Prejudice & Racism
Desperately I looked around for a way out. We couldn't get over the fence. The strands of barbed wire on top of it would rip us to shreds. Behind it, in the distance, the baseball game was going on. Why couldn't I have been there? The only way was the street...we'd have to dodge the cars. I took a step toward the street, but Sam put a hand on my shoulder.
"Nope," he said, shaking his head. "We're not running any farther."
"But...but...we can't fight them...we can't win," I stammered.
"We can't win, but we're going to fight them. Get rid of this," Sam said as he pulled the "I Am Chinese" button off my shirt and then took off his and stuffed them both in his pocket. "Cover my back and I'll cover yours."
They came forward slowly. They knew there was no place to go.
When James and the rest of them talk about the other guys, their faces get all twisted so that they don't even look like themselves. I wonder if I looked like that when I beat up that guy. I sure was mad enough.
Corrí a la acera y comencé a meterlo todo en la mochila. Bueno, traté. Los tubos de pintura se me escurrían entre los dedos, los pinceles se trababan en los huencos de la acera y la botella de agua se alejó rodando.
—¡Qué porquería! —dije, tratando de alcanzarla.
Fue en ese momento que me di cuenta de que alguien estaba parado al final de la pared. Levanté la vista. Tragué en seco. Era un hombre con un bate de pelota en la mano.
—Pensé que te iba a encontrar aquí esta noche —me dijo.
