Undivided

1968, End of Civil Rights Movement. (Not intended to cause any offence by usage of Blacks and Whites as terms, they were not only commonly what they called each other and themselves in this time period, but was widely accepted as some of the best terms at the time.)

She felt the wind against her back as the door lay open behind her. It was gentle, swirling around the room and causing her hair to tickle her nose until she rubbed it away with her free hand. It stubbornly flew back in her face, resuming the slight irritation, and this time she ignored it as she glanced around.

“A house divided cannot stand.” The thought flashed through her brain, then lingered there, unpleasantly persistent. She gripped her daughter’s hand, heart pounding as she stared at the two sides of the chapel. One black, one white. One side full of her people, the other side full of the people that should have been counted as hers as well. 

And yet, they never had been. She never felt more torn than in that moment. These people, who fought so hard for their rights, the others who fought hard to keep things the same as they were.

However, on both sides there had been people who fought for the opposite. Some Blacks were used to being servants, and loved the people they served, and didn’t want things to change. Didn’t want the contention. There may not have been many, but there had been some.

And seeing the cruelty the Blacks suffered, some Whites had also stepped in as support, wanting to help create a better world. 

She had seen so many hearts change for good over the years.

And yet, there had been so many hearts filled with bitterness over the course of the Civil Rights movement as well. 

So many families torn apart with differing opinions. So many lives taken in the fight, on both sides. As peaceful as anyone would want a revolution to pass, there would always be deaths in any worthwhile cause. 

And her husband’s death tore her apart. Bitterness had crept into her heart, even if his death had been an accident, a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She remembered waiting for her husband at home, hearing the wind whistling outside, shaking the trees. It hadn’t been raining at the time, but the rain had come later that night. 

After the knock at her door.

She’d opened it, holding a foot behind the door to keep it steady as the wind fought to fling it open wide, as though the news the officers brought wasn’t enough of an unwelcome invasion. She’d seen papers fly at the force, and those papers had lingered there as she’d held her baby girl and cried the night away. She’d listened to that same wind, with the addition of rain, that whole night, wondering if the universe too was mourning such a violent death. Maybe it understood her more than most people. 

Maybe it sensed the change in the night air, as it wasn’t long after that night that everything reached a head. Laws were pushed. Equality fought for. And she’d felt numb through it all. Of course, she wanted a better world for her daughter, but at the time she’d wondered if the world could ever get better. This world of darkness, and pain, and misery that had taken her husband away and refused to give him back. It had taken many people. People fought people – and would that ever change? Could there ever be any love in the world? Real, lasting, true love that defied boundaries? Not a love just between family, but one that encompassed each being, all the brothers and sisters on this earth. 

Because if they were all of God, all His sons and daughters, shouldn’t they all love one another? What does one do if they don’t?

She swallowed hard, knowing her husband’s beliefs, that they ought to try to love everyone around them. He’d taught her to find good in everybody, to never have a rude word to say about anyone, and yet she’d found herself slipping into bitter pain at his loss. She found hate in her heart for the grief she was forced to endure. And now the movement has passed. All were equal, at least in law. It would take time for the Whites to agree, and for the Blacks to get used to the change. 

And she was just supposed to forgive the wrongdoings against her family? To sit beside those who, while not directly responsible for his death, definitely were a part of the larger scheme of things? To learn how to love them?

How could she accept the new changes that they were now meant to mingle and not be segregated? 

 As she stood near the entrance of the chapel, looking at the people filling its pews, she realized that seemingly nobody had taken the new law to heart. The division was clear, with wary or even hateful eyes darting from one side to another. Some hopeful, some determinedly ignoring the others. And nobody bridging the lifelong abiding gap. 

How could she approach one of them, greet them with a smile on her face, when her heart felt like it was trembling like a leaf in the wind?

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, imagining her husband’s hand in hers, leading her forward. She felt the whisper of the wind behind her back, fluttering, as though testing her and wondering what she would do. She looked down at her daughter, seeing eyes from her small face peering up at her in question, and she knew, she just knew, that she had to be the strong one. The first. For her daughter. For this better world that she prayed would come to pass.

She felt the wind surge against her back as the door shut firmly behind her, a final nudge to get her feet moving. 

She took a deep breath, and walked down the chapel, eyes scanning the pews until her gaze landed on a lady her age, who was not eyeing the other side with hatred. Instead, she saw the same nervousness in her that she felt in herself. She rubbed her daughter's hand, and beelined for the spot before she could lose her courage.

“May I sit here?” she asked, trying to stay kind, but not as timid as she felt inside.  

The lady looked up at her, and the smile on her face was so wide and welcoming, with quite a bit of relief in it as well, that she felt herself immediately relax and soak into the sensation that maybe, maybe everything was going to be okay. 

That maybe this lady just might be her new next best friend.

The wind howled into the chapel as someone new entered. It brushed against her like a warm supporting hand, and she had the thought again; ‘a house divided cannot stand’. She watched the new person enter, pause, and look around uncomfortably, then spot her. He smiled and chose his spot on the other side.

Mingling. Breaking the divide.

Maybe the wind was right. A change was coming. And maybe this time, it would be for the better.