Nothing Worth Having Comes Easy

by Clare C.

GEORGIA

Walking down the street is a scary thing, especially when you’re a Negro. I got my brother Benji by my side, though. That’s short for Benjamin. Lots of little girls got no one. They gotta walk all alone just to buy some milk or to get to the bus stop. I’m Georgia, Georgia Louise Atkins, and I take one of the Montgomery, Alabama buses.

A bus in Montgomery, Alabama

Benji is sixteen. He’s my hero. He’s strong, and my best friend Janine calls him beautiful. I always tell Janine, “Janine, beautiful is a word to describe ladies. Benji ain't no lady.” She always shakes her head and grabs herself a pudding. I think that’s why she always comes over to my house. Her mama don’t let her have pudding. Benji and I are walking to the bus stop and I can’t feel my toes. I told my Mama not to make me wear my Maryjanes because they smell like rubber and dig into my skin, but she insists I look proper for school. I take the bus every day. It’s eight miles, six stops. I count how many stops there are, so I don’t catch myself eavesdropping in on the white people’s conversations.

Benji and I finally reach the bus stop and I hear that familiar screech of the brakes turning the corner. I am waiting for the bus, waiting for the group of white men that look at me like I’m trash. I am impatient but I can wait. It’s cold outside. Not just December cold, but frigid, that kinda cold where you feel like you just can’t get enough air. The bus pulls up and I can’t look the driver in the eye. I made that mistake once when I was seven. I looked him in the eye and he sent me to the back, where the bus driver told me I had to stand the entire ride to school. I remember Benji trying to comfort me, but nothing can comfort me these days except Mama’s cornbread. Being a Negro ain’t easy. My mama and papa walk to work so Mama doesn’t get harassed on the bus. Benji and I take the bus alone, sitting in the sixth row, right where Ms. Rosa Parks herself was seated just yesterday. Rosa is all my family talks about at dinner now. I can’t believe she refused to give up her seat to a white man. She’s all anyone can talk about in my town. Maybe she’ll inspire us to do something great. Maybe.

Benji pays our fare and we sit down. I see a golden girl. That’s what we call them. Those white girls that have golden hair that shines when the sun hits it. Skin so white that it’s like Gramma’s plates when we go to her house for Christmas. When the golden girl turns around, I see her blue eyes glimmering like crystals. She has the whitest, crispest dress I’ve ever seen in my whole nine years. She’s wearing Maryjanes too but I bet they don’t dig into her heals like mine do. Her mama is the second prettiest lady in the whole world, I’d imagine. My mama’s the prettiest. I hear the girl’s mother say something about dancing to the golden girl. “Anne-Marie, don’t sit like that, young lady. If you want to be a dancer you have to look like a dancer.” I’ve always wanted to dance. Mama says people like us don’t get to do what white people do. The golden girl’s name is Anne-Marie. Benji taps me on the shoulder. “Georgia, you ought to stop staring at them white folks or we’ll get kicked off this bus.”

We get to our stop and I hop off my seat and get out the rear door of the bus, tucking my doll underneath my arm so that her little head pokes out from behind me. I see out of the corner my eye Anne-Marie staring at my doll, so I hug it a little closer. Negros don’t talk to white folks, that’s just the way it is, so I wanna tell her not to stare, because I can’t stare at her. On the sidewalk, she starts walking up to me as her mama is reading the map. These folks obviously ain’t from this part of town.

ANNE-MARIE

I walk up to the little Negro girl, even though I know it’s not allowed. If Mummy or Daddy saw me now I would surely get a spanking. She looks like she’s scared out of her mind. She’ll get a beating for speaking to me, but her brother looks like he could handle it. He’s strong as ever and he’s trying to lead the girl away before I can say something to her about her little doll. “Hey, you, I like your doll.” The Negro girl doesn’t know what to do. “I’m Anne-Marie, you are?”

“Geo-Geo-Georgia,” she tries to get out of her mouth.

I giggle slightly. “You must like them peaches then, huh?” Georgia smiles a wide grin, no longer afraid of what might happen. Her teeth are as white as pearls, her skin just like chocolate. Suddenly I hear footsteps behind me and I whip around to see Mummy coming for me. I quickly run over to her so Georgia doesn’t have to face her. I know I’ll get a spanking tonight once Mummy tells Daddy what I’ve done. I know it’s wrong to talk to a Negro. I can’t be friends with her, but oh how I want to.

Mummy and I start our walk home, and I know as soon as I close the screen door and Mummy speaks one word to Daddy, he’ll know I spoke to a Negro. He always knows.

As night falls, and Mummy and Daddy are sitting on the porch, my sister Caroline is doing homework, and I sit in the living room, I take a deep breath. Daddy wasn’t that mad and I want to just go to bed right now so I can see Georgia on the bus in the morning. As I drift off to sleep, one question lingers in my head. Why her? Why a Negro?

GEORGIA

This morning is a little warmer, but Mama still made me wear my heavy jacket. Benji’s not even wearing a jacket. He never gets in trouble for nothing. I don’t know if it’s charm or his voice that sounds like an angel that just fell from heaven. I see the girl on the bus again this morning. She’s with a second lady this time, younger. Must be a sister. I see her staring at me. She smiles and I have a feeling that I’m staring back at her. I’d like to be friends with the golden girl. But I’m a Negro and I can’t. For Heaven’s sake, I can’t even drink outta the same water fountain.

Days and days go by, and each and every day our smiles grow larger. I can feel our friendship growing stronger, even if it is a secret, a friendship through glances. Each night I tell my mama about what’s happening with Anne-Marie. My mama smiles and nods but I hear her talking with Papa. I know they think I’ll get hurt. I know they don’t like me hanging out with white folks. White folks have always been bad to us. Always have, always will.

Benji and I get off the bus and I see Anne-Marie walking away, looking like she could get swept away with the wind. I see her walking down the street away from me, looking back and smiling, not paying attention to what’s happening around her. It happens so fast. The blue Pontiac starts coming down the road and I can’t even see the little golden girl trying to get away. Before I know what’s happening I am running as fast as my little legs can carry me. I’ve known Anne-Marie for six days. I start shouting at the top of my lungs. “Anne-Marie, Annie-Marie, can ya hear me?” Her sister is on the side of the road looking like she has seen a ghost. I don’t know if Anne-Marie got hit, but she’s lying in the middle of the road, and before I know it I’m crying. Crying so hard I can’t find the words to ask if she’s okay. When I was seven, Benji taught me how to do CPR. I remember how I never thought I would have to use it. I gotta remember what to do. I bend down to Anne-Marie, who’s lying like a cold fish. I swear I hear my palms scream at me like I’m doing something wrong but I don’t know what else to do. She’s my friend and I gotta save her.

Anne-Marie’s in the hospital. Lying there surrounded by white walls and nurses feeding you whatever you feel like. I can’t visit her, even though I saved her life. My mama keeps telling me how proud she is of me, my daddy saying how much trouble I’m going to be in for it. I ain’t never seen so many people looking at me like I’m some sort of Hercules hero. “Georgia-Louise, you got a phone call!” my mama screams for me. I love getting phone calls. I answer in my most cheery Monday voice. “Hello! This is Georgia!”

“Hello Georgia, this is Anne-Marie’s father.” I almost drop the phone outta my tiny little hand. A white man is calling me. Not just any white man, my best friend’s daddy. I don’t know what to say or what to do. No one in my family has ever gotten a call from a white man unless it was to be fired from their job like Mama was last spring. His voice sounds like a car engine that’s being started. It’s almost pleasant to listen to. He starts speaking again. “Georgia, Anne-Marie has been asking for you all morning. Anne-Marie has just returned from the hospital and I think the only thing that would make her feel happier than the pudding we are giving her is seeing you. Believe me, I am not happy about having a Negro in my home, but you, little girl, saved my daughter’s life and this is the least I can do.”

“Thank you, sir. Thank you. I’ll be there.” My mama is listening to our conversation. As soon as I put the phone back down from my ear I want to just cry from joy. My bestest friend in the whole world is gonna be okay.

“Georgia, you ain’t going to no white folks’ house. You listen to me. You stay away from them. They just gonna hurt you.”

“No, Mama. I gotta see her,” I defend myself.

“Georgia Louise Atkins, go to your room right now and do not disobey me!” my mama screams at me. She never screams at me.

ANNE-MARIE

I open my eyes this morning, hoping to see Georgia there. I had a dream that we were walking down the street arm in arm. She holding her little doll and I holding mine. She has a Negro doll. It’s a pedigree doll, so it’s dark as the night. My doll is white. Hers is a virga doll. She wears a little yellow dress that looks just like one I have. That is part of the reason I like her so much. Our dolls aren’t sold in the same store. My sister Caroline said that Georgia and I are like our dolls. We can’t go to the same stores either. I told my sister, “Caroline, why can’t our dolls play like Georgia and I do?” She told me, “Anne-Marie, you can’t play with Negroes.” I cried for two nights after that. I just wanna play.

My daddy is coming up the stairs. I know he just got off the phone with Georgia. I don’t know what he said, though. I want Georgia to come play with me. She saved my life, that girl. “Anne-Marie?” My daddy knocks on my bedroom door.

“Come in Daddy, but only if Georgia is coming to play.” He looks like he got pulled out of a magazine. He has got a Stetson hat on, one that’s the color of charcoal and that makes his skin look like milk. He smells like cigars but I like it.

“Anne-Marie, Georgia is coming to play at four in the afternoon. Now you understand that we can’t let any of the neighbors see us ushering a Negro into our home, so you better not be telling any of them. We’d get shunned by all of the community if they saw us having a Negro over to play. This is a sacrifice, Anne-Marie. This will be the first and the last Negro we have under my roof.” And with that, he leaves my room, looking proud but angry. If only he could see how big my smile is now.

Residents of Montgomery boycott the buses

GEORGIA

It’s December 5, 1955, and big things are happening for us. We’re gonna change the country. We’re gonna make history. I went to a meeting last night with my mama and papa and Benji. There was a reverend there, preaching at everyone. He had a voice like honey, but boy was it loud. We are starting the Montgomery Bus Boycott. My mama says after this, we’re gonna be treated like white folks. I nod my head when she says that to me, but inside I don’t believe her. Negroes are never gonna be like white folks. Especially here in the South. The reverend, Martin Luther King Jr., said we ain’t going to ride the buses. We gotta walk everywhere. Everywhere. My school is six miles away, and I gotta wear my Maryjanes. It’s cold outside this morning and I don’t wanna walk. I wanna ride the bus with Anne-Marie. I bet she’ll be riding the bus. Benji and I are gonna be walking for God knows how long. Everybody is saying that the buses won't be running for very long after the boycott starts because we ain’t paying, but I think I'm just too young to get any of this. All I know is that I’m walking in the cold, with all the other Negroes, just setting us apart even more.

This morning it’s bitter cold. I know Anne-Marie is doing better, after I played with her on Thursday. I know she’s back at school with her other friends, but I also know that I’m her bestest friend. Even though my skin color begs to keep us apart. Benji and I are on mile four and I really can’t feel my toes. My ankles are ripped up from the edge of my shoes. I know I have to be strong, though. “There are ladies who are wrinkled and falling apart and they are walking without complaining,” Benji tells me. “The only tired we are is tired of giving in.” Benji is my hero.

ANNE-MARIE

I know the boycott’s happening. Georgia told me about it. It’s forty-one degrees outside, and for Alabama that’s pretty cold. Georgia hates the cold. Mummy and I are driving to school because the buses aren’t running. We see all the Negroes walking to where they gotta be. I see one man who’s playing tunes on his trumpet while he walks, trying to cheer up the people around him. I see a little girl and her brother looking like they might freeze, but talking and laughing. The little girl turns to look at me and I stare. I stare at her for a good minute. Then I notice something. It’s Georgia. I gotta get out of the car. She’s my bestest friend, and she’s walking six miles alone. I know it’s not allowed but I have to do it. “Mummy, let me out of the car,” I say, trying to sound as proud and strong as I can. My mummy looks confused, but so angry at the same time.

“Anne-Marie Hartman, have you lost your mind?” I know Mummy won’t let me out of the car. She thinks I’m crazy. We reach a red light and I swing open the door so fast that I swear it might pop off its hinges. My mummy is screaming at me for running across the road but I know what I have to do even if it’s wrong. I have to be with her. I know Georgia sees me. She looks like a deer in headlights. I hug her so tight, so tight I think she might snap. Everyone is looking at me, and I mean everyone. I grab her arm in mine and say one thing that I know Georgia will understand. “I know you’re in for a long walk, but you won’t be doing it alone.”