My last tear drop in Rome Part 2

Think of Me/No More Tears
Think of Me/No More Tears (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Friends, here is part two of the story…did I just tell you how excited I am? Yipee! Look out for the coincidence in the story and the previous post…

 

 

 

“Okay then, let me get you some bedding…”
“No I’ll do with my sleeping bag,”
I nodded and left to clean up my living room. Today is Saturday. No plans! I thought to myself.
I decided to first visit Carl’s room. I slowly pushed the door open and sneezed.
“Too much dust!” I exclaimed.
I walked to his desk and saw his diary. I held it tightly close to my chest. I didn’t mind the dust on it. Before I could stop them, my tears flowed. I cried as I sat on the floor, my back against the wall. Today is his anniversary. More tears flowed at the thought. He had been gone for one year now, precisely. My heart felt as if someone had stabbed a fresh wound into it. We had met when I was a freshman in campus. He was in his fourth year. I had gone to the ‘neglected base’, as we black students called it, to try and make sense of the fact that I had to be discontinued from my schooling, as my sponsor, who was white, was no longer allowed by the government to sponsor a black student. Niggers need not be
educated, especially by white money.
Our Vice Chancellor was not a racist. In fact, he loved black students, as they were bright, dynamic, and talented, just like the white ones. He however could not keep me as he had been receiving death threats. I was lying prostrate at my favorite spot, crying my heart out. No. I had refused to join my fellow niggers in gangs, only to come to this! Life couldn’t have been more unfair!
“Lady, ‘sup? Why you crying?” an unfamiliar voice with a familiar accent asked.
“I looked up, and found a black nigger looking at me.
“Nothin man,” I lied
“C’mon girl you can talk to me, I am your bro…”
I looked at him in his white vest, afro hair, and bell bottom. Not my type. I liked to hang out with neat people. I looked at him and stood to leave. He grabbed my hand.
“Lady, there are very few of us on Campus,” his nigger accent suddenly gone,” and fewer of you,” he said in a very serious tone.
I looked at him. It was true. There were five black male students, and two black female students.
“Ok then,”
We sat at the bench, and I poured my heart out.
“Frankly, dunno what to do,” I finally said bursting out crying again.
“I know what to do,”
I looked up, and stopped crying.
Uncle Sam, do you know him?”

 

“The musician?”
Yes, he can help.”

 

How?” I inquired, overly alert.
“We are setting up a foundation for black students,” he responded as his eyes brightened, “we’ll ensure that they all have access to education, and start a campaign to create awareness on the importance of education,”
“Wow that’s great!”

 

“We have already been endorsed by a number of influential whites who are not racists, and are set to begin in three days time,”

 

 

 

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