avatarStacy Johnson

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Abstract

re, May was beginning to have doubts. But, even Pastor White said it was her time, so it must be true. “Everything will be okay when I get to Jackson,” she whispered.</p><p id="d7b4">“Hey, May. Where you going all dressed up?” A woman hollered from her front porch.</p><p id="4557">May smiled and waved. “Hollandale,” she answered. “You don’t need a suitcase to go to Hollandale. Any fool knows that.”</p><figure id="cd98"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*VbhQqCDsTKQmluSkmoUvcg.jpeg"><figcaption>Photo by Stacy Johnson</figcaption></figure><p id="053a">May sat the cardboard suitcase filled with shoes and clothes on the road. “Yes, Ma’am,” she said. “Yes, Ma’am? That’s all you have to say for yourself?” “No, Ma’am,” May said, unbuttoning her jacket. “I’m catching the bus to Jackson.” “Alright now, child. You watch yourself in the city. All smiling faces ain’t friendly.” May nodded and wiped the sweat from her face. “Now is the time to say yes, Ma’am,” the woman said. “Yes, Ma’am,” May repeated as she hurried off, slinging her suitcase

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at her side.</p><p id="1a03">The bus to Jackson was crowded with people leaving the Mississippi Delta. May was happy to be one of them. She sat in the back of the bus with the window wide open and inhaled the smell of sweet corn growing on the stalk and catfish fresh from the Sunflower River. She would miss the fields’ white and yellow floral buds but not the musty-smelling cotton they produced.</p><p id="aa56">May clasped her hands and bowed her head, “Dear Lord, I ask that the folks in Jackson are kind to me and that Mama won’t walk all the way there to get her dress that I took without her permission. And if she does, Lord, please answer her prayers to stop cussing before she gets there. Thank you, Lord. Amen”</p><p id="dcbc">The bus drove off, and May smiled as wide as the Mississippi River.</p><p id="27e0">This week May takes the first step toward womanhood and claiming her inheritance. In the weeks ahead, I will share more about May’s journey. The excerpt is from a series of short stories I’m writing entitled Southern Girl In The City.</p></article></body>

Moving On

Not everyone will celebrate your breakthrough

Photo by Stacy Johnson

Chapter One — The Road to Jackson

“You’ll be back. Your country ass can’t make it in the big city,” Mama yelled with a bottom lip filled with snuff. “Bye, Ma,” May said quietly without facing her mother. “And don’t slam my goddamn screen door on your way out.”

May swallowed hard, then gently closed the door. She was excited about the new life ahead. May walked up Murphy Road towards Hollandale, trembling at the knees.

Her friends had said to wait for her breakthrough. It’s on the way; just be patient. Everything will be better when it happens; all your plans will fall into place and make sense. May was the best seamstress in Murphy; there was no reason she couldn’t be the best seamstress in Jackson. Now that her breakthrough was here, May was beginning to have doubts. But, even Pastor White said it was her time, so it must be true. “Everything will be okay when I get to Jackson,” she whispered.

“Hey, May. Where you going all dressed up?” A woman hollered from her front porch.

May smiled and waved. “Hollandale,” she answered. “You don’t need a suitcase to go to Hollandale. Any fool knows that.”

Photo by Stacy Johnson

May sat the cardboard suitcase filled with shoes and clothes on the road. “Yes, Ma’am,” she said. “Yes, Ma’am? That’s all you have to say for yourself?” “No, Ma’am,” May said, unbuttoning her jacket. “I’m catching the bus to Jackson.” “Alright now, child. You watch yourself in the city. All smiling faces ain’t friendly.” May nodded and wiped the sweat from her face. “Now is the time to say yes, Ma’am,” the woman said. “Yes, Ma’am,” May repeated as she hurried off, slinging her suitcase at her side.

The bus to Jackson was crowded with people leaving the Mississippi Delta. May was happy to be one of them. She sat in the back of the bus with the window wide open and inhaled the smell of sweet corn growing on the stalk and catfish fresh from the Sunflower River. She would miss the fields’ white and yellow floral buds but not the musty-smelling cotton they produced.

May clasped her hands and bowed her head, “Dear Lord, I ask that the folks in Jackson are kind to me and that Mama won’t walk all the way there to get her dress that I took without her permission. And if she does, Lord, please answer her prayers to stop cussing before she gets there. Thank you, Lord. Amen”

The bus drove off, and May smiled as wide as the Mississippi River.

This week May takes the first step toward womanhood and claiming her inheritance. In the weeks ahead, I will share more about May’s journey. The excerpt is from a series of short stories I’m writing entitled Southern Girl In The City.

Storytelling
Mississippi
Mississippi Delta
Black
Fiction
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