Black Velvet (James' Version)

James arrived on Beale Street just as the first slivers of morning light stretched over Memphis, casting long, quiet shadows against the brick buildings. The air was thick with the promise of heat, but there was something else, too. Something electric. Something alie.  

His mother and grandmother were by his side, standing near the curb with his aunts and uncles, their hands full of signs painted the night before. END JIM CROW. EQUALITY FOR ALL. AMERICA MEANS FREEDOM. His grandmother clutched her Bible against her chest, murmuring to herself, maybe praying, maybe just bracing. Lee stood a few feet away with the rest of the family, some holding signs, some just standing, waiting.  

James swallowed against the tightness in his throat.  

“It’s early yet,” he murmured to his mother, because it was,the sun wasn’t even fully up, and the street still looked too empty.  

His mother reached out, smoothed his collar with a soft hand. “Give it time, baby.”  

And time they gave it.  

One by one, people came. And then in twos, in threes. Then in waves.  

By the time the sun broke properly over the city, James didn’t know where all these people had come from. Didn’t know how they’d all fit in Beale Street. It wasn’t just the folks he’d seen at the Blue Note, or the faces he recognized from Sunday service. It was strangers. Hundreds maybe even thousands of them.  

Men and women. Black and white.  

And at the center of it all, beaming like the damn sun himself, was Regulus.  

James spotted him through the crowd, standing with a group of white men and women James had never seen before. Regulus was talking animatedly, his hands moving, his smile radiant, his voice carrying just enough over the swell of the crowd that James caught the lilt of it, smooth and easy as the Mississippi on a windless day.  

James glanced at his grandmother. “I’m going to go talk to Regulus.” He tipped his head in Regulus’s dirrection.

She nodded, understanding, but didn’t let go of his hand until she squeezed it once, tight and firm.  

James swallowed and started toward Regulus.  

The closer he got, the more unsure he felt. Not about the protest. No, what James didn’t know was how to act here, now, in front of these white folk, with Regulus standing among them like he belonged there.  

James slowed his steps, straightened his spine. By the time he reached them, his throat was dry, his palms clammy.  

Regulus turned toward him, still mid-sentence, still grinning. His hair caught the sunlight just right, making him look like something out of a picture show, golden and untouchable. James, unthinking, blurted out the first greeting that came to mind.  

“How-Howdy.”  

The second it left his mouth, he regretted it.  

Regulus blinked at him.  

James might as well have spoken Latin. Regulus tilted his head, eyes sweeping over him like he was trying to determine whether James had been hit over the head on his way over.  

James cleared his throat, shifted on his feet, wished briefly for the earth to open up beneath him.

Regulus turned to James with that effortless, honey-smooth charm of his, gesturing toward the men standing beside him. “James, this here’s Charles, Henry, and Walter. We grew up together.”  

James nodded stiffly, his eyes flicking over their fine suits, the polish on their shoes, the way they held themselves, like men who never had to worry about where their next meal was coming from. They were Regulus’s kind, the sort of rich Southern boys who spoke with easy confidence and never had to lower their gaze.  

They talked to Regulus like old friends, their accents crisp with the kind of wealth James had never been close to. They spoke of things James didn’t understand politics, legal loopholes, the inner workings of a world he had no place in. But it wasn’t their words that got to him.  

It was the way Charles, tall, blond, and far too pretty for James’s liking, watched Regulus. The kind of look a man gives when he’s remembering something, something he once had, something he might still want.  

James clenched his jaw, a bitter thought creeping in, had Regulus belonged to Charles once? Had he kissed him the way he kissed James, whispered soft promises in the dark, let him press hands over pale skin in the quiet hours of the night? Had Regulus given himself to Charles before James had ever even laid eyes on him?  

The thought made his stomach churn, but he shoved it down, forced himself to school his expression. This wasn’t the time for jealousy.  

A commotion at the edge of the crowd made him turn, and there came Evan and Barty, both carrying signs, slipping easily into the group. Barty clapped James on the shoulder, arm draping around him like it belonged there, while Evan did the same to Regulus.  

“Relax, mate,” Barty murmured, just for James to hear, his sharp eyes catching the tension in James’s stance. “You’re wound up tighter than a preacher on Sunday morning.”

How could he relax with perfect, white-skinned Charles was standing there?

James glanced down at his watch, the ticking steady but the weight of the moment pressing heavier with every second. The protest was almost set to begin. He could feel the air buzzing with anticipation, but something in his gut twisted, like he was standing at the edge of a cliff, unsure whether to jump or step back.

As the crowd settled into a quiet anticipation, Regulus stepped forward, his presence commanding the attention of everyone around him. The street was still, save for the soft rustling of signs and the shuffling of feet. He stood tall, poised, cutting through the early morning light like a man who had found his purpose. 

"Now, I know this ain't easy," Regulus began, his voice low and steady, a soft drawl that carried across the crowd. His eyes scanned the faces before him, each one filled with a mix of hope and fear. He paused, letting the weight of the moment settle over the people gathered around him. "We've all lived through it, seen it. We've been told time and time again that some of us ain't worth as much as others, that some of us ain't entitled to the same rights, the same respect as evryone else."

He glanced toward James for a brief moment, his expression softening, and gave a slight nod, as if drawing strength from the man standing by his side. "But I'm here to tell you, that's a lie."

The silence grew heavier as Regulus’s words sank in. He let them hang in the air for a moment before speaking again, his voice growing stronger with conviction. "What we're doin’ here today ain't about fightin'. It ain't about violence. It's about standin’ together, 'bout showin’ the world what we’ve known in our hearts all along, that we’re equal. That we’re human."

Regulus’s voice dropped, a tremor of vulnerability creeping in. "I’ve spent my whole life dreamin’ of a world where I don’t gotta hide who I am, who I love. I know all y’all have your own dreams too. Dreams of a life where everyone is treated the same, where you don’t have to look over your shoulders and wonder if you're gonna get pushed aside, made to feel like you ain’t good enough. But we can’t just wait for the world to change on its own. We’ve gotta make it happen."

He took a steadying breath, then his voice gained momentum. "So today, we sit. And we don’t just sit anywhere, we sit everywhere. We take every corner of Beale Street. We fill up every sidewalk, every inch of this road, ‘cause it’s ours. And the white folks, we're gonna sit right there at the entrances and exits, where they can see us, where they can’t ignore us. We're gonna show 'em what it looks like when we stand together, when we fight for what's right. We’re gonna do it with dignity. With respect. The power of our presence will be enough.”

Regulus’s gaze swept over the crowd once more, his eyes filled with unshakeable determination. "I know it’s scary. I know it’s hard. But we ain't just sittin' for us. We’re sittin' for the ones who can’t be here, for the ones who died, for the ones who’re too scared to stand up. We’re sittin’ for them, and we’re sittin’ for the future we want to build, a future where we don’t have to hide, a future where it doesn't matter who you are or where you come from."

His voice softened, but it was no less powerful. “Today, we show 'em that everyone matters. So let’s sit. Let’s show the world who we are, and let’s show ‘em what we’re fightin’ for. And we ain’t gonna stand up ‘til we’re seen, ‘til we’re heard.”

Regulus’s eyes met James’s once more, a quiet understanding passing between them. A promise that this was bigger than anything they had ever known, bigger than both of them. 

"Let’s do this, y’all," Regulus said, his voice ringing out. "For us. For them. For the future."

The crowd began to move, slowly but steadily, as if guided by Regulus’s words. The first person sat, then another, and soon the street was filled with people taking their places in history. Every corner of Beale Street was occupied, and with each person that joined in, James felt the magnitude of the moment. This was not just a protest. It was a declaration.

And then, the singing began.

It started soft at first, a low hum from a few voices. Then, like a flame catching, it spread, rising into a song that filled the street like a prayer carried on the wind. The voices of black and white people alike wove together, rich and full, and poweful.

"Ain’t gonna let nobody turn me ‘round, turn me ‘round, turn me ‘round..."

James watched as Regulus sat shoulder to shoulder with Evan and Barty, his hand gripping the edge of his sign. James sat by Lee, he could feel his heart pounding in time with the rhythm of the voices around him, he had never experienced anything like it. Across from him, his mother and grandmother sat proudly, their hands folded in their laps, their eyes set with determination. 

The crowd extended far beyond Beale Street. Black folks in the center, sitting firm, unmoving. White allies lined the entrances and exits, their bodies forming a barrier between the authorities and the heart of the protest. James thought proudly about how much of a genius his boyfriend was if the police wanted to break this up, they’d have to push through the white demonstrators first.

And no one was getting through.

Business owners had stopped in their doorways, watching with wary eyes. Some frowned, some nodded in quiet approval. A few shop owners, those owned by black people or who had long treated their black patrons with dignity, stepped outside with jugs of water, offering quiet words of encouragement as they poured drinks into waiting cups.

Time passed, but the protest did not waver. If anything, their voices only grew stronger despite the heat and exhaustion.

Then came the sound James had been waiting for, the heavy stomp of boots against the pavement, the clinking of batons against leather belts.

The policemen arrived in a slow, deliberate line, their uniforms crisp, their expressions unreadable beneath the brims of their caps. They stopped just short of the protesters, surveying the scene with cold, calculating eyes. James felt his stomach tighten as he watched one of the officers shift his weight, his hand hovering near his baton.

But as they took in the crowd, James could see the hesitation in their eyes.

With the way Regulus had organized the group, the policemen's usual tactics wouldn’t work here. They couldn’t invade the protest swinging their clubs without striking the white folks first. Couldn’t drag the black folks away without tearing through the white demonstrators sitting between them.

A few of the officers exchanged glances. Then, one of them reached for his radio.

James exhaled sharply, his fists clenching at his sides. They were calling the sheriff.

Regulus, still seated at the front, lifted his chin ever so slightly, his expression unreadable. But James knew him well enough now to see it, the fire in his eyes.

This wasn’t over. Not yet.

Soon more policemen arrived and the weight of authority begin to press down on the crowd. The sheriff, a tall man with a hard set to his jaw, pushed his way through the ranks, stopping in front of the sea of bodies that stretched down Beale Street. His eyes swept across the protestors, and he raised his voice, cutting through the murmur of whispers.

"All you white folks, y’all need to leave. Right now. If you don’t, we’ll be takin’ you in," he commanded, his voice sharp and unyielding.

A low murmur rippled through the crowd. James’s eyes scanned the faces around him, hesaw Charles, along with a few of Regulus's other friends, slowly backing away. The white people began to filter out, hesitantly at first, but with increasing speed. They filed out, unwilling to risk being caught in the chaos. But the majority of the protesters didn’t budge. They stayed, steadfast, ready to face whatever came next.

Regulus didn’t move. He stood there, tall and proud, like a man who knew exactly what he was willing to fight for.

James’s breath caught in his throat as he realized what was about to happen. He reached out to Lee, gripping his arm. "Take my mother and granny, get them out of here," he said urgently, his voice low but strained with panic. "Now, Lee. Please."

Lee nodded and immediately started ushering the women away, but James didn’t have time to watch.

The police didn’t waste time. They moved quickly, deploying tear gas in thick clouds that stung James’s eyes and burned his throat. The crowd erupted in chaos as people scrambled to cover their faces, choking and coughing in the smoky haze. Soon the street was flooding with of confusion, people shouting and running in every direction, trying to escape the toxic clouds.

James heart hammered in his chest as he turned back to Regulus. He wasn’t about to let him stand there alone. He run and grabbed Regulus’s arm, pulling him toward the edge of the crowd, away from the growing tension.

"Regulus!" James shouted, his voice hoarse with the ache in his throat. "We need to get outta here, now!"

Regulus turned to face him, his expression calm despite the chaos around them. There was a fire in his eyes, a stubbornness that only made James's heart ache more.

"No! I’ll fight like a man," Regulus said, his voice low and steady.

James’s hands trembled as he gripped Regulus’s shoulders, pulling him closer. "You’ll get arrested," he said, his voice breaking. "I can’t—"

"So be it," Regulus cut him off, his eyes hardening with a sense of certainty that sent a chill through James’s veins. "Let 'em take me. It’s worth it."

James’s chest tightened, his breath shallow. He couldn’t let Regulus stay here. He couldn’t let them arrest him. He didn’t know what would happen next, but he couldn’t lose him, not like this.

"If you’re going to jail, so am I," James said, his voice barely above a whisper, the words spilling out before he could stop them. He hoped Regulus could understand their true meaning, his love, his fear, his resolve.

Regulus’s gaze softened for just a second, but the intensity of the situation flickered back in his eyes as he shook his head.

"No," he said, his voice firm. "Y’gotta go. The cops’ll be nice to me, but not to you, James. They’ll treat you worse. I can’t have that on my conscience."

James opened his mouth to protest, but Regulus’s hand shot out, pressing gently against his chest, urging him back.

"Go," Regulus said, voice cold with the finality of it. "Please. For me. Get outta here."

James hesitated, heart twisting in his chest. He stared at Regulus, the man he loved, standing strong and defiant in the midst of all this. He knew Regulus was right. The cops would make an example of him, and he couldn’t let that happen.

"I won’t leave you," James whispered, the words barely audible over the growing tumult.

Regulus’s gaze softened again, just for a moment, before it hardened with a resolve that made James’s heart ache. "You have to," he repeated, his voice low, but there was a tenderness in it that James couldn’t ignore. "Please, James. I’ll be fine. You need to get outta here. You need to be safe."

James felt his chest tighten Regulus wasn’t going to move. He wasn’t going to leave Beale Street, not when so much was at stake. And so, with a final, reluctant nod, James stepped back.

"Promise me you’ll be okay," James said, his voice cracking.

"I’ll be okay," Regulus assured him, voice steady, his gaze never wavering. "But you go. You go now."

The sound of the tear gas canisters landing nearby made James flinch, and with a last, desperate look at Regulus, he turned away. He pushed through the chaos, his heart pounding in his chest, every step a reluctant surrender to the reality of the moment. He heard Regulus’s voice in his mind, telling him he loved him, but he couldn’t turn back now.

His love was still standing, still fighting for what was right, even when it meant losing everything. But James was helpless, torn between his love for Regulus and the need to protect himself.

And as he fled, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was leaving behind a piece of himself on Beale Street, right next to Regulus’s heart.