Strange Fruit
James woke with a start, the eerie sound of groans and pained cries piercing through the quiet of the morning. His heart raced as he sat up, blinking against the harsh light streaming in through the window. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if the noise was part of a bad dream, but then it came again—louder, more desperate. His stomach turned as the raw, anguished sound cut through the air, too real to ignore.
He quickly threw off the covers, his mind racing as he scrambled out of bed. He barely registered the disorientation of sleep as he rushed out of his room, his bare feet slapping against the cold wooden floor. The cries were getting closer, and the groans carried with them a deep pain, a haunting agony that made his blood run cold.
As he reached the stairs and made his way toward the front door, he could hear it more clearly now, the unmistakable sound of voices, a chorus of misery. He threw the door open, his eyes immediately squinting against the bright sunlight. The world outside felt almost too still, too perfect for the screams that filled the air.
There, in the distance, James saw it, an image that immediately sent a chill down his spine. James blinked in disbelief, his breath catching as he stepped closer to the gathering. The air felt thick, heavy with grief and rage. His eyes were drawn to the tree, to the body hanging from it, and the woman crying hysterically on his mother's shoulder. Her raw sobs filled the space, a mournful sound that seemed to echo the pain of an entire community.
James felt a wave of nausea hit him as he fixed his glasses, his heart pounding in his chest. He suddenly became aware of how exposed he was wearing nothing but a light shirt and a pair of shorts he’d fallen asleep in. It was a strange feeling, standing there in his sleepwear, but as his eyes scanned the crowd, he realized no one was paying him any attention. Everyone’s gaze was fixed on the man’s body, the horror of what they were witnessing too consuming for anything else to matter.
He moved closer, instinctively placing a hand on his mother’s shoulder. The familiar warmth of her touch should have comforted him, but instead, it felt like a barrier between him and the cruel reality unfolding before his eyes.
When she noticed him, her face hardened with something akin to fear, and she quickly grabbed his wrist, pulling him back.
“James,” she said, her voice strained, trembling with emotion. “Get back inside, right now.”
“Mom, what happened?” he asked, confusion and dread swimming in his gut. He hadn’t seen anything like this before. The image of the hanging man burned itself into his mind, the lifeless body swaying gently in the breeze.
“Go back to the house, NOW!” she snapped, her voice sharp with an urgency that made his skin crawl.
James could feel the weight of her command, the fear in her voice telling him there was more to this than he could understand. But before he could protest, Lee appeared behind him, pushing him gently but firmly back toward the house.
“Come on, James,” Lee said, his voice deep and heavy with sorrow. “Ain’t no reason for you to be lookin’ at this. It ain’t meant for you, son.”
James glanced back, catching one last glimpse of the woman, her sobs still tearing through the air, her grief raw and unrelenting. But as Lee guided him toward the house, he didn’t argue. There was nothing he could do now, nothing that could change what had just happened.
And so, with his heart heavy, he allowed himself to be led inside, the images of that man’s lifeless body and the pain etched on his mother’s face haunting him as he stepped back into the safety of the house.
As soon as James was inside the house, he couldn’t hold back his questions. His mind was racing, and everything felt like it was happening in slow motion, like he was floating just outside his body. “Lee, what happened? Why is that man dead?” His voice trembled slightly, his chest tight as he stared at the older man. The groans and cries still echoed faintly in his ears.
Lee stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders slumping as he closed it softly behind them. He let out a long, weary breath. “It was the Klan, James. The Ku Klux Klan.”
James’s confusion only deepened. He furrowed his brow and took a step forward. “The Klan? What is this Klan?”
Lee’s eyes hardened as he met James's gaze, his voice low, a heavy weight in his words. “The Ku Klux Klan, boy. They’re a group. They target Black folks like us... and they kill us. They hang us, burn crosses on our lawns, burn our churches. They think they got a right to do it ‘cause of the color of our skin."
James’s stomach twisted in disbelief. His heart was pounding as the horror of Lee's words started to sink in. His face turned pale. He stood frozen for a moment, trying to wrap his mind around it. He felt the air around him pressing in, suffocating.
“So... that man... he was killed for no reason?” James asked, his voice shaking, still struggling to understand. His glasses felt like they were too tight on his face, the weight of everything pushing down on him.
Lee took a step closer to James, his expression somber, his voice dropping even lower. “No, James. They got a reason, or leastways, they think they do. He was black.”
James's breath caught. He stared at Lee, dumbfounded. “That’s not enough of a reason,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, but filled with the same indignation that burned through him. “That’s—how can anyone think that’s a reason?”
Lee’s eyes grew sadder, his face weathered from years of pain and witnessing this same senseless violence. He spoke slowly, as though the words had become too familiar, too much a part of him. “It’s enough for the Klan, James. Don’t matter how we feel. All they see is our skin. All they care about is their pride.”
James felt the sting of a tear slipping down his cheek, and he quickly wiped it away, anger and confusion rising in him like a tidal wave. “We... we have to tell someone, don’t we? The police? This is a crime, Lee! Someone has to stop them!”
Lee’s expression darkened even more, and he put a hand on James’s shoulder, his grip firm but heavy with the weight of the truth. “There ain’t no one to turn to, James. The police won’t do a damn thing. Most of ‘em are in the Klan themselves, or they sure as hell look the other way. You can scream ‘til you’re blue in the face, but no one’s gonna help you.”
The realization hit James hard, like a punch to the gut. His heart raced, a mix of terror and helplessness flooding through him. His voice cracked when he spoke again. “But that’s... that’s wrong, Lee. It’s—”
“It’s the way it is, James,” Lee interrupted, his voice hard but not without compassion. “This is the world we’re living in. And you need to be careful, especially with Regulus. You hear me?”
James’s head jerked up at Lee’s words. His heart skipped a bit.
Lee’s eyes softened, but there was an edge of warning in his tone. “You’re caught up in something you might not understand yet. This... this love you got with Regulus, you need to be careful with it. You need to protect yourself. I can’t have you walking into that storm unprepared.”
James’s thoughts whirled in his mind. “But—Regulus isn’t part of this,” James protested, his brow furrowed. “He’s not one of them. He’s just—”
“James,” Lee said, his voice lower now, more urgent. “It don’t matter if Regulus is the sweetest boy on this Earth. If folks see you with him, they won’t care what kind of man he is. They’ll only see you, and they’ll only see him for what he is: white. And that could get you both hurt. Or worse.” Lee’s eyes softened a little, and he looked away for a moment, like the weight of his words had settled heavily on his chest.
James stood there, the weight of the world pressing down on him. He could feel his heart racing, could hear the rapid thump of it in his ears. “But I can’t... I can’t just sit by and let this happen, Lee. I... I can’t.”
Lee’s grip tightened on his shoulder for a moment, then he slowly let go. “I know, James. I know. But you gotta think. You gotta be smart.” He looked James up and down, his eyes lingering on the boy's hazel eyes, so bright, so easily noticed. “You walk 'round here lookin’ like that, with them eyes, you already got a target on your back. You don’t need no more trouble.”
James’s chest tightened, his mind spinning with thoughts of Regulus, of the man hanging from the tree, of the unimaginable hatred that could destroy them both. His breath came shallow, and he realized he wasn’t sure who he could trust, or where they could go for help. Everything felt upside down.
But one thing was clear in his mind.
“I won’t let them take Regulus from me,” James said, more to himself than to Lee. “I won’t let them tear us apart.”
Lee’s eyes hardened again, as if seeing the resolve in James’s face was both comforting and frightening. “I hope you know what you’re doing, son,” Lee said quietly, before turning away. “Just don’t forget: the world ain't as kind as it seems. You can’t always count on the people around you.”
James stared at the door Lee had just closed behind him, the world outside still so raw, so unforgiving. He couldn’t let Regulus go. But how could he protect them both from this storm that was waiting to break?
Through the week, James couldn’t think of anything else but the KKK and the man who had been killed. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the body swaying from the tree, heard the widow’s cries echoing in his head. The weight of it sat heavy on his chest, a suffocating thing he couldn’t shake. His grandmother and mother prepared food for the widow, packing it carefully, whispering soft prayers over each dish. James volunteered to take it, though the thought of facing her made his stomach twist. When she opened the door, her eyes were red-rimmed, her face hollow with grief. He handed her the basket and swallowed against the tightness in his throat.
“It’s from my family,” he said, his voice quiet.
The widow looked at him for a long moment before nodding. “Thank you, baby,” she murmured, her voice hoarse from too much crying.
James didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded back and stepped away, his hands curling into fists at his sides. As he walked back home, he felt like he should be doing more, like he needed to do more. But what? The Klan was everywhere, untouchable, their power stretching further than he could even comprehend.
He hated them. Hated them with every fiber of his being. But he was also terrified of them. And that fear, it made him feel weak.