So We Could Be Free

Flash Fiction

Walking slowly down Woolwoth’s Five and Dime, the yellow and speckled linoleum dirty everything it touch. The floor was a pattern that my legs went over in my brown slacks and leather shoes. Past the spoons and napkins and all the cheap merchandise on the steel-wracked fixtures. Glaring red 10 ¢ on every package that my friends and I passed.

I sat down and waved for the counterlady. Her broad shoulders in pink point away from me. They stayed pointing away under her white cap and dumpy blond hair.

She turned up to her left and called for help. The fat blue on blue slowly lifted his body his heft from the oak stool and sauntered behind me. He waited. And then spoke in a low voice, colorless in its tone: “Can’t you read what’s the in black and white?”

I knew he was pointing at the sign. I straighten up my blue checked white collar. “What does the placard say?”

He raised the color of his speech: "It says: ‘I can refuse service to anyone.’ That means you.” I did not move but turned to him and saw his pimple face. He took the handcuffs off his belt and slapped my wrists into the steely shackles.

But my shoulders moved from tight to loose. I had been arrested and I was free.