Mississippi

I walk down Oak Street with no destination in mind and no goal to achieve. I allow my fingers to linger on the roughness of the walls and my feet to scuff against the cement. In the early hours of the afternoon, the streets have a calming ebb and flow of movement around me.

With the steady movement, a group across the street protesting the natural movement caught my eye. They stood perfectly still as if they were wax figures. Their clothing, even the children, included deep shades of black contrasted with white and silver jewelry dripping down the front.
I heard the muffled cries from deep within the group and wondered about the life they must have been mourning.

It reminded me of a morning I had attended while visiting my grandmother in Mississippi. I was so young that I ended up wearing one of her black shirts as a dress, as it went down far past my knees. It was my first time facing death and understanding that my time wasn’t eternal. I remember walking so far from town that my grandma carried me after I started to protest, and when I asked her who the lady was, she talked instead about all of her children and husband who were left behind.

We got to the house and walked through a strange barricade of men to get to the inside of the house. All of the women ended up inside, a cacophony of cries and singing levitated above the crowd. I gripped onto my grandmother's arm as she went from woman to woman giving a kiss on the cheek and nod. I had never seen so many people in such a small space, especially with what seemed like a major lack of purpose.

I wondered who this woman must have been to deserve so much grief. I wondered which of the people inside were her children. Did they grieve louder than the rest, or silently observe?

Somehow I lost my grandmother’s hand in the crowd so I ran outside for fear of being swallowed by the mob of people. My cheeks had been squeezed and dress adjusted by so many strangers that I needed the refuge of space.

I saw a young boy sitting on the back step so I asked him to play a game, but he looked at me like he didn’t know what it meant to play. He said something about killing fish and ran off towards a dilapidated barn.

Frustrated, I sat and waited for my grandma.