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Edited on Sat Oct-11-03 08:01 PM by oneighty
There are four white people at Louis's funeral held in the beautiful church the black community has built. We are seated together to the left of the stage. Our seats are on an elevated platform. We are higher up than all the congregation, higher even than Jesus. I become very uncomfortable that these black people, many of them friends of Tricia and me have elevated us to a level so superior to themselves. I muse there are dark reasons for this elevation. It is called fear of white people.
The men and women in the large chorus are dressed in flowing purple gowns. I recognize Irene she too works with us at the crab dock.The new owner of the dock stands, delivers an uninspired address for Louis. He hardly knew Louis. The chorus sings, they almost dance, they bring sun shine into the church.
Louis liked that, I am sure.
Rumors in the area are that Black People are hiding weapons in the graves of their dead, in preparation for the time they will rise up against the whites. Sometimes I wished that to be true.
Here is a cold Millers for you Louis. Twenty five years late.
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