Separate Ain’t Equal

Pearlie was born into a time where separate but equal was in effect. It was declared constitutional through the Supreme Court ruling back in 1890 something.

I overheard Pearlie’s Father talking about that case, Plessy Vs. Ferguson, at the dinner table. Basically, it’s a law that legally separates blacks and whites in public spaces.

However in Tennessee, colored boys and girls aren’t actually treated equally. The white children receive brand new books for school, but the black children at colored schools don’t. They get the white school’s old, torn up novels. Pearlie’s teacher calls them hand-me-downs. Some even have missing pages and mean words written in them about black kids being ugly and inferior.

I had one of those horrible notes inside of me before Mama took a pen and scribbled until she covered it up completely.

Sadly, Pearlie had already read it. She asked her Mama, “Am I not pretty cause I ain’t a white girl?”

For days, I didn’t wonder why Pearlie didn’t wanna read me no more, but I missed her a lot. We used to read together until her Mama came into her bedroom to put her to sleep at night.

I’ll never forget the tone in Mama’s voice when she answered Pearlie’s question. I could feel her broken heart. Her baby had to grow up in a world like this, but it didn’t stop Mama from uplifting Pearlie. With confidence, Mama replied, “You is beautiful, because God made you, and everything God made was good.”

I thought that was the sweetest thing I had ever heard. I agreed with Mama. How could someone write something so cruel about another person they don’t even know? Pearlie is the kindest girl that ever read me.

I remember the little boy that wrote that message inside me. He was full of hatred. There wasn’t an ounce of love in him. His parents were just like he was, so I assume that’s where he got it from. He never read one word of my pages either.

Pearlie made it almost to the end before she saw what that boy wrote. It not only broke her heart, but his hateful words made me sad too.

I know from firsthand experience that racism is a disease just like any other. It doesn’t come from nowhere. But, once it’s present, it gets worse until it takes control over that folk’s life. I felt sorry for that boy cause he couldn’t send love cause he can’t give what he don’t got.

Anyways, that’s how I ended up here in this attic. Mama took me out of Pearlie’s dresser, and she brought me upstairs.

At first, she was skimming me as she sewed her husband a new shirt. Then, she suddenly put down her needle and thread, and she cried quietly.

Father yelled from the kitchen shortly after, “Honey, you gonna make them sweet potatoes for dinner again? You really put your feet in them the other night!”

Mama wiped her tears before placing me and her sewing kit inside of her bag and went downstairs to prepare the food.

Not to sound arrogant or insensitive, but I’m supposed to be on a bookshelf in the classical literature section. Not wide open, face down on top of Mama’s fabrics. I’m not just any book.

I’m Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Every student in the nation reads me at some point. I guess she forgot to put me back where she found me, but I won’t blame Mama if she hid me from Pearlie on purpose.