Making A Difference

• Jessica Bradford, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2013

I was nervous. My palms were sweaty but I couldn’t wipe them, not on this fine fabric. I was getting some strange looks, but then I guess its not everyday a black man boarded an airplane. I’d noticed that no one was sitting near me; that’s to be expected, us blacks are treated like filthy dogs and who in their right mind would sit next to a filthy dog? Again, this wasn’t in the forefront of my mind. I was focused on my speech. I’d never done something like this before, I’d never wanted to talk to whites this much and I’d certainly never travelled in an airplane. I’d thought about my speech but I wasn’t prepared. I would never be prepared even if I had another month to think about it, but I didn’t even have a day. I had five hours before I would be in a fancy room with fancy white men and my not-so-fancy outfit and I would be demanding our land back. Why did we have to do this?! We were here first! We had survived for thousands of years on this land and yet we are the ones being treated harshly. It wasn’t fair, but then nothing was when your skin was black.

“Did you want anything to drink Mr. Lingiari?”

My head rose from where it hung in my hands to face a pretty, white girl. Her blonde hair was tied back and her startling green eyes seemed to be staring several inches above my head. She smiled at the wall behind me, and I knew she felt too embarrassed to look me in the eyes. I saw the drinks cart next to her and noticed how it was full of alcohol. I raised my head a little higher, over the top of the girl’s left shoulder, to view the drinks cart in the other aisle and saw how it contained a vast variety of beverages from alcohol to juice; soft drink to water. I knew what this was about. I know that stereotypically us blacks are thought of as drunken lunatics. Yes, I had had a few drinks in my time, and I was so nervous a drink could help me calm myself but I was here to protest, not to ditch all chances for my people to be accepted into the white society. Ever since they brought those bottles to our campsite, us blacks have been known as alcoholics, and our social status lowered even further. I could feel eyes on me and when I looked around I saw people hurriedly turning away and avoiding my gaze. The airhostess cleared her throat loudly. I realized that I hadn’t answered her question yet.

“Just a glass of water, thanks.”

She seemed surprised when I said this and quickly left to fetch me my drink. She came back shortly after, handed me a glass and left to serve someone else. I took a long drink of water and relaxed a bit. I leaned back against the headrest and fell asleep.

I woke as the plane’s wheels touched the ground in Sydney. We were too far down to see much of the city but even as it was night there were so many lights it still felt like daytime. There were massive buildings and loud noises. The airplane slowly stopped and the passengers started to move to the door. I grabbed my small carry-on and followed them. I was ready for Sydney, I was ready for the white, but most of all I was ready for my land.