Gumbo
Prologue
In my father's dreams, there is no color. Only varying shades
of black, and the blackness haunts him, so in every waking
moment, he runs to whiteness.
That's how he met my mother.
She seemed everything that he was not. She was everything
he desired. Her skin, like buttermilk, contrasted his coal
color. Her hair, like corn silk, was silent as his raged.
Her voice, like tiny bells, tinkled as his own boomed. She
was everything that the women of his past were not, and he
wanted to possess her. But like the child who cradles a wounded
bird too tightly, he crushed her. Almost. In the split second
it took him to reposition his hands to get a tighter hold,
she saw the crack of light from the outside world and rushed
toward it. Leaving him. Leaving me. And I'm not enough for
him.
My memories of them together come in like waves, and like
the waves, they threaten to drown me. But I gasp and struggle
through, remembering that always there is the surface, and
with the surface comes fresh air, and in the air, I am free...
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