"Whachoo runnin from, boy?"
William quit running and bent over, his sweaty hair dripping, and his hands on his knees.
"Aaah..." he panted and pointed behind his shoulder.
The man craned his neck to see over the boy and laughed dryly.
"You's runnin from life, boy? Ain't nothin' back yonder."
William turned his head up to look at the man, still bent over with his hands on his knees, and grimaced.
Finally, he caught his breath.
"Boys. Boys are coming."
The old man squinted at him.
"You ain't from roun' here, is you?"
William wiped the sweat from his upper lip and looked behind him nervously.
"Hide me," he whispered desperately.
The old man looked around, then swung open the screen door.
"Git in. Quick now."
William ducked under the man's arm and ran inside.
The hut smelled of moss and damp wood, was bare but for a chair, table, and cot in the corner with layers of blankets strewn across it that seemed to be about fifty years old.
He backed up into a far corner of the room and slid to the floor, pulling himself into the smallest bundle possible.
Outside, the sound of pounding footsteps echoed into the hut.
He heard voices but couldn't decipher the words.
"Go on now," he heard the old man saying as the screen door was pushed open. "Git!"
The voices rose up angrily and soon faded into the distance along with the footsteps.
William breathed a sigh of relief.
"Whatchoo doin, boy, trine to git yo'self killed?"
William shook his head and looked up at the man.
"No," he said.
"Then what? White boy from up north trumpin roun' these parts. Sho 'nuff you's gonna git yo' ass kicked."
"That's all it's about here, isn't it?"
"What's what 'bout?"
"White. Black. Whatever."
"Well, whatchoo expect, boy? Whey you from?"
"Above the Mason-Dixon line, that's for sure."
The old man chuckled.
"You'sa gittin use ta that, now? They's not payin' 'tention ta that one up they, is they?"
"It's all one country...At least I thought so."
"All's one country but you's got them states here."
"And race. You let me in, though."
"You a yankee. You free me."
"I didn't do anything. That was a million years ago."
"No more'n one-hundred-fiffy."
"Whatever. Forever ago."
"Not here, boy."
"I'm realizing. Only on paper. Nobody really won, did they?"
The old man laughed again, exposing a nearly toothless mouth.
"What's your name?" William asked.
"They call me Lamar Coal. Like them rocks put soot all ovuh you."
"William."
They shook hands.
"Thanks," William said.
"You git on now. An' I don' wan' hear 'bout no hangin' o' you, boy."
"Yeah. I'll stay clear."