This brief story could got under either the Interracial or Anal categories.
***
The middle-aged woman looked out the window at the young drifter mowing the tall grass and weeds her husband humorously called a lawn in the grueling heat, the temperature and humidity making his ebony skin glisten in the sun, and then she looked at the five crumpled dollar bills the poor guy was going to make for doing a job her husband was too lazy to do himself.
She hadn't said anything when she watched as her cheapskate husband made the guy lower his price until finally agreeing to pay the guy five bucks for what would be over an hour's work, because the time she had suggested he pay the last guy a bit more she got backhanded for her impudence along with an accusation that she seemed to love "that kind".
"That kind" was as polite as her redneck husband ever got when he would refer to a black, Hispanic or just about any other race other than his own, and his lack of tolerance extended to just about every other group too.
"I hate you," Martha Fredrick said softly as she looked at the pot bellied pig with the quart of Utica Club on the table next to him, and to say she didn't recognize that he was the same fresh faced teen that swept her off her feet over 30 years ago would be a vast understatement. "Why am I here?"
That was a question that she often asked herself while trying to keep this rundown place livable in between working nights cleaning office buildings in town, frequently walking the mile and a half back and forth when there was no money for gas or their old wreck was out of commission.
Why indeed? Where else can I go was always her answer to that question, and these days she was the only one who ever posed that question since
Martha's family gave up asking long ago when they realized that they were talking to themselves.
"The only person that thinks less of you than that slob you married is you yourself girl!" Martha's sister had said the last time they had talked, and Martha didn't reply because she knew her sister was right. "Disabled my ass. His legs have no problem getting up to get beer out of the ice box when you're out of ear shot, and his arms work alright when he smacks you around when he blames you if he can't get it up."
Nothing hurts like the truth, Martha realized, and although hearing her sister throw things back in her face that she told her in confidence stung, she couldn't deny it. That was why she had started to squirrel away a little money - nickles and dimes mostly - and was determined that when she had enough to get some kind of fresh start, she would go.
From the other room over the din of roller derby or wrestling or whatever was blaring, Mel's ranting had subsided. That might have meant that he had run out of explatives or had fallen asleep, and that relative silence was a blessing of sorts.
Out in the yard the black man was nearly done, and while it looked alright to Martha - a hell of a lot better than it had when the town sent another notice last week that it needed to be mowed - it wouldn't be good enough for Mel when he saw it. That might earn her another slap or worse for paying the guy the money, but that was better than waking him up to inspect the job and subjecting the guy to more abuse.
The black guy might not have heard her husband's ranting over the roar of the mower but maybe he did. Martha had heard it and it made her sick. Not because she necessarily loved "that kind" more than any other kind, but because she was tired of it all. Tired of all the hate and everything else around this place, and if she had the nerve and a bullet - they had the gun around somewhere but no ammo - she didn't know who she would shoot, him or herself.
Making sure Mel was still out like a light, Martha got a bottle and filled it with cold tap water, and before the man could get up to the door and knock she stepped out and headed the shining man off.
"Here, you look like you could use this," Martha said, and as she handed him the bottle she soaked in the smile she got in return."
"Thank you. Much obliged," the young man said as his bright teeth lit up the porch. "It's a scorcher today."
"That it is," Martha replied, and after she watched the young fellow with the big ears and toothy grin down the quart in one swallow she took the empty back and reluctantly handed the man the dollar bills.
"Does your father want to check the work?"
"Husband," Martha corrected.
"Oh. Sorry."
"Me too," Martha deadpanned, drawing a chuckle from the mowing man.
"At least you still have your sense of humor."
"I'm sorry it's not more," Martha apologized as she looked at the bottle which would likely be smashed if Mel saw who drank out of it.
"The man is a hard negotiator."
"Among other things," Martha responded. "I'm sorry. What's your name?"
"Isaiah."
"I'm Martha," she replied while extending her hand, and although the man was surprised he shook it gently while the woman wondered whether Mel would just break it or chop it off if he saw that. "Isaiah. That's a pretty name. It's from the Bible or something isn't it?"
"So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed. I will strengthen you and help you, " Isaiah said before shrugging. "That's part of something from that part of the Bible, but I don't remember the rest. Afraid I'm not very religious but some of the words stuck with me."
"I'm not either," Martha admitted. "Let's see, Abandon hope all who enter here. Is that from the Bible?"
"No," Isaiah chuckled. "I think that's something else all together. Well, it's nice to have met you, and if I ever need five bucks bad enough, maybe we'll meet again."
"Isaiah?" Martha whispered as the young man started to leave. "Can I give you a tip?"
"Besides don't bet on the horses?" Isaiah said with a smile before he watched the middle-aged woman slowly lift her house dress, exposing first her white socks and then the pale skin of her slightly plump legs.
When Martha had the dress up to her waist, showing Isaiah the wide jungle of dark brown hair that was hiding her sex, her eyes were screwed shut and her teeth were digging into her lower lip. Hearing nothing from the man in front of her she opened her eyes and saw the look on his face.
"Not much of a tip is it? I can't believe I just did that," Martha whispered after she lowered her dress. "I know what I must look like these days. I'm sorry."
"It's not that - it's more like why?" Isaiah asked as his eyes went to the house behind the woman, and as he nodded in that direction he asked, "Is this about getting back at him?"
"Maybe some - but not all."
"You a coal burner?" Isaiah asked, and when Martha said she didn't know what that meant he explained. "One of these white women who likes to screw black guys for kicks?"
