Henry staggered through the player exit onto the west side of Union Steel Ballpark and pressed his back against the wall, trying to gather his breath. People flooded out of segregated white and colored exits like twin rivers, crashing together in violent waves along the boulevard ahead.

Moments later, Willy ducked under the door frame and looked around before seeing Henry. "I blocked the door with a desk. By the time them guards get out here, we be long gone." He said it with a crescent moon grin like he was all proud about himself.

Henry chuckled despite the headache. "You could have just locked it."

A quizzical look replaced Big Willy's smile. "Maybe next time."

Henry resisted a wisecrack. His ears finally popped, and the sounds of chaos exploded around him. He winced, bringing a shaky hand to cup the side of his head.

"You okay?" Willy asked.

Henry nodded. "Yeah...I'm fine." Only he wasn't fine. A dull pain thumped inside his head. His left hand and shirt were soaked in blood, still trickling down the side of his face.

A woman screamed from across the street. Somewhere a horse whinnied a high-pitched squeal; it sounded scared. And dogs wailed above the swell of cries and angry chatter.

On a normal game day, Grandview Boulevard bustled with lively fans and vendors hocking hotdogs, fresh roasted peanuts, popcorn, and even pierogies. Today, the thoroughfare was anything but grand. Score cards, abandoned hats, and betting slips littered the street. Blacks were fighting whites. Police were fighting blacks. German Shepherds pulled at long leather leashes held by white coppers with raging faces.

Henry pushed off the wall and stumbled toward the boulevard like a drunk on Wood Street. "Come on," he said. "We got to get out of here."

Big Willy caught up to him. "Wait, where we going?" Willy brought a supporting arm behind Henry's back and grabbed a fistful of shirt.

Thanks, Henry thought. He didn't like to admit it, but he needed help. He gestured his chin to the south end of the boulevard. "We can go to our old hiding spot down by the tracks."

"The old ballfield?" Willy said, a pitch of surprise in his tone. "We better get you to a hospital."

"No," Henry said. "No hospital. Don't have the money." That was only part true. He had stashed away a few bucks, but he needed every last cent for food and rent. Truth was, Henry didn't much like hospitals, not that he'd ever been in one. In the fourth grade, he passed Wilson Hospital on the way to church every Sunday. The building looked like a huge gray-stoned monster with windows for eyes and the entrance a hungry mouth, waiting to gobble up little black kids. Besides, he liked it when Doctor Rodney paid a visit to the farm to take care of momma or poppa, always one to give him a lemon drop for being a good boy...even when he wasn't. Henry sighed; maybe he just didn't like change.

For a moment, Willy looked like he was going to argue. Instead, he nodded, and they started walking again.

The stranger who stepped in front of them wore a white T-shirt over wide shoulders, denim overalls, and a gun tattoo on his right arm that Henry had seen on ex-military. Marines, maybe. The man stared through icy blue eye and a cold gaze intense with anger.

"You ruined this game, Louis!" The man said. "Just like your kind."

Henry pulled away from Willy's grasp and raised his palms. "Listen, we don't want any trouble."

The angry man glared. "You disrespected the game and all the soldiers busting their asses for our country. You're going to pay for what you did today."

What I did today? Henry wanted to say.

Before Henry could speak, loud bells clanged their arrival. Henry turned to see three paddy wagons screeching to a halt on the other side of the growing mob. Inside the ballpark, there were two whites for every black person. Out here, it was even strength. The black folk must have come when they heard things were getting out of hand. A fist for a fist.

Henry turned back to the angry man...but he was gone. Nowhere in sight.

Dozens of policemen poured onto the street, nightsticks drawn, shouting, "Stop fighting, everyone!" and "Go back to your homes before more of you get hurt!" and "Get back, you black sons 'o bitches!"

On one side of Grandview Boulevard, a white cop clubbed a defenseless black man with his nightstick. On the other side, two coppers dragged a black youth by his arms and slammed his head into the side of a paddy wagon.

Some folk began to clear away from the skirmishes. Whites heading north, west, and east. Blacks turning to the south. Back to their separate neighborhoods. The coloreds had a saying about the racial situation in Hester: Divided We Stand, United We Fall.

"Ain't never seen nothing like this before," Willy said.

As much as Henry wanted to let loose his anger, he couldn't. Not here or now. This fight was too one-sided. This was a world where a black man could get beaten for looking at a white person walking down the street. It was a depressing reality, but now wasn't the time for Henry to challenge the injustices against his people.

Henry looked up at Willy's brown eyes. "We better get going."

Willy nodded.

As they weaved between clusters of people, Henry heard cries of pain and obscenities that made his skin crawl across taut muscles. Beyond the outskirts of the crowd, Henry heard a sudden uproar. Henry and Willy stopped and turned around. At the center of the crowd, a dozen whites had taken the exhibition banner and set it on fire. Fiery fingers writhed skyward amid surging plumes of dark smoke. A charred-ash smell invaded the air.

Henry strained to hear what the dozen whites were chanting.

"Blacks will pay! Blacks will pay!"

The fighting reignited. Quickened. Black and white factions began to converge upon one another, merging, combining into bigger brawls. And Henry wondered why a nation at war abroad couldn't set aside its differences...for the good of the country.

Henry and Willy shared nervous glances. Plenty of coloreds would be arrested tonight. A good number hurt or maimed. Maybe even killed. Henry hoped it wouldn't turn into a full blown riot like the East St. Louis riots in '17 that lasted two months and caused over $400,000 in property damage and took over forty black lives in what most coloreds called "a massacre." Last July, ten thousand people marched in New York City in a silent protest to condemn the violence. Henry was there. Willy by his side, he marched with solemn pride, holding back tears all the way.

Near the now-smoldering banner, Henry noticed the scrawny guard, making his way through the maze of people. The mustachioed umpire, standing like a marble statue, hands on his hips. The charismatic guard bringing up the rear, waving a hand at Henry and Willy. Was he telling them to go?

"Stop, Henry Louis!" the scrawny guard shouted, comically waving his billy club.

"Come on," Henry said to Willy.

They ran down the boulevard beneath billowy white clouds surrounding the mid-afternoon sun. The voice of the guard and din of the violence faded as they reached a progression of mom-and-pop stores bordering the west side of the street. Donatello's Bakery. Hester Meat Market. O'Malley's General Store. Henry smiled to himself: Two black men running through white Uptown Hester. That smile wiped away by the far-off clamor of barking dogs and shouting coppers delivered by a breeze thick with the smell of burning coal and cloth.

Henry blinked in pain. He resisted touching the side of his head, thumping away like it was getting whacked by a mallet from the inside.

Fear crawled up Henry's spine. He stopped between Charlie's Restaurant and Tucker's Tavern. Before them was an alley lined on both sides with metal trash cans. One of the cans was turned over, its gross contents scattered around the alley. A pair of crows pecked at pieces of gravy-coated bread, if that was gravy. Henry cringed at the stench of rotting food. A plump rat scurried toward a half-eaten sandwich of some sort.

Henry looked up at Willy and then into the alley. "The woods are on the other side."

"Just like old times," Willy said.

Henry nodded in agreement.

And they disappeared into the alley.

Author's Note:

Thank you for reading! I swear, you guys give me the strength to keep writing every week. "Color" is really a tale about overcoming discrimination, bullying, and mental cruelty and finding hope against the greatest of odds. This story has been a labor of love and I'm absolutely committed to seeing it to completion.

If you enjoyed this chapter of "Color", please consider leaving a vote or a comment. Constructive feedback is always welcome!

And just who was the crazy man who stopped Henry and WIlly? Check out his picture below. Let's just say he'll play a bigger role in the future.

Stay tuned! Next update in one week.

Talk to you soon!

Tom