Free There's Blood on the Moon Tonight by Bryn Roar

guts.
    One fat gomer, wearing a greasy John Deere cap, even went so far as to kick one of their baskets of iced shrimp “accidentally” off the side of the dock. Ham watched bug-eyed, his heart beating like a big ‘ol bass drum in his ears, waiting for his father to erupt and give that redneck asshole what for…
    But Jessie just turned his back to the fat man and returned to his work. As if the loss of all those shrimp didn’t matter one little bit. Oh, the shame… the shame!
    The mocking laughter of the rednecks followed Ham and his daddy as they meekly loaded the rest of their catch back onto the Moon Maiden, and then made for home. His father refused to look at his son, too embarrassed to explain to Ham the way of things outside their island paradise. Ham had welcomed the silence. For the first time in his life he was ashamed of his father. More than that, he was angry . Angry with white people for treating his daddy that a-way. Angry that they’d ruined the image he’d had of his father. Angry that his idea of how the world worked and his place in it was a got -damned lie!
    He felt betrayed by the white folks on Moon, certain that they must have been laughing at him this whole time. Laughing at dumb ol’ Ham! Stupid little nigger!
    He couldn’t wait to take that anger out on the first white person he saw—and the first one he saw that ugly afternoon was Joe Rusty O’Hara.
    Joe Rusty’s family rented a small, two-bedroom, one-bath cottage from the Huggins’s, on the other side of the lighthouse. The second rental house, in fact, that Jessie Huggins had built. Naturally, the boys being the same age and living so close by had become fast friends. Ham intended on rectifying that situation. Later that same day when Joe Rusty made the short trek over to his house, to bring Ham his birthday gift, Ham had sent him packing.
    “Don’t come ‘round here, no more, white boy!” Ham had shouted into his best friend’s bewildered face. “I hate you! I hate you! I HATE YOU!”
    Joe Rusty, looking puzzled and hurt, had stood there on Ham’s front porch for a moment more, unsure on how to respond to his best friend’s outburst. He blinked a couple of times, then calmly placed Ham’s birthday gift on a rocking chair by the front door. He looked over once more at Ham and then walked away.
                  Jessie, who’d seen the whole miserable thing take place from inside the cabin, realized his mistake in not talking this business through with his son.
    “ Sammy,” he’d said, pulling Ham to the backyard, where they’d had a seat on top of the picnic table. “ If’n you chased that boy from here because of what you saw in Beaufort today, then I’m ashamed of you.”
    His daddy ashamed of him ? Ham couldn’t believe his ears! “Daddy, you let those men treat you like dirt! I hate white people! And I hate Rusty O’Hara!”
    “ Hate? Boy, what you know ‘bout hate?” Jessie had spat. “I spent my whole life dealing with rednecks like that heifer in the John Deere hat. I suppose if anyone ‘round here has the right to hate, it’s your mama and me. But don’t you see, son; if’n I let that emotion into my heart, then I’d be no better than those pitiful scared white boys.”
    “Scared?’” Ham had scoffed. “ ‘Daddy, all due respect, the only one scared today was you!”
    For a second Ham thought he had taken it too far. A dark cloud passed over his father’s leathery face. His eyes narrowed into angry slits. “ All due respect , huh? Shoot, if that’s your idea of respect , then I’d surely hate to see you disrespect me! Sam, every day but Sunday I take my load to them docks. Now, if’n I be the scaredy-man you think I am, why would I do such a thing? I make more than enough from the rents for us to live just the way we is. Tomorrow, come rain or redneck, I’ll set up my stand like I always do. Sell my wares, and like the Good Book say, I’ll turn my cheek if need be. Ask me,