Bus by Suzette Harrison

Author:Suzette Harrison [Harrison, Suzette]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781800191730
Publisher: Bookouture
Published: 2021-02-08T05:00:00+00:00

She stood in the doorway like some plantation overseer watching us pack what little we had, making sure nothing that belonged to “her household” went on that Greyhound bus with us—including Miz Boynton’s curtains. She even reclaimed the second-hand suitcase she’d given me, supplying me with brown paper bags for my belongings.

“Leave the house keys, and your uniforms for the next live-in, Dorothy. I’d rather not waste good money on outfitting new help.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I suppose you can’t take the city bus line thanks to all these uppity agitators, so you may use the telephone one final time to call someone to transport you to the station.”

With that completed, we were walked outdoors and unceremoniously left at the curb like the weekly trash pick-up.

Mister Gillis arrived in ten minutes flat. While he loaded his trunk with our bags, I made the mistake of glancing back. My gaze floating to the second-story room that was Edward’s, I saw a shadowy figure in the window. It moved away so quickly, it could have been my imagination. But it wasn’t. And I knew it. Climbing into the backseat of Mister Gillis’ car, I fingered the note in my pocket, hating it more than I suddenly hated Edward.

Why hate him for upholding tradition?

He couldn’t love me. I couldn’t love him. Centuries of twisted race relations had seen to that.

Accepting that fact, I sat angry at myself for being fool enough, drunk enough, to play fleshly games with fate; to give away something that had been taken from far too many generations of Colored women. Determined to never again be anybody’s idiot, I quietly ripped Edward’s note into irreparable little pieces, feeling betrayed and stupid. Clearly all that love he claimed to have for me was real as pixies and fairies. Just the same, Edward could’ve come out that house and said goodbye at the very least. I’d given him my private self. He’d given me nothing.

On the way to the station, there was no conversation. Just The Drifters and The Platters on the radio. Mister Gillis never said a word, never asked one question. But once at the station, after helping us load our bags in the luggage area beneath the bus, I watched him quietly conversing with Mama. Ending their conversation with a hug, he handed me a five-dollar bill, told me to take good care of my mother, and that he’d sincerely miss us, before watching us board the bus.

The moment he drove off, my mother grabbed my hand and rushed me off of that bus again.

“Mama, what’s happening?”

“I worked for them White folks for damn near twelve years. Now she wanna kick me out, tell me where to go, and how to get there? Hell, no!” She snatched our meager belongings from the bowels of the bus, stuffing some of the bags in my arms. “Come on.”

Carrying the rest herself, she took off, marching indoors. She wasn’t fully literate, but knew enough to follow the “Coloreds Here” arrow.

“What’re we doing?”

“Just come on, Mattie, and hush.

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