The Milkman (Short Story)

Dairy, Milk, Decor, Jug, Burlap, Decoration, White

Missy

Something is me really want to play with the milkman’s kid, but blacks and whites can’t mix, so I guess it’s time to put my ‘puppy face’ on and beg Tom to play with me. He’s coming with his father to give us the milk.

“Good morning, Tom, how are you doing today?” “I’m okay, what about you, Miss Missy?” “Mr Jackson, can I speak to Tom for one second?” “Go ahead, but Tom, don’t take too long because we still have a lot of deliveries to do.”

“Tom, can we meet at the field this afternoon to play?” “Missy, you heard my dad we have a lot of deliveries to do and besides you know as I do that you and I can’t play together.”

“Come on, Tom, in the field no one can see us, and I saw how fast you can work when you want.”

“Alright, see you at 4.”

Yay, my sweet face works all the time.

At 4, I went to the field, and Tom was there waiting for me. I went behind him without making one noise to try and give him a fright, but as I was about to open my mouth. He turned around and saw me. Want to race? And just like that, I started running in the hopes that I’ll have a head start on him. When we reached the other wall. We trapped on the long green grass, and we began to roll in it.

Out of nowhere, I saw my dad looking at us, with his face the colour of a tomato. He grabbed me from my hair and took home without saying one word. He got out his belt and gave me a beating while yelling that I can never play with Tom again and he said that he thought I knew better than going to play with a ‘negro’.

I’m sure that my dad told Mr Jackson that he caught us playing together at the field and I’m sure Tom got a beating too.

 

A few years later..

Tom grew up to be this handsome guy with bright brown eyes and the most beautiful smile. A few weeks ago, Mr Jackson passed away, and Tom took over the milk deliveries.

We have been meeting in secret because at times we feel that there is some kind of magnet attracting us to each other. Every time we meet, he brings me little gifts such as wildflowers. Each slight touch is like magic that makes my heart beats so fast.

My hopes are that in the future that the hate around skin colour and that people are no longer blind to love like ours. I know that as a white woman society will give me a hard time for loving a black man. Love is love, and I want Tom to be my husband and the father of my kids no matter his skin colour.

Alex

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