The walk

Pearl had been walking for at least four hours when the first vehicle drove past.  Despair had begun to set in after the first hour of walking.  By the third hour, she had resigned herself to making the entire walk, alone, without help or a ride from anyone.  But now, she heard the approaching vehicle while it was still quite a ways off and her heart leapt within her.

But her heart began to sink as the vehicle continued past.  But rose again as the vehicle stopped, shifted into reverse and began to back up.  A wave of relief swept over her as the vehicle backed up and the passenger door popped open, the driver having leaned over and opened the door.

But her heart sank again as she observed the driver.  The man was black and young and wearing a Bob Marley t-shirt.  Pearl, on the other hand, was white, young, very proper and the daughter of a man that made George Wallace seem politically correct. Upon leaning down at the door and then hesitating, the young man offered Pearl a ride.  The man must have noticed Pearl’s hesitation, for he tried to smile as big as he could.  Pearl was certainly not a racist, in any sense whatsoever, but she had been raised by two and couldn't help an involuntary response of distrust.  She hated her parents’ beliefs and actions, but her own convictions quickly overruled her upbringing and she sat in the seat.  "Yes, thank you," she responded.  "I certainly do.  My car overheated quite a ways back.  I don't know how much further I could walk."

The remaining thirty-minute drive back to town was a combination of relief, slight discomfort and pride.  Pearl offered the man, Marshawn by name, some gas money, but he refused.  She thanked him repeatedly and walked up the steps toward her front door.
            "Where's your car, Pearl?"  Came the boom of her father's voice from the kitchen.  "And don't tell me that was a black driving that car."

"Well," she began....