Free Riot by Walter Dean Myers Page B

in this terrible war. Father says they should have been the ones sent to New York to calm the streets.
We do sometimes get the papers from New York, but they arrive a week late, if at all. That’s great fun because the local papers report the same news and you can compare the accounts.
I wonder if you will ever visit me here. The house we have rented is quite large, and our neighbors seem to be of a decent sort. There aren’t that many black people here. I never thought that sort of thing would matter, but now I actually count them.
I have received two letters from Robert, which I have not answered. It’s is almost as if I have forgotten how to speak to him, which I think is crazy. I know I will answer him, but I want to say something happy and wonderful and it seems that all the happy and wonderful things ended in the summer.
I think it will be hard to maintain our friendship through letters, but in my heart I will always be your friend. I cannot wait until we are together again and sharing a laugh and a hug.
The Lord bless you and keep you, sweet Claire. The Lord make His face to shine upon you, and be gracious unto you. And give you peace. And give you peace.
Your best friend (until you find a husband),
Priscilla
    EXT. THE STREETS OF NEW YORK
    The camera pans the same streets at the opening of the film, but this time it stops now and again on boarded-up buildings, a few charred remains of tenements and, now and again, on doorways upon which there is placed a black wreath.
    CUT TO:
    LONG SHOT of the Peacock Inn. The camera zooms in slowly, pauses for a moment on the window, and then moves up to another window on the second floor.
    INT. CLAIRE’S ROOM—SAME DAY (CONTINUOUS)
    CLAIRE sits on the bed with a portable writing desk propped up on pillows. We hear her voice-over as she writes.
CLAIRE
        (voice-over)
Dear Priscilla,
Father’s changed again because of Mother’s condition. She’s developed a cough, which we both think needs watching and so we’ll stay in New York for a while. Robert has written me two letters which express his excitement at school. I think he’s equally excited to be away from his dreadfully stuffy parents.
We see more and more freed slaves from the South. The poor dears come into the city and they are so lost and uneasy. They are also badly treated, I’m afraid. Priscilla, I am convinced that once this war is over there will be no more people held in chains. But I wonder if there will be a new bondage. Will we be trapped in our skins, forever held to be different because we are not white? And what wars will free us from that distinction? Before the riots, Mr. Valentine looked upon us as the caretakers of his property and was pleased with us. Now he looks at us as if we started the trouble, as if our very presence as Negroes was the difference.
Before those four terrible days, I looked beyond skin and saw people. But it was our skin that made us targets, not our hearts. I am slow to come around to being the old Claire again, but I think she lurks somewhere within me.
(we hear the soft sounds of “The Black Rose”) Priscilla, we can’t go back again. Maybe the three of us—you, me and Robert—back in school were seeing things with the eyes of children then. Perhaps ourinnocence is forever gone. But sitting with my mum and working on the quilt that you and I started, and seeing my father get up and push on despite his disappointment, I think that if we can’t go back, then we should try even harder to go forward. And I do want to go forward, to a place where loving someone because they have a gentle smile and a friendly hello is as easy as it once was.
I see Maeve now and again. I think she truly loved Liam and misses him terribly. Life hasn’t been easy for her, as it hasn’t been easy for many of the poor folks in these streets. We share a word or two of little importance and sometimes even a smile. We go on with our lives. We are not comfortable with each other, but