“You’re free, girl.”
“I-I’m what?” My mind could not comprehend the words coming out of Mistress Delia’s mouth. It was like she was speaking some foreign language. What did she mean, I was free? The words didn’t make sense.
“Your slavery is over. You’re free!”
Mistress Delia looked excited. I was still confused. I wanted to share her excitement. I felt like I should have been happy, but all I felt was deep fear and uncertainty. I no longer knew what freedom meant in this new life of mine. I didn’t know what this meant for Kenyatta and I. Was I done? Was I going back to live with Kenyatta? I had underwent only half of my four hundred days of oppression. It couldn’t be over, but there was Kenyatta, standing on the porch. I dropped my basket of grapes and ran to him, tripping, cutting my bare feet on rocks and branches, not caring, only wanting to be in his arms again. Tears flew from my eyes and splayed across my cheeks as I raced against the wind. I was sobbing and smiling and laughing. I felt like I was losing my mind. I was so happy. All of my fears and uncertainty left me for a while as I concentrated on Kenyatta, reaching him was my only thought. The world would make sense again, all my pain would be over, if I could just get to that porch, get back to Kenyatta.
Kenyatta smiled when I reached him. I was exhausted, breathing hard. He held out his arms and gathered me up like a bundle of leaves that might be blown away by the slightest breeze if not for his embrace.
“You’re coming home.”
My legs weakened. I collapsed into his arms, wept against his powerful chest. Kenyatta scooped me up effortlessly and carried me to his car.
The drive home was surreal. The world seemed so different to me now. Everything looked bigger, brighter, louder, faster than I remembered. It was overwhelming, frightening. I clung to Kenyatta’s arm, feeling safe against his thick bicep. I closed my eyes and focused on the sound of his breathing, the smell of his cologne, his sweat, his crisp, freshly dry-cleaned clothes. It had been almost two months since I’d been in a car. Not since my trip to and from the hospital. Now I was going home to be with my lover, my Master, my man.
That night, Kenyatta made us dinner. Grilled salmon and shrimp in a creole sauce. Angela was not there. All of her clothes were gone from the closet. No trace of her remained. I had showered, done my hair, even put on makeup for the first time in nearly a year. I was dressed in my old clothes. Everything felt normal again.
“I am so happy right now. It feels so good to be home.”
“I missed you,” Kenyatta replied, taking my tiny hand in his.
“I was so sad without you. I didn’t know what to do. I can’t believe it’s over.”
We sat at the kitchen table eating, holding hands, and smiling at each other. Kenyatta was still smiling at me when he pulled out the book.
“In 1865, following the end of the Civil War, United States President Abraham Lincoln came up with a plan to reconstruct the South. The Freedman’s Bureau was created to help thousands of former slaves make a smooth transition into society. The Bureau of Refugees, Freedmen, and Abandoned Lands was a type of early welfare agency providing food, shelter, and medical aid for blacks and whites in need after the Civil War. Its greatest success, however, was in the establishment of 3,000 black schools and the very first black colleges in America. An estimated 200,000 African Americans, who’d been previously denied education by law, were taught how to read and write.
“The Civil Rights Act of 1866 declared all African Americans U.S. citizens, contradicting the 1857 Supreme Court decision in the Dred Scott case which had declared no slave or descendant of a slave could be a U.S. citizen. In 1868, the 14th Amendment was proposed, which declared all people born or naturalized in the U.S. to be citizens, required all states to respect the rights of U.S. citizens regardless of race, creed, or color, provided all citizens with equal protection under the law, and provide all citizens with due process of law. The 15th Amendment was proposed in 1869. It prohibited any state from denying a citizen’s right to vote on account of race, color, or previous condition of servitude. The Civil Rights Act of 1875 was the last of the Civil Rights reforms instituted in the Reconstruction era. It guaranteed equal accommodations in public places such as hotels, railroads, theaters, etc. and prohibited courts from excluding African Americans as jurors. Northern soldiers were positioned in the South to enforce the Reconstruction laws and protect the rights of freed slaves as well as to protect them from attacks from Southern whites.”
My mouth was hanging open. I had never heard of any of this. If all this were true, then what happened? When did it all go wrong? America seemed to have gotten it right. They had done everything to make sure blacks would get equal rights, a good education, freedom from discrimination. What happened?
Kenyatta continued to read. I hung on every word, not feeling the same dread I normally felt when Kenyatta read from the book. What I felt was excitement, curiosity, and more than a little confusion. How come I didn’t know all of this?
“The lives of former slaves improved tremendously during Reconstruction. Many African Americans were overwhelmed with their new rights. They were now full citizens. They could vote, go to school, work for an honest wage, and even run for public office. Hiram Revels was the first African American to be elected to the Senate in Mississippi. African Americans were elected to public office in cities all over the country. There were black sheriffs, black mayors, and a black superintendent of education.”
Kenyatta abruptly closed the book, picked up his fork, and resumed his meal, leaving me hanging.
“But what happened? That can’t be it! What about Jim Crow?”
Kenyatta smiled, put down his fork, wiped his mouth with his napkin and took my hand again. He looked at me with eyes full of warmth, patience, and understanding. My soul fell into those eyes.
“Let’s not ruin the day. There’s plenty of time for all of that.”
And that’s when I knew my education in the black experience in America was not over. This was only a reprieve, the way the 14th and 15th Amendments had been a brief reprieve in the history of black Americans. I tried to enjoy the rest of my meal, but I couldn’t. My mind kept drifting back to the book, wondering how Jim Crow laws factored in to what Kenyatta had just read to me and how they were going to factor into our lives in, what I was sure would be, the very near future.
XVII
There were exactly three days of normalcy and bliss. We went shopping together as a couple. Went to eat at an expensive French restaurant downtown. We even got dressed up one night and went to see the San Francisco Ballet do a performance of Bram Stoker’s Dracula. And, of course, we made love. We made love every day, two or three times a day.
The last day of my reprieve, I was awakened by Kenyatta’s tongue against my clitoris and his powerful hands cupping my ass-cheeks like he was holding a large bowl and drinking from it like a savage, greedily lapping up its contents. Judging from his enthusiasm, the bowl formed by his hands contained something singularly sweet and intoxicating. That this “something” was me, made me feel all the more special, loved, desired. His tongue swirled, flicked, and stabbed at my clitoris. I moaned until that was no longer enough to express the ecstasy I felt and then I screamed, exhaling my soul into the ether and inhaling it with the next breath as the little death overcame me. I had my first orgasm of the day mere moments after waking. Then Kenyatta fucked me.
He climbed on top of me and eased himself inside me. I was still tight after so long without him, and it hurt like I haven’t hurt since I was a virgin. But Kenyatta was uncharacteristically gentle...at first.