Cindy

Judge Not What You See

at Writers Ranch

Joan
I just re-read this story, and was even more impressed. This story captures the results of prejudice so well -- and it shows what can happen when people look past the surface.

He reached out to her, pulling her hand away and turning her face to him. "Do you know what I see when I look at you?"

She wasn't sure she wanted to know, and yet she had to know. "What?"

He ran his own fingers lightly along the scar, feeling her shiver beneath his touch. "I see a badge of honor," he said. She started to shake her head, opened her mouth to protest, but he stopped her. "Amy, you were brutally attacked, but you survived. Because you're strong! There's no shame in that."

"That's not what most people see." Her voice was shaking, but she forced herself to maintain eye contact with him.

"What do they see, Amy?"

"They see someone to pity. Once, right after it happened, when the doctor took me outside for some fresh air, a group of children saw me. They screamed in fright and ran off." She paused, drawing in a deep breath. "They see damaged goods."

"Then they're fools," he answered. "Anyone who won't see past the surface is." He couldn't quite keep his own bitterness from showing in his voice and eyes.

Amy didn't miss the brief catch in his voice, the flash of pain in his eyes. "What do they see when they look at you, Buck?"

This wasn't supposed to be about him, and for just a moment he thought about not answering. But somehow he knew that what happened here in the next few minutes would say a lot about Amy's future, and whether she would go back out into the world. In his mind he could see and hear all the negative reactions he'd encountered over the years. "A heathen, a savage," he answered. "Someone who they think would rather scalp them than sit down over a cup of coffee and share a story or a joke. Someone who can't be trusted. Someone who'll always be less than what they are."

Amy held her hand out, touching his lips, stopping the painful words. She ran her fingers over his face, brushing back a stray lock of hair. "You're right," she whispered. "They are fools."