The cold, dark waves rush upon the seashore as I sit here crouched into an undersized ball. I feel alone despite the people surrounding me. Though I am faint, my heart is racing inside my trembling figure.
As the evening's events roll through my mind, I am unaware of the shadow creeping up behind me. I now sense this uncomfortable presence and I freeze with fright.
Unwarned of this visitor, I try to stay as calm as possible, with the sudden realization that we are the only two left on the beach. A voice breaks the silence. It is a male, a male I have known for many years of my young life.
In exasperation, I promptly turn to lay my wearied head on his muscular shoulders, and the tenseness of my breathing begins to regulate.
As I slowly progress to becoming myself again, I have gained the courage to tell this man what incident has taken place on this dreadful night.
He just sits here listening intently to every phrase and letter I say. I feel very secure knowing his total attention is on me.
I told him about the significant acts of those people who were considered to be my close acquaintances. Their words of degrading absurdity scurry over and over in my thought-filled mind as I tell the man each and every sentence that was said against me.
To my utmost surprise, the figure next to me begins to chuckle. This being the first move since he sat down made my body tense. He tells me I am overexaggerating what was suppose to be harmless, and he gets up to leave my side.
Here I am again, alone. This time with no one around. Can I help the colour of my skin? Does it really matter? I just wish I could live one day without enduring judgment, or any distinction, between me and the rest of the world.
Paula Rumbolt
October 7, 1996
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