Helping hand.
A meeting of sort, that was what it was. Sometimes he and his friends, fellow colleagues from the same law class that they all had at eight in the morning and all mutually hated to have at such an ungodly hour. They’d agree to meet at least once a week to talk about what they’d learned, what to debate about the next week. Because being among one of the most respected families gave them the right to hold debates as they wished with their professor.
At least most of them thought so. Drake for most of the part loved listening to what the old man who taught them had to say. He loved sitting there and soaking in everything, not that he wouldn’t join in the teasing when they would throw him in, but he preferred not to if he wasn’t called to do so. There were his friends, it did not mean they controlled his life, but they influenced most of where he did, he’ll admit.
He wasn’t sure of where they were in the conversation, in fact, it seemed all of them were out of the current topic because he could hear them laugh. Discreetly at first until Wallace, the one that could be considered the leader of the troublesome lots they were, started talking. “She’s probably doing the groceries for someone that has more worth than she’ll ever have.”
It caught his attention, the mocking, the quiet whispers. They loved to do that from time to time and Drake was not surprised when he searched to find a girl, of color, carrying heavy bags with contents that he could not really see but still, it all looked quite heavy on her shoulders. He was used to this too, the way they typically picked on the ones that looked different from the lots of them. It was part of the society though, there was nothing to be done about it. Black people were black people and white people, were just that white. Though slavery was abolished and things weren’t as harsh, Drake knew better than to say that things were good.
Still she was a girl, but before that she was human and it reminded him of the little girl he used to play with. Reminded him of the one time his father came back home, furious to see that he’d been hanging around with that dirty little nigger. The words banging back against his mind as he stayed still, even while his friends went ahead, still laughing. But they would move on from her soon, they’d find something else amusing, something else to mock and Drake stood behind, unable to get himself to let this go.
“Are you coming or what?” Steve’s voice cut in through his thoughts and Drake shook his head without looking at them, throwing out his answer, “I’ll catch up, go ahead.” But he wouldn’t, he’d had enough of them for the day and week. They put a bile in his throat sometimes, hard to swallow and whenever he let them do so, it stayed there for days unable to leave him guiltless. But today, he had to get rid of that bile. Even if in just a small gesture that he made sure they were out of sight before doing--following behind her, uncertain of why. He probably shouldn’t be seen doing that, he probably shouldn’t even be doing that.
His father would hate this, hell all of his friends would hate this. But Drake went on his way until he caught up to her, close enough to finally ask what’d been on his tongue all along, “Need any help, miss?”
