“They said he’d been causing trouble in the theater. That was ridiculous. He protested. They started yelling at him and threatening to take him in. All of a sudden there was a crowd around us. Some of the people recognized my father, and both black and white, they started to protest too, so the police backed off. But they followed us home, and another police car showed up. They said he was driving drunk. He wasn’t. My father didn’t drink. But they were going to arrest him anyway. They handcuffed him behind his back, then he made me go into the house. I said no, but he insisted and made me. So I did. I looked out the window in the front parlor and watched what they did to him.
“They started yelling and beating him on his head and all over his body. He was balled up on the ground in front of the car with his hands behind his back, and they just kept beating, punching, and kicking him over and over again. Then one of the cops yelled, ‘He’s going for his gun,’ but he didn’t even own one. He was on the ground barely moving. One of the cops pulled out his gun and shot him. The other cops shot him too. He had twenty-three bullet wounds in his body, six in his head. He died in the street like a dog, and they just stood there looking at him.”
The words had tumbled out of my mouth like they had been waiting an eternity to be set free. Vicious. Brutal. Repugnant. Hateful. True. They lashed out in every direction, retaliating for a wrong so vile and despicable that it had stopped all feeling in my heart. There was no love to give or receive. There was just the reality of never moving forward since both time and the feeling of love had stopped for me that day.
I hadn’t talked about that afternoon in years. Yet it was the nightmare of brutality I relived every day of my life. Tears streamed down my face as I still saw the image of my father in the street covered with blood.
“Why? Why would they do that to him? Why would they kill him like that? I remember screaming. I ran outside and tried to put my father’s shattered head back together. Blood, brains, bone, dripped through my fingers. I held on to what was left of his lips and tried to remember how he had kissed my forehead just a few minutes earlier.
“They kept trying to pull me off him, but I wouldn’t let them. I had to protect him. I couldn’t let them hurt him again. I looked up at each of them. Their faces were ineradicably engraved on my soul. They didn’t smile. They didn’t say or do anything. They just stood there with their mouths open like they had no idea what had just happened.”
I stopped talking.
“He sounds like he was a remarkable man.”
“Yes, he was an amazing man, blemishes and all.”
“What happened with the police? Did they—”
“There was a report, which got buried for no justifiable reason. There was a public outcry and a massive funeral with politicians vowing answers and swift justice and, most of all, change. Dr. King marched on Washington, and then there was nothing. I heard later one was killed in a shootout in the line of duty, and the other three resigned shortly thereafter. One of them committed suicide with a bullet to the head. It was too good for them.”
“What about the other two?”
“I want them to live long and know that my father’s work didn’t end with his death. It only made people more determined for justice. And it made me even more committed to step into his footsteps and continue his work.”
“I know your father would have been so proud of you.”
“I haven’t done anything yet,” I said.
“You will. I know you will.”
“Look. What’s going on over there?” Veronica asked.
We saw white men dressed as guards with rifles and black men chained together. Some were bare-chested. Others were dressed in sweat-soaked striped shirts and pants so filthy we could scarcely discern the colors. Hair matted, lips parched, faces scarred and bruised. They were hauling massive rocks and digging a long trench using pickaxes, shovels, and sledgehammers.
One of the guards on a horse was looking our way. Daphne turned and looked as we passed them. “No, don’t turn around,” I said. She whipped around quickly. We all faced forward and kept driving.
Then a whistle blew loud, long, and hard.
Veronica checked the rearview mirror. “Oh my God,” she shrieked. “They’re chasing us, two men on horseback. What do I do? What do I do?”
“Stop the car,” Daphne said.
“No! Keep driving,” I shouted. “Go faster.”
“Stop the car,” Daniel instructed. Veronica pulled over to the side of the road.
I forced myself to look forward. They rode up alongside the car, riding fierce. One stopped his horse in front of the car, and the other circled us with his rifle pointed down into the car. The horses panted heavily; I could swear I saw fumes bellowing from their widened nostrils.
“Git out!” the gunman raged. “Git out!”
The one in front yelled, then reared his horse up as if to stomp down on us.
Shaking and trembling, we all got out of the car. No one spoke or looked up at the guards.
“Where you going, boy?” he said. “You think I don’t know that’s you? Cut your hair, change your clothes all you like, your nigga ass is still going back to Lorton Prison wid an added ten years for ’scaping.”
Daphne whipped around. “What? No!” she screamed tearfully. “He’s with us. He didn’t escape any prison. He’s driving to school with us. Please no, don’t do this.”
“Shut your mouth, gal!” the one in front yelled.
“Leave her be,” the other spoke up. “What’s a white girl doing with these coloreds? You need to be wid your own.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Daphne pleaded. Her voice was soft and contrite. “It’s just that this is Daniel and he’s with us, helping us get back to school in Atlanta. He’s our driver, but he needed a break. Please don’t do this. Don’t take him.”
The guard closest to Daphne moved to where Daniel stood. “Look at me, boy. Let me see your identification. Take your wallet out slowly.”
Daniel gave his wallet to the man. He flipped through, then tossed it to the other guard. “Look at me,” he instructed. Then after what seemed like forever, he spoke again. “It ain’t him. You told me it was him,” the first guard said to the second. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“So what? He could have faked all dis shit.”
“It ain’t him,” the first one yelled.
“He’s black. That’s what matters. Dey all look alike. It could be him. What’s the difference as long as we bring us another darkie back?”
“It’s the wrong man,” the guard said gruffly. “Come on. You fucked up. That escapee is long gone by now.”
“Bullshit! I say we bring his ass back.”
“Let’s move!”
“What and we just leave him go? Hell’s no.”
“Come on with your foolishness. We gotta get back,” the first guard said, pulling his reins and backing away. The other rode his horse by us so slowly and so closely, I could see and smell the sweat matting the horse’s mane. We all leaned away. Any closer and we would have been smashed between the horse and the side of the car.
One of the men tossed something over his shoulder, then they galloped away. I walked over and picked up Daniel’s wallet. I saw that a military ID card was lying on the ground. It belonged to Daniel. I turned as he approached. “Thanks,” he said, taking the wallet and card from me.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Hell no, I’m not okay,” he said, scowling and looking back to the men on horseback. “Sons of bitches stole my money.”
“All of it?”
“Three dollars,” he said.
“Three dollars—that’s all the money you have?” I asked.
“No, of course not. That’s the money I keep in my wallet. This isn’t the first time I handed my wallet over and got nothing back.”
I looked over and saw Veronica and Daphne holding each other.
“Come on. Let’s get our asses out of here before they come back and take my b
utt to jail for loitering and you all for crying.”
We scrambled into the car and sped off.
“Crap. I forgot to get gas,” Veronica said.
Daphne and I leaned over and peeked at the gauge. The pointer was hovering near empty. “Shit.”
“Okay, we just have to stop somewhere.”
“Maybe we should check the Green Book.”
“Yeah, good idea. Where are we exactly?”
“Umm, Dumfries, Virginia,” Daphne said.
I flipped through to find the section in Virginia and quickly read as Daphne checked the map we had gotten from my uncle Arthur. “Richmond, Charlottesville, Fredericksburg,” I read out loud.
“No. No. No. They’re all too far away.”
“Lynchburg?”
“Hell no,” Veronica said.
“No thank you,” Daniel added.
“Well, that’s it. There’s no mention of anyplace remotely close to where we are now,” I said.
“It looks like Fredericksburg is the closest.”
“How many miles?” Veronica asked.
“I don’t know exactly. Maybe twenty or twenty-five, perhaps more.”
“We’re not going to make it. We need to stop someplace near here and take our chances.”
“Okay.” We all looked around. “Over there,” Daphne pointed. It was a gas station with a small eatery attached. “It looks okay. What do you think?”
Veronica steered into the next lane, turned into the gas station, and parked at a pump. No one came out. “Maybe we have to go inside.”
“I’ll go,” Daniel said. “You stay here. If anything—”
“No. We all go,” I said, interrupting him.
“That’s right. Safety in numbers.”
“Come on. We do this together.”
We entered the eatery cautiously. For a moment, we stood just inside the door surveying the room. A woman was at the counter with her young son and daughter, and four older men were sitting in a corner booth laughing and talking. There was a black man wearing a white T-shirt and peeking through an open window shelf between the kitchen and the dining area. He shifted a bell to the side to get a better look at us. The customers quieted, noticing us in the doorway. Time stopped. No one said a word. They all just stared.
“What them niggas doing here, Ma?” the little boy said.
The four men cracked up laughing. The little boy joined in.
A young white girl, who was popping gum, wearing a red-and-white checkered shirt and a pair of blue jeans with an apron tied around her waist, walked over to us. “Don’t listen to that riffraff,” she said, bending down, looking out the window. “Well, damn. Is that y’all’s car out there, the red one?”
“Yes. It is,” Veronica said.
“Wow, that’s nice. I bet it drives as fast as hot lightning. That’s boss.”
“I don’t drive that fast, but, yes, I’m sure it would.”
“So what y’all need, gas?”
“Yes, a fill it up, please.” Veronica said.
“Yeah, sure,” she said, then yelled over her shoulder. “Reggie, tell Cooper to get his ass outside. He got some customers need some gas. They want a fill up.” Then she looked at us and smiled. “Y’all want the oil checked too?”
“Yes, that would be nice.”
“Tell him to check the oil and wash the windows.”
“Thanks,” we said and turned to leave.
“Hey, wait. Y’all don’t want nothing to eat? The food here is real good. Reggie’s a damn fine cook. He knows all those fancy recipes. He used to cook at a big restaurant in New York City.”
I looked at the counter and then at the four men who hadn’t taken their eyes off us since we walked in. “No thank you. We’ll wait outside,” I said.
“And did I tell y’all Reggie makes the best apple pie and sweet bread cake in the county? People come from clear over in Haymarket and Manassas just to get some of his cake. His mamma told him the recipe, and he won’t tell nobody, not even me.” She yelled the last part over her shoulder so the man in the kitchen could hear her. He laughed.
“Well, if that’s the case, we should get a slice,” Daphne said.
“We’ll take four slices of cake,” Daniel said.
“Sure thing,” the waitress said, smiling. But we didn’t move an inch. “What, y’all ain’t gonna eat in the car, are you?”
“We don’t want to stay too long.”
“Don’t be silly. Y’all sit on down over there by the window, and I’ll get you some menus just in case you’re hungry and change your mind. Go on, have a seat.”
We moved slowly, still looking at the little boy sitting at the counter with his mother and sister. He took the straw out of his milk and blew spittle at us. His mother quickly gathered her purse and grabbed the kids and hurried out.
The young waitress walked to the counter and started cussing. “That cheap heifer ain’t even leave me a penny for a tip. Bitch.”
The man in the kitchen started laughing again. “Serves you right for being nice to her dumb kids.”
Daphne and I slid into the booth. Veronica and Daniel took the end seats with Daniel sitting beside me. The waitress walked back over to us with four laminated menus. “My name’s Tammy. The cheeseburgers and fries are real good here. You should try them.”
I looked at her and couldn’t seem to figure out what she was doing. She was sassy and bubbly, and her generous smile was infectious. I guessed she could be just that nice and welcoming, but she was white, and that just blew my mind. I didn’t trust niceness. “Thank you,” I said.
She walked away. Noticing the men were still staring at us, she yelled. “What are y’all looking at? Turn around and mind your own business.”
“This is so weird,” I whispered.
“To say the least.”
“So what do we do, eat?”
“Yeah, okay, let’s order. We can always take it to go if there’s trouble,” Daniel said. We all three nodded in agreement.
Tammy came over with four glasses of water and took our order. She smiled, popped her gum, and headed back to the kitchen.
“Think the cook’s gonna spit in our food?” Daphne asked.
“I hope not,” Veronica said.
“No, I saw him. He’s black. He seems okay.”
The four men in the corner started talking loudly about Major League Baseball splitting up into divisions. “I blame them damn niggas,” one of them said loud enough for us to hear. “They’re tearing this country apart.”
Daphne looked up. “Daphne,” I cautioned, “don’t look at them. That’s what they want us to do.”
“We should just go,” Veronica said.
“Yeah, as soon as he finishes with the car,” I said, seeing the young man with the hood up checking the oil as he filled the car with gas.
“Where y’all headed?” Tammy returned, asking loudly, which seemed to be her only way of talking. “To college, right?” she said, grinning from ear to ear. “Anywhere near Tuskegee?”
We looked at her surprised. What did she know about Tuskegee University?
“No,” I said politely, “Spelman and Morehouse. Both in Atlanta, Georgia. Tuskegee is in Alabama.”
“Oh, okay. I gotta remember that.”
She leaned against the end of the booth and asked other questions about college life. After a while we laughed and talked with ease. Then the men in their booth got loud again. “If y’all don’t shut your mouths, I’m gonna spit in your food the next time you come in here. And you’d better believe I’ll do it too.”
The cook rang a bell and sat four plates on the shelf window between the kitchen and the dining area. “I’ll be right back with your food.”
“Don’t spit in it,” Veronica joked.
Tammy laughed. “Nah, I only spit in white bigots’ food when they sit in their damn booth all day long bitching and complaining about everything and don’t leave me a damn tip for putting up with their dumb asses,” she
said, getting progressively louder and louder with each word.
Seconds later Tammy returned with our food. Daphne said grace, and we started eating. Tammy grabbed a chair, sat down beside the booth, and shared her dreams of attending college.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a patrol car pull up out front. The food lodged in my throat. An officer got out of the car and entered the restaurant. He looked at the four men and nodded, then yelled a greeting to Reggie the cook. Reggie came out, and they talked, looking over at us.
“We need to go,” I said.
Veronica and Daphne slid over on the seat, moving to stand.
“Why are y’all leaving? You’re not finished eating yet,” Tammy said.
The cop walked over to where we were and removed his hat and dark sunglasses. “That’s a real nice car you got yourselves there, folks.”
“Thank you, sir,” Veronica said standing.
“We’re just leaving now,” Daniel said standing also.
“Tammy, you get these folks some cake yet?”
“No, not yet, Daddy.”
“Well, get up from there and get them four big slices of cake on me.”
“I sure will.”
“Thank you, sir, but—”
“No thank you,” he said.
We looked at each other in confusion. “Y’all sit down and finish your meal.” Daphne and I slid back as Veronica and Daniel sat down. The officer sat down where Tammy had been sitting. “You going south?” he asked. We nodded. “How far down south?”
“To Georgia, sir. To college.”
“Good for you. Been trying to get my son and daughter to get back to school—”
“They already talked to me about college,” Tammy yelled out.
The cop laughed. “That girl, she’s something else. But she’s a blessing. And I thank you for that.”
“Sir,” Daniel said, “why are you thanking us?”
One Night in Georgia Page 10
