To Save a Life

By Kahla Wilson

“Well, kid? You gonna fess up or not?”

I slowly glance up at the man towering over me. His face is red and puffy, eyes blazing. I glance back down at his blue uniform, staring blankly through him.

“We caught you at ther scene, dammit! Yer not getting away from this one!” His hot breath and spit cover my forehead as he yells at me. What is he hoping to achieve? It's not like I'm going to talk. They taught be better than that.

I nonchalantly glance around at the bland white walls and notice how they contrast with the black table and matching chairs. The color of them sickens me. It should match the walls; nice and white. Like how everything should be.

No. That's a mistake. Or is it? Do I still believe that?

I stare down at the black shiny table. It's so shiny in fact that I can see the eyes of a man staring back at me. Those eyes are so full of terror, and confusion. I remember the terror in the eyes of the man as we approached him.

 

He was leaving the synagogue. It was dark out. We had already tried to find some nigger, but the one we found pulled a gun on us. Them blacks in this town are smart; probably for their own good. So then we came across this Jewish Rabbi.

The palish yellow light from the street lamps didn't have much of a fighting chance against the dark of the alley we were stalking down. The other three men flanking me were swinging their bats and bracing their brass knuckles. My steel bat felt cold and heavy under my grip. I had to do it. I had to. If I didn't, I would be kicked out. I only heard stories about guys that got kicked outta the gang. I did not want to be next.

 

“Yer finger prints'll be found at ther scene! All over ther man and all over yer blood covered bat! We have you, kid!” I barely look up at him. It's not like he could possibly understand. He's not one of us.

Us? Am I still an “us?” Do I even want to be?

A uniformed black man walks in and I roll my eyes. Here we go. I'm about to get all sorts of lecturing on how bad white supremacy is, and how hard it is for blacks, and blah blah blah. I don't even care anymore. I've heard that story way too many times to count.

I look down at my dirty white hands. These hands have done too much.

“Hello, young lady. What are you in here for tonight?” the man asks gently. The white cop turns to the black one and begins shouting at him.

“This 'young lady' is a Volksfront! Have you never heard of 'em or something?”

“Oh, I've heard. I would just like to hear this lovely woman's side of the story.” The black man slowly sits down in front of me.

“Well, hell, try yer best, but you ain't gettin' nowhere wit this kid!” The white man storms outta the white box and slams the door behind him. Good riddance, asshole.

But now I'm stuck in this room with a black man. Just wait till the gang hears bout this. They always find out.

“So, kid, you wanna talk to me?” I look up into his dark, dark face. He is smiling at me, and his teeth are glowing white as well as his eyes.

How can he possibly still smile at me? Does he not know what I've done? Does he not know what I stand for? Do I even know what I stand for?

His genuine smile reminds me of the rabbi. He smiled at us, though I could see in his eyes how terrified he was.

 

“My children, how can I help you -” The rabbi didn't have a chance.

The black cop interrupts my painful memories again.

“The look on your face tells me something your voice is not,” he says sincerely. “Let me help you.”

“You know you can't,” I shoot back in a failed attempt at a sneer.

“I think I can do a lot of things you don't think I can,” he says leaning back in his seat and folding his arms across his chest. “Answer me this; what makes you think whites are so much better than blacks? Hmm?”

“Because you're black.” I state. “You're filthy. You're not pure, and white is the most superior race.” It's now my turn for my face to get all red and puffy. I can feel the heat rising in my face and ears. He just doesn't get it. No one ever does.

My dad is the leader of the Sacramento Chapter for Volksfront. My mother is his greatest supporter, and I am their only child. I grew up in the gang, and the gang was and is my family. Many nations, one family. And they are the only family I need, right?

When I was younger I was home schooled and taught the beliefs of this family that I would someday officially join. I grew up with the other gang member's kids and we saw each other often and had the best of times together. But we also witnessed cruel things done to many innocent people. Things my mind tried to erase. My closest friends were Mimi and Christian. I guess Mimi was closer to me than Chris though. They were actually the two that were flanking me tonight when we went after the rabbi.

But everyone I know has their red laces, except Mimi and me.

I am so caught up in my thoughts that I barely notice his next question and answer it immediately.

“So you admit to beating the rabbi?” he says questioning me blankly.

“What? When did I say that?” I quickly go back over his words in my mind. What was wrong with the rabbi, then? He wasn't black, he had asked.

He wasn't a white Christian, I said back.

“Oh, shit,” I mutter under my breath and pound my head down on the hard black table. I cradle my arms around my tiny stomach frame and feel the urge to vomit. I feel hot acid creep up through my chest and mouth and I swallow it back down.

“Then why do you feel bad?” I hear him ask quietly.

“You wouldn't understand.” I softly sniffle and feel a warm liquid drop from the end of my nose to the shiny black surface below.

“Try me.” I can hear the rustle of his uniform as he leans forward, and see his kind reflection staring compassionately towards me.

I feel the need to hug him. I want someone to hold me and tell me it's going to be okay. Alright, fine. I feel bad for killing the guy. It's not like he did anything to make us hurt him. I wonder if he had a family. Are Jewish leaders allowed families? Catholic priests aren't allowed families, and that's how it should be.

Why do their beliefs impact me so much? Am I not capable of forming my own beliefs? I guess not, because if I do I will be hunted down by them and only God knows what they'll do to me. But I guess there is one strong belief I already have that I don't share with them. Maybe there's more. If I could just think for myself for once and not be fearful that someone will come jumping out of my closet to kill me then maybe I wouldn't be in this situation at all.

Maybe if I had never told Mimi, our lives would be completely different. Maybe we could be normal? Maybe we wouldn't have to hide all the time. But I waited until the perfect moment to tell her.

 

I took Mimi on a picnic out of the city. It was a beautiful day; the sun was bright, the birds were chirping, and the food was perfect. I stole some wine from the basement and some crackers and cheese and I even made little sandwiches. Ham and cheese on wheat was her favorite, while turkey and bacon on rye was mine. Then we decided to go skinny dipping. She pushed me in first. She was always the playful one. We were in the water for hours, swimming and splashing and jumping and trying to catch frogs. Then we watched the sunset and laid out naked on our towels.

The reddish purple sky flooded over her shimmering skin. I couldn't hold back any longer. I sat up on my right elbow and looked down at her slender body. I traded my fingers around her collar bone, then slowly leaned down and kissed her. Her lips were soft and peacefully parted under mine. When I reluctantly pulled away, I watched her eyes slowly blink back open.

“Mimi, I have loved you for so long,” I started, then couldn't stop. “You're so beautiful, and cheerful, and I love who I am when I'm around you. I can't help myself any longer. I know this is wrong, but in my heart it feels so right. And I -”

“Brittany,” Mimi giggled, and my heart melted. “I love you too.”

And so it began.

 

My soft dark hair shields my face from the officer as I lay my cheek on the shiny black table. The cool, smooth surface chills my flaming hot cheeks. I try to relax, but it doesn't work. How can I relax when I have so many things on my mind? I try not to go back to that place again, but it's so fresh in my mind that I just can't help it.

 

The rabbi is laying on the ground, unmoving. Chris throws in another swing just as it starts to sprinkle down rain.

“We should get going,” Mimi says visibly trembling.

“W-what do we do with him?” I ask, my voice starting to falter as well.

“You sissies,” Christian laughs at us. “We have to dispose of the body.”

“Okay, can we just get it over with?” Mimi asks, eyes darting around nervously.

It starts to rain harder, and my jeans and tank top are growing heavier and stickier against my pale skin. Mimi's clothes are doing the same, showing off her gorgeous curves. Her chest is heaving in exhaustion, and her legs are crossed one over the other in the cute little way she stands but never loses her balance. I glanced up to see her dark mahogany curls cascading around her beautiful heart shaped faces. Her dazzling eyes locked with mine, but instead of seeing their usual love and cheerful disposition, I saw terror and worry.

That's when it fully sunk in what we had done.

I shifted my gaze back down at the lifeless body. Was he really dead? Blood covered the cobble stone alleyway underneath him. My bat felt heavy and slippery in my hand, and I dropped it in disgust. How could I have done this? How could I have taken this man's life? I know it was the right thing to do, yet why did my heart feel like it would rip out of my chest in protest?

I panicked. What if the cops saw this? We would be arrested.

Wasn't that a high honor though? Most of the people in our family had been arrested at least once before. But is that really what I wanted?

No, if Mimi and I were going to break away from this terrible group, we couldn't be arrested.

I watched the blood around his body as I thought, and continued to follow my gaze along the dark crimson stream that ran along the sidewalk, then pooled around the storm drain and disappeared.

 

“I have an idea,” the officer states, then sits back up. “How about if we take a walk down to the cells, just to show you where you're going to be living for awhile if you don't cooperate, and then we'll see if you feel more inclined to talk. How does that sound?” I know he is smiling.

I shrug my shoulders and sigh. I sit up and give him a good look for the first time. He has stood up now. He is tall, probably six foot something, broad shoulders with a thin waste. Obviously athletic. He doesn't seem to be packing any extra donuts on his coffee breaks. His dark black face is lined with high cheek bones and a strong jaw with deeply caring eyes. His smile is broad, but almost sarcastic at the moment. Alright, let's go on down to the cell, but they ain't getting anything outta me.

I hold out my hands and he cuffs them back up. I wonder if now is a bad time to say I have a metal allergy. No, I'll just keep my mouth shut. It didn't stop me from swinging that metal bat earlier, so why should it stop me now? As we walk out of the white walled room with the black desk and chairs, I glance about the large room littered with desks and chairs and papers and uniformed people everywhere. They don't even glance up at me once. They are completely unfazed that I'm here at all. Do they not fear me? They should.

My eyes glance about until they lock on a slim body with dark mahogany curly locks for hair. My stomach falls through my feet and I scream, “Mimi!” across the vast room. People turn and stare at me, but not the girl with the brown curly hair. I scream her name again but louder, pleading with her in one word to turn and look at me, possibly one last time. By now I have caught everyone's attention, and finally the girl turns, yet I am shocked to see the girl before me is not my Mimi. Her beauty cannot compare to my love's. So I stumble on, my heart heavy in my chest, spirits low. Will I ever see her again? If I turn her in – but no, I can't do that to her. I love her too much.

And that's what makes me different, I am in love with a girl.

I am the lowest of low. I am a lesbian. While Christian liked Mimi, like he should, I liked Mimi too. While all the other kids around me liked other kids of the opposite sex and were open about it, Mimi and I kept our love a secret. We couldn't let anyone know. And now, I am going to face life without her. How can I do that after everything we have been through?

If I hadn't wanted to impress Mimi so badly by trying to earn those stupid red laces, I wouldn't be in this mess right now. It is Friday night. I should be at home, holding her in my arms until morning light where I can watch the sunrise with her. But instead, I am going to be locked up in some prison cell for the rest of my life for this stupid murder that I didn't even want to do. Maybe if I hadn't stuck around to get rid of the body I wouldn't have been caught. But I couldn't just leave him there.

 

When I saw the blood pooling at the storm drain, I knew just what to do.

“I have an idea,” I motioned to Christian. “If we open the drain, we can stuff him down. No one will find the body for awhile, and they'll never link it to us.”

“Perfect idea,” Christian said excitedly.

Together we pulled open the heavy metal cap to the drain, then ran back over and grabbed the rabbi.

 

The bars clattered open to my new home. I have never been arrested before, and I have never seen the inside of a jail cell before. It's scary. There's gray cement floor, gray cement walls, gray sheets on a thin gray bed. A gray toilet with no toilet paper and a gray sink with no soap, and gray metal bars to lock me in.

“How did you get that nasty red eye of yours, hun?” the officer said kindly to me. “How about if I have someone to come in and look at it for ya? Just to make sure it's okay?”

I shrugged and walked into my gray prison. I heard the doors creak and clang closed behind me. I was now alone. Alone with my thoughts and guilt and worries.

I reached up and touched my swollen face and eye. It hurt, but not as much as the memory that caused it.

 

“This is a horrid idea,” Mimi said softly crying.

“What's up with you?” Christian asked, confused. He stood up from helping me and walked towards Mimi.

“I just feel bad for him, don't you?” Mimi said letting out a soft sob. I paused and watched. “He didn't do anything to us. He called us his 'children' for crying out loud! Christ said the same thing, and Jesus was Jewish too!”

The body was halfway in the drain, but I walked away to console my love.

“Mimi, it's going to -” I started, but was quickly interrupted by an angry Christian.

“No, Britt. You get back to the body.” He pointed at the rabbi angrily, then turned back to face Mimi. “How could you say such a thing? They're not Christian, and in not being so they should simply not exist. If we want a country of our own, we cannot have Jewish men running around all over ruining it for us! We are Volksfront! What the hell is your problem?”

He stepped even closer to Mimi, and I braced for the worst. Christian, with his 270 pound muscled body had a violent temper, and both me and Mimi were terrified of him when he got angry. Even with his back to me, I knew how he looked when he got upset. Death and destruction would flash across his blazing blue eyes, and his jaw would become stern with his lips pursed. He had hit me before when we would quarrel, but he would not hurt my Mimi.

I gave the body of the rabbi a few hard kicks into the drain as Mimi tried to cover herself.

“I just don't think what we did was very nice and Christian like, and we are Catholics, and I just think-”

“Well, don't think!” he roared at her, and as soon as I heard his voice break, I ran to protect my tiny Mimi. Within a split second I was in between them, but he didn't react fast enough and slapped me hard across the face. I fell to the ground and the world spun around me as every muscle in my face screamed in agony. But I turned, and I got back up, and I faced him square on.

“You will not hurt my Mimi,” I said calmly, squaring my shoulders and setting my stance.

“Your Mimi? Since when?” Chris laughed at me. “She's mine, now move aside.”

“I said you will not hurt my Mimi,” I challenged.

“Oh, and like you're going to stop me?” he smirked.

“Britt, don't!” Mimi clutched my shoulders and pleaded in my ear. “Come on guys, we're friends! Please stop fighting.”

I vaguely heard the sound of sirens in the distance.

 

A uniformed woman comes in this time. I hear the clanging of the cell doors again, and I hear the click click of her heals on the cement, then feel the bed lower slightly as she sits down beside me.

“Wow, that's a nasty bruise you got there,” she says, a little too cheerful for comfort. Her vanilla perfume contrasts delightfully with the musty stale smell of the rest of my cell. “Let's get you cleaned up a bit, shall we?”

She reaches down into a little white box with a red cross on the front and pulls out random objects. I close my eyes as she reaches towards my face, but wince once she finally touches it. Her soft hands remind me of Mimi's. Will she ever touch me with her well-lotioned hands ever again?

 

I was no match for Christian, and finally I fell to the ground and didn't move. Mimi fell down beside me and touched my face and kissed my lips repeatedly.

“Please, please me okay,” she begged me. I couldn't move. I couldn't respond. I couldn't tell her how much I loved her.

“Why are you kissing her?” Christian pulled Mimi up roughly by her arm. She slapped him across the face.

“Don't you dare touch me!” She scolded harshly. “I love her, and you've nearly killed her! Get away from me.”

Mimi sunk back down to her knees beside me and pulled my head up onto her lap. “I know you'll be okay. I just know you will. If you can hear me, just know that I love you, and I will see you again someday.”

“You what?” Christian roared at her. “You fag! You lesbian! How could you? You are a Volksfront! Do you not know what that means?”

Mimi stood back up firmly to defend us. “I know exactly what that means, and I am sick of you and your group of hateful people. Yes, I am a lesbian, and yes, I love Brittany very much, and someday we will be together. Now leave us alone.”

I was so proud of Mimi for standing up for us, and I felt a warmth pass through me from it, but I could hear the sirens getting closer. I looked up just in time to see Christian give Mimi a powerful blow to the head and knock her down to the ground away from me. “I'll deal with you later. But first, Brittany. It's payback time, bitch.”

Christian kicked me all the way to where the rabbi was still halfway out of the storm drain. He then placed my bat down in my hand and laughed. “The cops will be here soon, and you will be the one they find. Oh, and if you tell that we were here with you,” he chuckled to himself, “you know what'll happen.” I heard run to pick up Mimi, then he dragged her along beside him and they both disappeared before the cop cars came. That's when they picked me up.

 

So here I sit, having some female cop bandage up my face. I wish it was Mimi nursing me back to health. But I may never see her again.

“You know, youngin,” the woman said, “if you cooperate and give us the names of who else was there, we can go easier on your punishment. I know you don't want to rat out your friends but, sometimes it needs to be done.” She paused and took a good look at me. I opened my eyes and looked into her heart shaped face with blonde curls cascading about it. “Do you really want someone else to be hurt while your friends run around innocent?”

I think about her words. Only one of my friends is to fault, and he is now my enemy. And that enemy had my girl captive, and God only knows what he's going to do with her. What if he tells the gang? Her parents will kill her, and mine will surely find a way to kill me. Not even prison can protect me. But maybe if I bring in him too, he won't be able to hurt her anymore. But if I betray the gang, I could have worse consequences. I sighed and spoke to the woman.

“But which is better, saving the girl I love and risking further endangerment to myself, or keeping silent to save my self and risk her life? Do I have much of a choice?”  

 

Another Cold September Day 

 As I sit here with my laptop, lots of people pass me by. It is very busy here in the cafeteria. Many people eat here, seeing as that it is an all-day all-you-can-eat-buffet. People walk all around. They pass in and out with school bags and to-go boxes of food and drinks. Most people are wearing sweatpants and jeans and sweatshirts for extra warmth against the harsh Erie winds.

Rhonda, the cashier who swipes peoples' OneCards, wears her typical uniform; a blue colored shirt, black pants, a black apron, and a black visor with her hair pulled back. She greets everyone with a smile, allowing them passage into the unlimited food buffets. As I watch her, she pulls up a chair and sits at the register, knowing there will soon be a flood of students coming in for the noon lunch hour. She rubs her arms and shivers as the cool September breeze blows in through the open doors.

Yellow and green pears sit in a square white plate next to a glass case of cookies near her cashier. White rolled bags form a pyramid on top each other next to two pyramids of plastic cups and lids as well. Many straws sit in a cup beside them, one of which has fallen and is about to fall off the counter.

The yellow wall at the entrance seem like a dull to the buzz of people in and out. I wonder what the color yellow in a restaurant means. The deep burgundy around the fireplace gives it a homier coffee house feel. The long cylinder light fixtures add just enough light to the ceiling lights, giving the Starbucks entrance where Rhonda stands a sort of yellow tan glow. The place where the Starbucks drinks are made behind Rhonda is covered in drink mixes, cups, drink machines, boxes of all sizes and two sinks. Someone is fixing the plumbing system underneath one of the sinks, his tool box and spray bottles and buckets and other tools sprawled across the floor. The espresso and cappuccino paintings decorating the walls contrast the deep brown walls of the cafe wall. Baby blue paints another wall, the wall behind where I sit. To my right are shelves containing many cooking books, jars, mugs, and a giant wooden fish. All the girls have left now, and now the man eating the unknown food is leaving as well.

Surprisingly for a cafeteria, there's not much I can smell. There is a faint scent of something dull, like lunch meat or chicken. Maybe it's just the corner I'm sitting in.

It's not quiet in my corner, but it's quiet enough to hear the flat screen Sony television and the conversations of the people around me.

Two girls sit at the table in front of me, one wearing a green zip up sweater, the other a teal long sleeve blue shirt. The first has her hair pulled back into a pony tail, two extra rubber bands around her wrist, and a white rubber bracelet. A ring is around her finger. Two piercings in her ear. The second has died red hair pulled back with a gold head band adorning it. They both eat white pizza with peppers and drink water. Their conversation solely about classes. Now they leave to throw away their garbage.

There's two more girls sitting at separate tables alone a few feet from me. The farthest away is a girl with fake maroon colored hair and a pink top, eating pizza and watching the TV with intensity. She also picks up her phone and texts during commercials. The other girl is studying out of a large text book. Her hair is pulled back in a bun, glasses secure over her nose and around her ears. Her wool turtle neck cream sweater is very slips tenderly over her shoulders and slims her stomach. Her deep brown flowing skirt matched her deep brown dress boots.

The girl with the red hair is now getting ready to leave, wrapping her white corduroy jacket around her, and picking up her red handbag.

A cook has sat down and is talking on his cell phone while drinking fizzy Dr. Pepper. Now one of my roommates has sat down beside me, her plate covered in tuna and steak fries. Her hair is a tangle of blond pulled back in a bun, her glasses secure on her face, and one headphone in her ear, the other hanging down outside her purple zip up sweatshirt.

A man just sat down to eat his unknown food. I cannot recognize any of it. It appears to be potato chunks and noodles. He drinks raspberry tea, as do I. The taste is stale in my mouth, as the last sip I made was about ten minutes ago. The after taste is sweet and still cold. My next sip? Cold, tangy but sweet, and somewhat thick feeling, like drinking a watered down candy goo. I feel cold. I shiver and question how many more days of warmth we have before another Erie winter sets in.

As I watch the people walk in and out, sit and chat, eat and drink, I open up my Facebook account, and look at my friends' pages. Three reminders are on the right hand side of my screen; one reads, “We will not forget 9-11-01.” Another, “R.I.P. Karen Michelle Moyer 1/11/91 – 9/6/08.” And the last, “R.I.P. Jimbo 10/14/93 – 9/6/10.” Many of my friends, who all had been crying and emotional at Karen's funeral, had statuses such as “Class from 8am – 5pm. FML.” or “Band practice @ 3!!! OMG!” Not many even mentioned Jimbo, who had died only a few days before. Only three of my friends had even mentioned 9/11.

The TV shows images of the twin towers, people running for their lives. No one glances up. People laugh in the distance. No one notices the TV.

I notice how everyone is so bundled up for the crisp autumn air. It has been two years now, since that crisp autumn day when my dear friend passed away. I remember the chill in the air, the blue sweatshirt and jeans I wore. I am wearing almost the same outfit today. But I sit at the cafeteria, get on Facebook, do my homework, attend class, and go to work as usual.

I see an email from the president of my college. I open it. “Dear students. Kristen Cameron, graduate student and assistant women’s hockey coach,  remains in ICU but her condition has been upgraded from critical to serious.  We have set up Prince of Peace Chapel  in the Hermann Student Union as a prayer space for Kristen today (Tuesday).  Teammates, friends, classmates, colleagues, professors, and all of the Mercyhurst community are invited to drop by between 9am-2pm.  We will have pictures, balloons and a few other items there as a symbol of her presence with us and ours with her.  There will be a book for people to add their thoughts and prayers as well as materials for people to make their own get well cards which we will have delivered to Kristen.  These are as much solace to Kristen’s family as they are to her.  As doctors and other health care professionals work with Kristen, we continue to pray and hope for Kristen.  It is what we can do.”

The students went on with their days, going to class and work and homework and club activities and eating and drinking and studying and texting and talking while one of our fellow students lays in serious condition in the hospital. I glance at my clock. I have class until two. Maybe I can stop by afterwards and make her a card. But I have work today too. Maybe I'll make her a card after work. No, I have homework.

I move my legs down off the chair where they were resting, and now my ankle feels extremely warm after leaning against the cold yellow seat. It is now 12:11 pm, and I am leaving my cold lunch room in attempts to keep warm on another cold September day.  

 

I went home today
Home to our farm
I love our farm in Spring
I rode the horses
and walked the dogs
and played with the bunnies.
My siblings and I
had tons of fun

The grass was green
The flowers were blooming
The trees were leafy
The crops are growing
The sky was blue
The sun was warm
And the breeze blew
all around you.

But I heard the news.
The township is taking our land
And turning it into
A softball field.
I was angry
I was shocked
They can't take our land!
For a softball field?

Nothing against softball.
But we've been farming this
land forever
How can they do this?
My dad explained it all.
It was donated to the township
by the original owner.
We have no control.


So I'm writing a letter.
I will make a good point
To show them their blindness.
It doesn't even make sense.
Have they seen the land?
Do they know what they're
up against?
How much will this cost?

My arguments are simple
but important.
The land is terrible
It needs too much work.
It's right on the state road.
Cars fly past, way too fast!
The wild life, oh goodness!
Lions, coyotes, and bears, oh my!

There are at least eight other fields
in our area.
Why not use and maintain those?
The field would be surrounded
by more than four farms.
Do they know what fresh
manure smells like?
Who would even use this place?

A softball field is the
worst idea for the land.
Use the land all you want,
Mr. Township,
But think of a better use for it.
We have plenty of athletic fields
for people to use
So why build another?
And please Mr. Township,
Don't take away our home.