointed towards a dimly lit backstreet. She hesitated.
"It's past their curfew and we'll shave off fifteen minutes."
Violet managed a nod and followed Jimmy.
The housing was obviously shabbier. The lone street light emitted an annoying buzz that set Violet's teeth on edge. The apartment complex names were no more creative than on the broader alley they just left. Each clapboard sign had a corresponding metal undersign, with red and yellow block letters spelling out "Non-White/Non-Colored Housing." Violet stuck close to Jimmy. Jimmy fished out a pencil thin mini-flashlight, twisted it on and waved its pale light in front of their feet to avoid twisting an ankle in the uneven slabs of pavement. It was the first practical thing Violet had ever seen him do. And while other boys she knew hurried through non-white housing even in daylight, while pretending to be brave, Jimmy seemed in no hurry and appeared to be truly unafraid.
A beam of white light blinded them. Jimmy shielded his eyes, as did Violet. The light came from a police cruiser manned by a pair of butternut uniformed Sheriff's Deputies. One, cheek full of chaw, spit on the ground, dimmed the light and prepared a stern face.
"You shouldn't be out here, folks."
"We were just returning to the dorms, Deputy. It's a shortcut."
Jimmy spoke evenly, though Violet felt his, uh - distaste? - for having to speak to the Deputy.
"All right, but don't dawdle. Ain't safe for whites. We had reports of Underground Railroad activity here."
Violet's eyes widened and she shivered. Jimmy forced himself to nod.
The cruiser lazily crawled away.
"'The Railroad?' Seriously?" bull snorted Jimmy and walked on. Violet followed. She had never met a white Confederate in her entire life who was unafraid, truly unafraid, of the Underground Railroad.
Jimmy warmed to the subject, "'Railroad!' As if they can do anything today, besides get bad haircuts, listen to awful music and read incoherently-written smudges pamphlets full of bull, uh, crap."
Violet liked him a little more for mincing his oath in deference to her presence. It was this slight affection that permitted her to ask a question she would never dare ask a man she just had met that day, "You've met them then?"
Jimmy's bravado suffered a slight setback. His knowing eyes suddenly became hooded. "One, uh, meets all sorts of people," he managed almost evenly.
Violet quickly agreed and spoke no more of it. They soon reached a short chain link fence on the outskirts of a football field. Jimmy cleared it, eventually, and with difficulty. He belatedly offered to help Violet, but she vaulted over it with ease, gripping the top metal bar as if it was a pommel horse and she a gymnast. Jimmy was impressed. And she noticed it and it made her feel more proud than she felt she should have been. They walked on the grass of the field, for both were sophmores and it was the off season. Three six story buildings loomed to the left. A stone's throw to the right stood a lonely three story tower. They reached a crossroads.
Jimmy cleaned his spectacles yet again, searching for... something. Was there a magic phrase one could utter at this time to make the surprisingly nimble young woman in front of him feel compelled to surrender her virtue? And if there was, could he be trusted to utter it correctly, deftly and smoothly? Maybe. No, no and definitely not. He put the spectacles back on and gave a wan smile. Violet returned it. They muttered limp goodbyes and went their separate disappointed ways.
Jimmy rounded the bleachers and nearly collided with a light skinned African-American college aged woman. He took an embarrassed step back. She took more than a few in terror. Then both recognized each other and relaxed and smiled.
"Sorry 'bout that. Didn't mean to scare you. You are all right?"
"Uh, yes, Jimmy, just... I was studying at the library and didn't realize it was past curfew."
"Want me to walk you to your place?"
"No, it's all right. It's less than three minute walk from here."
"There's a patrol car on Wilson, the deputy was talking... nonsense about increased Railroad activity."
The woman winced. Gave a nod. Jimmy and Tara walked off.
This exchange was observed Bobby Colson, 19 years young, white and very tired. He was dressed in an outfit anyone outside of Texas (and perhaps Louisiana) would find ridiculous. A long, belted, gray Davy Crockett style hunting shirt that ended just above his knees. It was trimmed with three vertical bands studded with brass buttons. The central band from crotch to throat at least had a practical purpose, it was how the shirt was put on and fastened to his weary body. The two flanking bands running from his thighs to his shoulders served no practical purpose at all in the 21st century. At least his gray pants were not ridiculous and the yellow striped on the outer seams was generally accepted as standard military insignia. As were the two yellow hash marks sewn unto his left cuff sleeve, marking him as sophmore.
But if the outfit could be explained away by Texans as belonging to the Corps of Cadets of some college, proudly keeping alive traditions that should have by rights died a merciful death when the first machine gun was trotted out on a battlefield, much fewer people could explain why he was holding the leash of a circling cocker spaniel pup. Fewer still could explain why he held a lit cheap cigarette inside a cheaper wooden cigarette holder jammed between his teeth. Only those who attended Lee College would know the pup was one of 17 being trained that year by the likewise as many companies of the Corps of Cadets to replace beloved retiring mascot Skylark XI and that a Mascot Corporal (or Lance-) was elected by each company to take care of the company designated pup. Colson belonged to K-Company, and K- had never managed to get any of the pups assigned to them to become Skylark in the history of the Corps. Thus it was with a heavy heart K-Company seniors decided to signal their abject capitulation in the great race by assigning the duties of pup care to the most hopeless lance-corporal sophmore they could find. Thus Colson. As for the cigarette... Smoking, drinking and fornicating was forbidden to the cadets, and, as such, the cigarette holder was there to, in theory, prevent the smell of tobacco from infecting the circus rider uniform proudly worn by the cadets and thereby betray Colson. The pup finally stopped circling and began to defecate.
***
The light skinned woman and Jimmy passed another "Non-White/Non-Colored" undersigned apartment complex. Jimmy shone a light from his pencil flashlight on the broken pavement before the light skinned woman and himself and regaled her with his objections to the movie. He expected her to be able to humor him better than a stranger he was arranged to date and to also better grasp the nuances of his argument:
"And no mention of the British intervention! Total revisionist bull, uh, crap. Anyone watching the movie would think we won The Revolution on our own and the Brits did not drag the da, uh, urnyankees to the negotiating table that..."
The woman stopped in front of an apartment building whose undersign simply read "Mixed." It was much newer than the "Non-White" signs and not as sun blasted. Being smaller than the "Non-White" undersigns, one could clearly see the bolt holes on the apartment complex sign above it where the "Non-White" sign previously hung. "Mixed" was a grand brave new experiment by the Leesburg county council and the light skinned African-American woman was one of its guinea pig. She murmured a warm goodbye and gave Jimmy a smile. Jimmy returned it.
She climbed up the chipped cement porch staircase.
Jimmy cleared his throat.
She turned around and saw he was mulling something over. For a brief moment she thought he was going to try to hit on her or attempt to talk her into spending the night. Then remembered it was Jimmy and banished such fears from her mind.
"Uh, remind me to talk to you about, uh, something the next time meet?"
The woman nodded her agreement. They murmured goodbyes again and she disappeared.
Jimmy turned around and trekked back to the Albert Sidney Johnston dorm.
***
Jimmy stepped out of the ancient elevator and into a hallway. He passed the discolored space where the "Whites Only" sign once hung, until he pointed out the hallway was cleaned by Hispanics and Coloreds and as such... He got to his dorm room. Checked that there was no sock on the doorknob, not that Billy would be so desperate as to commit an ungentlemanly act within the dorm with so many envious would-be snitches prowling around, but one had to be sure. The door was not locked. There was nothing inside worth stealing. He stepped inside his dorm room and was shot in the heart.
a Novella set in Present Day Texas,
in a World where the South won the American Civil War
Chapter 1 - in which a Movie is Seen, a Puppy is Walked and a Man is Shot
Jimmy Newstead fidgeted in his seat. He would have done more than just fidget, far more, but he had restrain himself as he was on a double date. It would be not very considerate of him to ruin the date his roommate arranged just because they were all stuck watching a terrible movie. The trouble was no one else in the theater seemed to grasp the movie was terrible. He did not turn his head to look around, as that would have caused anxiety to his already nervous arranged date for the evening, whose name he suddenly realized he could not recall, but he did scan the darkened room intently whenever a particular awful line was uttered by the unmotivated actors with bad fake facial hair on the big screen. No one snickered at the unintentional comedy of it all. No one rolled their eyes. They all... seem to enjoy it.
Here was Lt. General Longstreet, played by an aging matinee idol only the aging maiden aunts of Confederacy loved, riding with the Great Robert E. Lee towards Gettysburg and talking about The Great Cause and Noble Sacrifice. Such a thing did not happen. Anyone with a brain knew such a thing did not happen. By every account written during and after the Second American Revolution, Longstreet and Lee did not meet on that fateful day. But here was Longstreet furrowing his brow as he and Lee and their staff ride up to hapless Maj. Gen. Heth and listen to Heth try to explain how he in a search for shoes stumbled his division into half the Union army. At least Heth looked like Heth. Jimmy did not even mind the stunt-casting. Whatever one said of Heth's military skills, he probably did not deserve to be portrayed by an actor most remembered for his role as a New York City born thrill killer stalking buxom Confederate co-eds on the sunny sin-filled beaches of Mexico in a banned in Charleston slasher flick.
Then there was Lee. Granted, casting the Great Robert E. Lee would pose a three pipe problem to even the most able and daring director. Here is a man whose noble face is known to every single citizen and resident of the Confederacy. His very portrait is on the ten dollar bill. Do you grab an actor and slather him with makeup and the latest British made prosthetics until he is a carbon copy of the Great Robert E. Lee? And if so, can any man be expected to emote under such a welder's mask? Would it not be just... creepy and distracting as well, with audience members trying to spot the real man underneath? Perhaps, you find someone who looks like him physically and have him just act without any artificial means. But that too would be... odd, would it not? And it did not help the closest actor in heft, stature and age to Great Robert E. Lee was a Russian defector. A Lee from Moscow was not something one wanted to do unless one desired to cause heart attacks among the inbred remains of the Virginia planter class and to unleash a torrent of terrible newspaper articles written by terrible old men who still unironically wore bowler hats in public. A daring approach would have been to obtain the best actor available and have him capture the spirit if not the image of the Great Robert E. Lee. Such a technique was pioneered, as many things were, by the British when they chose a short craggy Welsh miner's son to portray long limbed efette aristocrat Prime Minister Oswald Mosley in "Mosley: Triumph and Tragedy." But Confederacy was not Britain and thus the movie makers predictably went with the first option. And thus the welder's mask barely moved as Lee politely prodded Heth to explain himself on the screen. A damnyankee battery fired just off screen. And Lee's staff officer, Maj. Taylor, played by an impossible young and ridiculously handsome former pop singer, rode up to Lee and Heth and warned they were within range of enemy guns.
Next to him, Jimmy felt, Violet - that was her name! - stiffen and brace. All across the theater the moviegoers went silent. Jimmy's roommate Billy intertwined his hand through the hand of his date Jenn. For a moment, Jimmy wondered if he should do the same with Violet. His heartbeat rose.
On the big screen, Lee nodded politely to the young man and turned his horse towards the copse of trees. Heth followed. The two men were out of earshot of their respective staffs. Heth cleared his throat and prepared to apologize for getting his division tangled with the damnyankees despite Lee's standing orders to avoid such an engagement until the whole of the Confederate Army of Northern Virginia could be drawn together. The slasher flick actor was clearly committed to the role and punching above his weight. Lee, face immobile thanks to the makeup and prosthetics, reached out with a gloved hand and planted it on Heth's shoulder. "It's all right, General, it is all the Lord's will."
A cannonball screeched and tree next to Lee exploded into jagged shards. One caught Heth in the shoulder, flinging the man to the ground and slashing his half-mad poor horse. The camera panned towards stunned and horrified staff officers. Maj. Taylor in tears riding forward. The camera swished back to the copse and there sat Great Robert E. Lee on his horse, still and timeless. And then he fell off it. Maj. Taylor jumped off the horse - idly Jimmy wondered how many takes it took for a windshield cowboy pop singer to learn how to jump off a horse gracefully while emoting - and cradled Lee's body. And only now, and only with Taylor's suddenly bloody gloves obscuring it, did the camera allow the audience to catch a glimpse of a shard of a tree sticking out of Lee's neck. His eyes were frozen.
Half the audience was in tears. And not all of them women. Jimmy was surprised to find his eyes nearly welling. His arranged date Violet had her head down on her chin, but did not cry. Billy swiped with a thumb at the corner of his eye. Jenn squeezed his hand and put her head on his shoulder.
Jimmy contemplated taking Violet's hand again, but then Longstreet - Longstreet Who Should not Have Been in this Scene - rode up to the weeping and inconsolable staff officers, took off his felt hat, placed it over his heart and uttered or rather muttered, "He will be avenged."
The audience gave a savage cheer. Jimmy wanted to scream, "That never happened!" but restrained himself to merely rubbing the bridge of his nose. The magic was gone. He no longer wanted to hold hands with Violet.
***
Billy exited the theater holding hands with Jenn, closely followed by Violet, her arms awkwardly dangling by her side and fuming Jimmy. Free from the confines of the theater, he was venting his frustrations to an audience of none.
"They completely ignored Vicksburg! It's all well and good we won the Battle of Cashtown when Longstreet pulled us away from Gettysburg and regrouped, but if Grant hadn't been..."
Billy cleared his throat, "Uh, Jimmy, Jenn and I were thinking of going to, uh, the park, to star gaze. Can you escort Violet back?"
Jimmy gave a quick nod.
Billy smiled and slapped him on the back. Billy and Jenn wandered off, arm in arm, chattering low. Jimmy listened to Jenn's back throat chuckle and wished he was on a date with her, not the limp rag standing next to him. He suddenly realized that was an unkind thought, took off his spectacles and cleaned them with the edge of his polo that was not stained by popcorn or sweat. It wasn't Violet's fault she was a "limp rag." He gave her no chance to be anything but a limp rag tonight. Her hair clearly showed signs of salon. The nails were perfect with the shade matching her pink Empire shift and pink tinted white stockings and even the light reddish strap of her low heeled kitten pumps. Christ. She made an effort. Spent time to coordinate. Primped. Tried on different outfits. He... showered. He felt suddenly disgusted with himself and his conduct tonight. "The old intellectual's disease," he mused, "always looking at the issue from both sides, even if it makes you look like a jackass." Had he simply called her a limp rag and stuck with the appellation, he would have been a happier creature. Now...
"Do you want to get some ice cream?"
There was no pivot there. One moment a chubby nerd in a shirt that really was one size too small is complaining about a movie, during which he completely ignored you one might add, the next he's trying to be sweet with all the raw charisma of a none too fresh roadkill. No wonder she simply blinked and shook her head.
Jimmy slipped on his spectacles. And gestured towards the general direction of the dorms. Violet gave a nod. The two walked on in silence. Jimmy replayed his actions in the movie theater, or rather the non-actions over and over and over and over again. There were not just two opportunities to hold hands and perhaps try for, uh, more, there were three. In addition to the anticipation of the death of the Great Robert E. Lee and the actual death itself, there was the pivotal moment during the Battle of Cashtown when...
Jimmy became dimly aware Violet and he were already in off-campus housing when they passed the metal black on white "Whites Only" undersign, bolted to the faux- ye old fashion wooden clapboard sign announcing the name of the apartment complex to be "Garden Oaks." Each apartment complex down the long well lit street tried to outdo its neighbor in having the most unique type of sign while displaying little to no imagination in the choice of name. He oriented.
"Let's take a shortcut?"
Violet blinked. Jimmy's wave was pointed towards a dimly lit backstreet. She hesitated.
"It's past their curfew and we'll shave off fifteen minutes."
Violet managed a nod and followed Jimmy.
The housing was obviously shabbier. The lone street light emitted an annoying buzz that set Violet's teeth on edge. The apartment complex names were no more creative than on the broader alley they just left. Each clapboard sign had a corresponding metal undersign, with red and yellow block letters spelling out "Non-White/Non-Colored Housing." Violet stuck close to Jimmy. Jimmy fished out a pencil thin mini-flashlight, twisted it on and waved its pale light in front of their feet to avoid twisting an ankle in the uneven slabs of pavement. It was the first practical thing Violet had ever seen him do. And while other boys she knew hurried through non-white housing even in daylight, while pretending to be brave, Jimmy seemed in no hurry and appeared to be truly unafraid.
A beam of white light blinded them. Jimmy shielded his eyes, as did Violet. The light came from a police cruiser manned by a pair of butternut uniformed Sheriff's Deputies. One, cheek full of chaw, spit on the ground, dimmed the light and prepared a stern face.
"You shouldn't be out here, folks."
"We were just returning to the dorms, Deputy. It's a shortcut."
Jimmy spoke evenly, though Violet felt his, uh - distaste? - for having to speak to the Deputy.
"All right, but don't dawdle. Ain't safe for whites. We had reports of Underground Railroad activity here."
Violet's eyes widened and she shivered. Jimmy forced himself to nod.
The cruiser lazily crawled away.
"'The Railroad?' Seriously?" bull snorted Jimmy and walked on. Violet followed. She had never met a white Confederate in her entire life who was unafraid, truly unafraid, of the Underground Railroad.
Jimmy warmed to the subject, "'Railroad!' As if they can do anything today, besides get bad haircuts, listen to awful music and read incoherently-written smudges pamphlets full of bull, uh, crap."
Violet liked him a little more for mincing his oath in deference to her presence. It was this slight affection that permitted her to ask a question she would never dare ask a man she just had met that day, "You've met them then?"
Jimmy's bravado suffered a slight setback. His knowing eyes suddenly became hooded. "One, uh, meets all sorts of people," he managed almost evenly.
Violet quickly agreed and spoke no more of it. They soon reached a short chain link fence on the outskirts of a football field. Jimmy cleared it, eventually, and with difficulty. He belatedly offered to help Violet, but she vaulted over it with ease, gripping the top metal bar as if it was a pommel horse and she a gymnast. Jimmy was impressed. And she noticed it and it made her feel more proud than she felt she should have been. They walked on the grass of the field, for both were sophmores and it was the off season. Three six story buildings loomed to the left. A stone's throw to the right stood a lonely three story tower. They reached a crossroads.
Jimmy cleaned his spectacles yet again, searching for... something. Was there a magic phrase one could utter at this time to make the surprisingly nimble young woman in front of him feel compelled to surrender her virtue? And if there was, could he be trusted to utter it correctly, deftly and smoothly? Maybe. No, no and definitely not. He put the spectacles back on and gave a wan smile. Violet returned it. They muttered limp goodbyes and went their separate disappointed ways.
Jimmy rounded the bleachers and nearly collided with a light skinned African-American college aged woman. He took an embarrassed step back. She took more than a few in terror. Then both recognized each other and relaxed and smiled.
"Sorry 'bout that. Didn't mean to scare you. You are all right?"
"Uh, yes, Jimmy, just... I was studying at the library and didn't realize it was past curfew."
"Want me to walk you to your place?"
"No, it's all right. It's less than three minute walk from here."
"There's a patrol car on Wilson, the deputy was talking... nonsense about increased Railroad activity."
The woman winced. Gave a nod. Jimmy and Tara walked off.
This exchange was observed Bobby Colson, 19 years young, white and very tired. He was dressed in an outfit anyone outside of Texas (and perhaps Louisiana) would find ridiculous. A long, belted, gray Davy Crockett style hunting shirt that ended just above his knees. It was trimmed with three vertical bands studded with brass buttons. The central band from crotch to throat at least had a practical purpose, it was how the shirt was put on and fastened to his weary body. The two flanking bands running from his thighs to his shoulders served no practical purpose at all in the 21st century. At least his gray pants were not ridiculous and the yellow striped on the outer seams was generally accepted as standard military insignia. As were the two yellow hash marks sewn unto his left cuff sleeve, marking him as sophmore.
But if the outfit could be explained away by Texans as belonging to the Corps of Cadets of some college, proudly keeping alive traditions that should have by rights died a merciful death when the first machine gun was trotted out on a battlefield, much fewer people could explain why he was holding the leash of a circling cocker spaniel pup. Fewer still could explain why he held a lit cheap cigarette inside a cheaper wooden cigarette holder jammed between his teeth. Only those who attended Lee College would know the pup was one of 17 being trained that year by the likewise as many companies of the Corps of Cadets to replace beloved retiring mascot Skylark XI and that a Mascot Corporal (or Lance-) was elected by each company to take care of the company designated pup. Colson belonged to K-Company, and K- had never managed to get any of the pups assigned to them to become Skylark in the history of the Corps. Thus it was with a heavy heart K-Company seniors decided to signal their abject capitulation in the great race by assigning the duties of pup care to the most hopeless lance-corporal sophmore they could find. Thus Colson. As for the cigarette... Smoking, drinking and fornicating was forbidden to the cadets, and, as such, the cigarette holder was there to, in theory, prevent the smell of tobacco from infecting the circus rider uniform proudly worn by the cadets and thereby betray Colson. The pup finally stopped circling and began to defecate.
***
The light skinned woman and Jimmy passed another "Non-White/Non-Colored" undersigned apartment complex. Jimmy shone a light from his pencil flashlight on the broken pavement before the light skinned woman and himself and regaled her with his objections to the movie. He expected her to be able to humor him better than a stranger he was arranged to date and to also better grasp the nuances of his argument:
"And no mention of the British intervention! Total revisionist bull, uh, crap. Anyone watching the movie would think we won The Revolution on our own and the Brits did not drag the da, uh, urnyankees to the negotiating table that..."
The woman stopped in front of an apartment building whose undersign simply read "Mixed." It was much newer than the "Non-White" signs and not as sun blasted. Being smaller than the "Non-White" undersigns, one could clearly see the bolt holes on the apartment complex sign above it where the "Non-White" sign previously hung. "Mixed" was a grand brave new experiment by the Leesburg county council and the light skinned African-American woman was one of its guinea pig. She murmured a warm goodbye and gave Jimmy a smile. Jimmy returned it.
She climbed up the chipped cement porch staircase.
Jimmy cleared his throat.
She turned around and saw he was mulling something over. For a brief moment she thought he was going to try to hit on her or attempt to talk her into spending the night. Then remembered it was Jimmy and banished such fears from her mind.
"Uh, remind me to talk to you about, uh, something the next time meet?"
The woman nodded her agreement. They murmured goodbyes again and she disappeared.
Jimmy turned around and trekked back to the Albert Sidney Johnston dorm.
***
Jimmy stepped out of the ancient elevator and into a hallway. He passed the discolored space where the "Whites Only" sign once hung, until he pointed out the hallway was cleaned by Hispanics and Coloreds and as such... He got to his dorm room. Checked that there was no sock on the doorknob, not that Billy would be so desperate as to commit an ungentlemanly act within the dorm with so many envious would-be snitches prowling around, but one had to be sure. The door was not locked. There was nothing inside worth stealing. He stepped inside his dorm room and was shot in the heart.
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