One Ride to Freedom

by Marlee R.

My name is Lucy Rose Simmons, and I am nineteen years old. I graduated from the town high school last year. I live in a small town in Alabama called Mayfield. I have a little brother named Joe, and I have my mama and daddy. I have thick blond hair and dark blue eyes and pale skin, which is strange because my mama has chocolate brown hair and olive skin. I also have freckles that I absolutely hate. I am very petite. My best friend is named Julia Jane, and I have known her for as long as I can remember. Julia Jane moved to Birmingham just a couple weeks ago, so I don’t get to see her nearly as often. But I am going to her house today for a luncheon and I am so excited.

A bomb goes off during the Freedom Rides

“Lucy Rose Simmons, get down here right now!” Mama yells up the stairs with her thick southern accent.

“Mama, one minute. I’m coming!” I respond. She is just so impatient sometimes. I pull my dress over my head and pull on my white, three-inch pumps. I do one final spritz of hairspray, and for a second my head is caught in a cloud of spray.

“Lucy Rose, I need help getting ready for the bridge luncheon. This is the first time I am hosting and I can’t take getting everything ready by myself.” I run down the stairs in my new red dress, which has a white collar. I bought it this Saturday when Julia Jane and I went shopping at the local department store. I turn the corner to find Mama frantically running around the kitchen. She still has rollers in her hair, and her dress is caked with flour.

“Mama, go change your dress! You are not fit to have a party looking like that.” She looks at me as if I have just broken her heart. I know she has been working hard, but when you entertain, your guests should think you didn’t have to lift a finger. “Mama, I am not going to let you have people over when you still have flour all over your dress and rollers in your hair.” She looks down at her dress, and looks at the reflection in the window to find herself as messy as I told her she was. She quickly unties her apron, throws it at me, and runs up the stairs to get changed.

“Lucy Rose?!” she hollers down the stairs.

“Yes, Mama?”

“I need you to take the pie out of the oven and check on the lemon squares to see if they are ready. I also need you to set the table. I want the pink table cloths, the white napkins and the silverware and glasses that are from your grandmom, and I do not want this looking messy, Lucy Rose.”

“Yes, Mama,” I reply, trying to sound like I actually enjoy cooking and cleaning.

“Okay, honey. Don’t forget to check on the lemon squares.”

I tie the apron around my waist and head toward the oven. I pull out the cherry pie, and have to fight the urge to take a big bite out of this marvelous looking pie. I can’t take it; I reach towards the pie and pull out one single delicious-looking cherry. I stuff it in my mouth and lick my fingers, trying to get the flavor to last forever. I check on the lemon squares. They smell delicious, if not better than the pie. I put on an oven mit and pull the lemon squares out of the oven. I lay them on the pale yellow formica countertop.

Our house is medium sized and has brick that is painted white on the outside and a firetruck red front door. When you walk into our house you go directly into the parlor, which has a big couch, and a color TV with rabbit ear antennas. Daddy always has his friends over to watch the football games. When Daddy has his friends over to watch football they all sit on the edge of their seats, and you know when something good happens in the game because you can hear them hooting and hollering. When I was younger I would always sit on my daddy’s lap and watch the games with him. Those were the best times. When I didn’t have to worry about stuff around the house and I was carefree. Those time were much simpler when Mama thought I was too young to cook and that I would burn myself, or mess up the ingredients in her recipes.

“Lucy Rose!” Mama runs down the stairs and barges through the swinging door into the kitchen.

“Yes?” I reply.

“Did you do what I told you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”  

“Then why did you not set the table?” Mama stands there with her hands on her hips waiting for my answer. I guess I got caught in my thoughts. “Lucy Rose, go set the table.”

“Okay.” I walk into the living room, where six circular tables are put up for her bridge luncheon. The walls in the living room are pale pink, and the floor has wide, tannish wood planks. There is a huge grandfather clock that towers over my head. I look up at the grandfather clock and it says 12:08. Oh heavens! I gotta go!

“Mama! I gotta go! I’m late, I’m gonna miss my bus.” I grab my sweater and head for the door.

“Lucy Rose, where are you going?” she yells after me.

“I already told you! I’m going to Julia Jane’s for a luncheon!” I open the front door and slam it behind me.

“Lucy Rose!” I can hear her faintly through the door. I pull open the door to my mom’s new, cream-colored Ford ThunderBird. I start the engine and drive to the bus station that is only a few blocks away from my house.

I get to the bus station only minutes later, and hop on the bus just as it is about to pull out of the station. Hmmphh. I breath out a sigh of relief because I’m very surprised that I even made it to the Mayfield bus station in time to catch my bus.

Whenever I go on the bus I love to look out the window to see the trees flying by and turning into a blur of green and brown. I love that I can easily travel from my tiny town to the bigger town of Birmingham. It’s exciting there, but I would never want to live there. My preference is to be in the sleepy town of Mayfield, where everyone knows my name.

As we are getting closer to the Birmingham bus station, I smell an acrid smell of burning rubber. For some reason, I get goose bumps even though it is 96 degrees outside. As we get closer, I can hear people chanting and shouting, and I see police cars lining the streets, and as we round the corner onto Main Street, all that I witness is thick, black smoke and total chaos. I am terrified. What is this? Should I get off the bus? I can’t miss the luncheon. Julia Jane would be crushed. I have to go, but I am paralyzed with fear. The bus lurches to a stop, and the driver rushes us off. There, standing amidst all this terror. I feel a rush of adrenaline go through my body. I look around and there are crowds of people encircling something that I cannot see from here. But I do see a cloud of smoke, wafting up into the air.

“Julia Jane!” I yell, but I know there are too many people, and she would never be able to hear me through all of this noise. But I need to yell just to comfort myself, hoping that somebody will just hear me, and ask if I am okay, which I am not.

*****

I run out the front door to try and stop Lucy Rose from taking my new ThunderBird to the station, but as soon as I get out there, I hear the phone ringing and I quickly spin around and open the screen door to get inside and answer it.

“Hello, this is Mrs. Simmons,” I say.

“Oh hello, Mrs. Simmons, this is Julia Jane. Is Lucy Rose there still?” she says with a sense of fear in her voice.

“No honey, she’s just gone off to the bus station to go to your house. You’re still having the luncheon, right dear?”

“Oh no! Ohh no, no, no!” she says.

“What dear?! What is it?”

“The Freedom Riders just arrived in Birmingham, and there are lots of people at the station right now.”

I am silent. I have nothing to say.

  

*****

I push through the crowd, trying to get through to see what is going on. When I finally get through a large pack of people, I stand on my tippy toes. I can see just a glimpse of what is going on. There is a group of black people and white people chanting and singing right next to a Greyhound Bus that is directly behind them. The bus is up in flames, and the windows are cracked and broken, and there are people on each side of me standing there with mortified looks on their faces. There is a woman standing next to me, so I decide to ask her what is going on. She seems older than I am, maybe thirty, and she is standing on her tip toes to try and get a view of what is going on.

“Excuse me, ma’am, but what is going on?”

She looks at me like I am crazy for a couple seconds, but I do not know what is going on, so I have to ask someone. “You don’t know what this is?” she says.

“No, ma’am,” I respond.

“Well, this is a bus that came down from Washington, DC, and has been stopping in lots of southern towns. It is called the Freedom Ride.” Then the lady I was talking to turns away and talks to the person next to her, but while she is doing that she takes a second to turn away and point at me. My face turns bright red like a firetruck, and I can feel beads of sweat forming on my forehead.

The Freedom Rides. I remember hearing about them. It was about last year, I think. It was during a football game that Daddy had people over to watch. They were talking about the Freedom Rides. What were they saying? Gosh, what were they saying? I can’t seem to remember now, but I will think of it at some point. I know I will, I have to. I stand there and I’m sure I look like I am scared to death. Because now, finally, I remember the one thing I wish I did not know. I would be less scared if I didn’t remember what the Freedom Rides were.

I keep trying to push forward and get closer, but it seems like nobody is going to budge. I look over at the parking lot again and I see Daddy’s car, and Mama is getting out of it. I push through the crowd and finally reach her. I run up and give Mama a big hug. A good feeling rushes through my body, replacing the feelings that were making me feel sick to my stomach. She pulls me into the car and drives away. She is silent for the whole ride home, and so am I. I can’t talk right now, I don’t want to. I don’t understand this yet. How could some people be so mean? It doesn’t make sense.