Oppressed by Kira Saito

I was the
happiest I’d ever been. Being a reckless heathen was absolutely
intoxicating.
    “ No. This is a
spectacle.”
    I felt weary listening to him spout his
views on heathens and rights, mostly because we had the same
conversation once a week. “Can we please forget about everything
and just dance? You know what tomorrow is. The last thing I need
right now is a man telling me about…” I let out a low
sigh.
    His eyes softened, and he studied me
intently as if he were searching for something comforting to say.
“You don’t have to go,” he said rather unconvincingly.
    I looked up at the fading sun and took a
deep breath, determined not to shed a tear. “If only it were that
easy. I’m destined to follow Maman’s footsteps; she’s made that
abundantly clear.”
    I felt his fingers intertwine
with mine. “Look, my feet are moving. My hips are starting to swing
from side to side. I feel the loa all around me. I am officially a
heathen.”
    I couldn’t help but laugh as I watched my
dear snobby Antoine attempt to dance like a so-called heathen. His
thin, elegant frame moved clumsily and his arms hung limply by his
sides. My feet started to move again and tomorrow suddenly floated
far far away. I heard the loa cheering me on, which prompted me to
dance faster and faster. I linked my arm with Antoine’s, and
together we danced only the way carefree children could.
    “ You’re going to do great
things, Cecile. You’re destined to be the official Queen!” hissed
Bade.
    I laughed. “ Je t'aime , Bade, but you are sadly
mistaken!” I yelled. He was always telling me I was destined to be
the official Queen but I didn’t see how that was possible. There
were a thousand Voodoo Queens and Kings in New Orleans; I didn’t
see how I was any different from the rest of them.
    “ Dance, Cecile! Dance because
you are free!” he hissed, so I did. Who was I to argue with the
loa?
    “ Bonjour!” I waved at Ayizan, the loa of
the French marketplace.
    She waved at me with her palm leaf.
“ Bonjour!”
    We danced until the sun faded and the sky
tuned a brilliant shade of red. The low sycamore trees grew dark
and the moment I heard gunfire and smelled gunpowder I knew that
the fun was over. Maybe for good this time…
    Antoine placed his arms around me and
together we walked down the cobbled streets, navigating our way
through loitering stray animals, fat rats, carriages, and countless
street vendors. I relished every single walk I took through the
muddy city. I adored the dusty shops where people of all hues
offered haircuts, coffee, liquor, clothes, and countless other
goods.
    “ Look, what is that?!” I started
the game Antoine and I had played since childhood. The one in which
we pretended we were Yankee tourists visiting New Orleans for the
first time.
    He gasped. “I do believe it’s those
Choctaw Indians everyone is talking about. How are they allowed to
sit on the streets and sell their wares so freely? Lawlessness. And
on a Sunday!”
    “ And that?” I dramatically
pointed to an outdoor café where two men were drinking absinthe and
engaging in a game of chess.
    He placed his over his chest
and feigned outright shock. “Could it be? No! Why it’s a finely
dressed gen
de couleur libre playing chess with a finely dressed white man!
Atrociousness! What is this world coming to?”
    I chuckled and we continued our game, but
the closer we got to my home the more I started to panic. Anxiety
cameover me as I thought about tomorrow. Although I had done what I
was about to do many times, I knew that tomorrow would be the day.
I was seventeen and out of excuses. “I don’t want to go home. I
don’t want to go home yet,” I said suddenly, as I tried to gasp for
air...
    “ Cecile.” Antoine held me
tightly and I buried my head into his chest in a vain attempt to
shelter myself from my destiny. “It will be okay. You can always
say no. No one can force you to do something you don’t feel
comfortable doing. You