Moving On Part 2

May meets a stranger

In Moving On, Part I, seventeen-year-old May has just left her home in Murphy, Mississippi headed for Jackson without her mother’s support. Read Part One to find out what happened. Join the story in progress . . .

The Bus Ride

The man wearing too much cologne sitting next to May removed his jacket. She inhaled a deep breath of Musk and began coughing and wheezing. He moved to a different seat after May sneezed five times in a row without covering her nose. The same trick worked at church when she wanted someone to move to a different pew. May pressed her body against the bus, stuck her head out of the window, and breathed in the fresh air. Her nose and eyes stopped burning instantly. The woman sitting behind her peeked over the seat and asked, “Chile, you got a cold?” “No, ma’am,” May replied, “just allergies.” The woman handed May a few pieces of tissue. “Stop using your clothes to wipe your nose. Didn’t your mama teach you good manners?” May took the tissue and shoved it inside her pocket. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” May sneezed under her breath the next time so the woman would not hear her.

May Meets a Stranger

May craned her neck to look toward the front of the bus. She had never been around more than 20 people at a time, nor had she seen so many white people. Half the people she knew were family, the other half church members and her two best friends, Lillie and June Baby. Lillie and May were both 17, and June Baby was 15. They did everything together. Their friendship was the only part of Murphy that May would miss. She thought about missing her dog Lucky, but he had fleas, so she changed her mind.

A white man walked toward the back of the bus and May sank into her seat. The only white people she knew were the mailman Mr. Langley and his wife Miss Hanna. They wrote Mama a note at Christmas time to thank her for the annual tea cakes she left in the mailbox.

When the unfamiliar man sat next to May, she froze like ice on Lake Gamble. “Hello young lady,” he said. “Don’t you say a word,” the woman sitting behind May whispered through the crack between the seats. But the man had other ideas. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “I’m just being friendly. Why are you going to Jackson?” he asked. The woman kicked the back of May’s seat and repeated, “Don’t you say a word.” “It’s okay,” the man continued, “I’m not from Mississippi, and I don’t know how things work down here. But believe me, I’m here to help, not cause any trouble.” May nodded, but she didn’t say a word. The man wearing too much cologne and the white man sitting next to May spoke to each other like old friends. They discussed what they would do when they arrived in Jackson. “Close your mouth and stay out of grown folk’s business,” the woman said as if her teeth were clenched. “Yes, ma’am,” May said. She sat back in her seat and imagined where all the strange people had come from. People who knew God intended for all of us to sit next to each other and have conversations regardless of the color of our skin. If Jackson was like this, May knew she had made the right decision to leave the Mississippi Delta.

The bus rolled down Washington Road through the middle of town. One-story office buildings lined the street. A second-hand store and Dottie’s Dress Shop, May’s former employer, faced the Hollandale Health Department. Two days earlier, Ms. Dottie, the owner, told May she was guaranteed to fail in Jackson. But somehow, May knew she was wrong. “Excuse me, sir,” May said to the man sitting next to her. “I’m going to Jackson to be a seamstress and one day run a dress shop of my own,” she said. “That’s great, a young lady with a plan. I’m Stanley. What is your name?” “Chile don’t you tell that man your name,” the woman said in her full voice. She glared into May’s eyes, ignoring Stanley as if he was not there. May and Stanley giggled. The woman returned to her seat.

An hour later, they exited I55 and turned on N. Lamar Street into the Greyhound bus station. Many people holding signs stood on one side of the station, and police officers with dogs stood on the other. May knew the red flashing police lights meant trouble. “It’s time,” the man soaked in cologne said, looking at Stanley. “I’m ready, Johnny,” Stanley replied. Johnny walked to the front of the bus, and Stanley followed. The others lined up behind Stanley. May stood up to see what would happen next. “Oh no, you don’t,” the woman said. “I’m gonna have to keep my eye on you, little Miss May.” May flopped into her seat and prayed aloud, “Dear God, this woman knows my name, but I don’t know hers. Please don’t let her name be Gladys Dean. That’s Mama’s name, and we both know I need to get away from Mamma for a while. Amen.” “My name is Faye,” the woman said. “That’s Miss Faye to you. Do exactly what I tell you when we get off the bus.” May rolled her eyes.

The excerpt is from a series of short stories I’m writing entitled Southern Girl In The City. Up next, May’s first night away from home is not what she expected.

Thank you for reading. Henery X, thank you for your support and encouragement.