"Unwanted Gift" (standard:drama, 1398 words)
Author: kickboxrko	Added: Nov 25 2003	Views/Reads: 3500/2245	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Remember the sixties? How about the town of Selma?

The fingers of the tree scraped along the window of the diner. The wind
whispered its cold breath through the shutters. The full moon, in all 
its tranquility, hung in the sky, ominously watching. Reluctantly, 
Jasmine was working the night shift at Joe's Diner, located on the edge 
of town. She looked out the window and shivered at the night. Jasmine 
was planning on becoming an elementary teacher, but as for right now, 
she had to scrape by, and that's why she was working the graveyard 
shift at Joe's 

Her customers were mostly the usual, southern truckers lugging behind
assorted cargo, oil, and dairy products. When they became a little 
wild, she was lenient. Emotionally, it picked at her to have to accept 
their flirting and taunting. Their total disrespect, how they touched 
her, how they looked at her. Eyes full of hunger, desire, and lust. 
Sometimes it scared her, looking at those eyes. She could sense a 
primitive gleam in them. But she kept reminding herself, that if she 
tolerated them, their tips were usually beneficiary her education. 
Somehow, the usual truckers could never save money, but when they had 
it, they used it. Money slipped from a trucker like grease on an axel. 
She needed all the money she could get, and it was the sixties, jobs 
for woman were hard to come by. This was the only opportunity she had. 

It was a Friday night, and she was alone, except the one cook in back; a
tall Negro man, with curly hair, and these gorgeous brown eyes. Eyes 
that did not look at her like the truckers did. He had kind eyes, and a 
wise smile. Even though the rest of the staff despised him, Jasmine 
secretly adored him. Though he did not talk much, she learned that his 
name was Franklin. From the little pieces of conversation Jasmine had 
with him, she learned that he had come from the town of Selma, Mass. 
Against Franklin's plead, his brother, Marty, protested black 
discrimination in the torn apart town called Selma. Marty was in every 
protest march, every meeting, talking to the big heads. Franklin begged 
him not to get involved. Then one day, Franklin received a letter from 
his brother, telling him not to worry about his little brother. That he 
was going off on a big march to Washington, to “fight for life, fight 
for his freedom”. A week later, Franklin learned from his mother that 
Marty was killed in the march. After that, a distraught Franklin packed 
his bags and hitchhiked north, and ended up in North Carolina, working 
for Joe himself, as a cook. Apparently, that suited Frank fine, he was 
content, and his troubles were behind him. 

When Jasmine tried talking to him about his previous relationships, he
subtly changed the subject or hurried back to work. That irked Jasmine 
a bit, but then again, some people are not comfortable with certain 
topics. 

One of the regular truckers, a bearded man with a faded cap on his
greasy head, came up to Jasmine and asked for a beer and a burger. He 
already had four empty beers in front of him, and Jasmine tried 
pointing that out to him. In his drunken state, he babbled out an 
outcry, demanding his beer. Trying to avoid any conflict, she gave him 
what he wanted. She headed to the back and gave Frank the order. On the 
way out, Franklin surprisingly gave her a few words. 

“Ms. Jasmine, if those fellows give ya any trouble, ya just holla at me
kay?” Jasmine loved his southern accent, and replied in the same 
accent, “Now thanks you a bunch's Frank, I sure appreciate that, ya big 
old teddy bear!” Frank smiled sheepishly and returned to the sizzling 
grill. She returned to the counter where she found an incoherent drunk 
babbling on about not getting his food. “I'll be with you in a sec sir, 
the food's coming up. The cook is just starting to make it” she 
patiently explained. 

“Yea well, I hear ya got a black man back there! Is it true? Eh, I can
see it in ya eyes. No wonder it's taking so damn long, we got a Negro 
cook back there! Me and my boys don't want no Negro touching our meat!” 
He turned to his friends. “Isn't that right boys?” They grunted in 
agreement, who like a pack of wide-eyed hyenas, would agree to whatever 
their leader said. 

“Now I don't want any trouble guys” Jasmine said. “He's a great cook,
and just cuz he's colored, don't mean nothing!” “He's a sweetheart , 
and don't you touch him!” 

“Well look what we got here boys, a regular Negro lovin whore! If she


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