After reading about all of the hate incidents since Trump’s win, I decided to share a story with you. It’s a short story that I wrote during my college Freshman Comp days that will take you back in history, to a time that we should never repeat.
The Mighty Oak Tree
By Cassandra Gore
In my lifetime, the sum of one hundred years, I've experienced a lot of joy and pains. I've lived through blizzards, storms, droughts and all the other seasonal changes. The memories that I cherish are many. Like, the sounds of laughter and excitement from children playing nearby. I've witnessed the love that two people share during their private blanket picnic. I also remember the moments of humor when the old town gossipers shared small talk while setting in the shade under my trunk. Although most of my experiences and memories have been wonderfully pleasant, there is one experience that has troubled me for years. Like a re-occurring nightmare, this memory keeps coming back.
The year was 1814. A full moon illuminated the sky on that crisp fall night. Most of my leaves had fallen to the ground and the north winds were blowing through the cotton fields of Mississippi. The cotton plants were picked of all their bows, leaving only the thorns to remain. I've grown accustomed to the revolving changes of this cotton field, because here is where I call home. On a clear sunny day I can see the never ending Mississippi River in the distance.
Anyway. All was quiet on the plantation that windy night. The workers, and the horsemen, were settling down, getting ready for some much needed rest. Just when I began to prepare myself for the night, and the sounds of darkness, I heard the familiar sound of dogs barking. Only this time they seemed to be on the move and running my direction. As the barking got closer and closer, it became louder and louder. When I listened closer I could hear the bangs of shotguns and the pounding of many feet in stride. In the distance I could see that one of the young worker men was hobbling towards me. It was then that I realized the horsemen, dogs, and the bangs of the shotguns were all aimed at the young worker man. When the young worker got closer I noticed that his feet were bare, and a pair of badly tom pants was his only clothing. I also realized that he was a very young man, about sixteen years old I would say, his feet were covered in blood and he was crying.
"This way!"
"He's over there by that big oak tree!"
The shouting of the approaching horseman broke the night's silence. The young boy was only a few feet away from me now. He looked so tired and alone. Surrendering his fight for freedom, he ran over and laid his head on my trunk. The pounding of his heart and trembling body sent an awful feeling through the bark at the base of my trunk. I could feel his fear and see the sparkling stream of tears rolling down his dark skin. If only I could move my branches, I would wrap them around the boy and shelter him from all harm.
"Where ya goin,' boy?"
I heard the leader of the horsemen say as he appeared in a nearby clearing. He was a big tough looking man with a very strong voice. As I recall the other horsemen called him Tom. Tom's hate for the young boy was very easy to see, and feel. As he wiped the sweat from his brow, he glared at the boy. Chills run from the top of my highest leaf to the tip of my longest root, when I think about the horsemen's hateful words.
"What ya gonna do with him, Tom?"
"Well, I was figuring on hanging him, what do ya'll think?"
"I don't know about that Tom. I ain't never hung a man before."
"Man! This here ain't no man, that's a slave. Besides, this big oak tree looks just right for a hanging."
"Ye! And he'll be a good example for them other slaves to see in the morning."
The words were very clear, I remember as if it was yesterday. I didn't want to be included in such a horrible act. I didn't want to take the life of this young boy clinging to my trunk for support. I wouldn't choke off his last breath with the use of my branches. My roots became tense with anger. I couldn't possibly stand for this child to die, not with my assistance.
The horseman proceeded to carry on with their mission. Once they dragged the still clinging boy away from my trunk. A thick, rough rope was thrown over the strongest branch that I had. The young man, now on top of a horse, had the noose placed around his neck.
With the approaching dawn, I had a better view of the young boy. His back was covered with cuts; some were open, but most closed. His body was still shaking, but he had the courage to sat straight up with pride on the horse's back before it ran from underneath him. I felt the rope snap tightly around my branch. Trying with all my might, I held the boy up, hoping he wouldn't fall to the ground and hurt himself. As the life began to leave his body, the horsemen turned and rode away, leaving the child tied to my branch, lifeless.
Later, as I mourned for the young man, I realized that all of my strength and might was exactly what the horsemen wanted it to be. For years after that dreadful night I could hear the same sounds of dogs barking and the gunshots. And even though I knew someone was going to die, I always hoped that I would have no part in it.
Over the years I've grown to be even bigger and stronger. My branches are long and full of dark green leaves. I've provided hours of laughter, fun and shade for many years. But the memories of that awful night continue to haunt me. And even if I live another hundred years, it will always be hard to keep that past behind me.
