Joyce

This is flash fiction for Kylan's contest, found here-->

http://www.youngwriterssociety.com/topic36108.html

It's stream of consciousness about a colored man drinking from a segregated drinking fountain.

Joyce

Get out of my way! Stupid crowd with its dumb people. Gonna be late. I can’t be late. She’s waiting, been waiting so long. Won’t wait any longer. There’s lint in my pocket. My best pants, hardly ever wear ‘em, but she likes ‘em. Have to get to her. Joyce. Joyce. Joy. My joy.

Walking. It’s so hot. My head itches. Hat. Favorite thing I own. Been with me everywhere, through everything. Like whenever the boys talk on the porch. Sunset and dusk, wind rustling the corn. When I dodged those white boys, I jumped the fence. Almost lost my hat. But I saved it and that’s good. I need a drink. I need to get to Joyce. Wore this hat first time I saw her. Lights at the county fair at night, her summer dress, hot all over. I need some water.

There’s a water fountain. Ha, one white, one negro. Water is clear. No color of any kind. Just like them to think they rule the world. But they don’t have my Joyce. My joy. I’m drinking the water. Cool, sweet in my dry mouth. Running down my lips, splattering my white shirt. My dark skin shows through. Another thing for them to hate. I lick my lips. Joyce. Joyce’s lips on mine… bliss.

I have to get to her. NOW. Walking again, leaving the crowd behind. I’m kicking up dust and gravel beneath the noon sun on the way to her house. Joyce, I’m coming.