One Fateful Day

My story begins on a beautiful Florida day in 1985. It was the middle of a particularly hot and humid summer, amid the kind of southern weather that tends to bring some folks down. Not me that day though. I recall waking up full of more excitement than I had ever felt before. I had finally saved enough of my own money to secure my first apartment. Prior to this morning, I had been moving my family from shelter to shelter in the local area, wherever I could convince someone to let me stay the night. Shelters were tough with kids and I thanked God that I was about to be done with that part of my life. The paycheck I was scheduled to receive that morning would finish my deposit savings, allow me to pay my first months rent leaving enough to turn my lights on. That day I remember feeling like the first day of the rest of my life.

I had a steady job. I was cleaning house for a nice family. Mr. and Mrs. Rogers had provided me work for almost three years. They were good people and some of the first employers I had ever had who actually treated me well. As a result, I did good work for them and I felt as though I had become a valuable part of their family. We had arrived at a very comfortable arrangement that worked out well for both parties. They lived just twelve miles from the place I was staying, and each morning, after getting my family ready for their day, I took the short walk down and boarded the bus for work.

My youngest girl was sick that morning though. I wasn't quite sure what to do, so instead of leaving her with my friend at the shelter, I decided to take her with me. I wasn't crazy about the idea but felt like I had no choice in the matter. The Rogers had allowed me to bring a child with me to work before, and I knew that more than anything else, a sick child just needs her mama around to feel better.

After getting off at the bus stop I still had another half mile to walk to the Roger's house. Even at such an early hour of the morning, the air was already humid and sweltering hot, and we were both sweating like no other. The bus ride had upset her already sick constitution and I felt bad that she was going through such an ordeal. Between the oppressive heat and already not feeling well, my daughter understandably became a little difficult to handle. I tried to encourage her but at numerous times throughout that half-mile walk, I had to reach down to pick her up and rest her limp body on my hip so I would not end up being late.

Still, I tried to remain in the positive frame of mind that I had woken up in. We were very close to the Rogers house when a car drove by and group of young, white men leaned out the windows and screamed at us:

"Coon," they cackled. "Nappy head."

I covered my little girl's ears and did my best to keep my eyes down and ignore their horrible racial slurs. My lot in life had been to learn how to ignore such things and I whispered something sweet in her ear to distract her from their anger before continuing. Even as the car vanished up the road and into the swamps though, I could see their hate filled faces and as I continued, I hoped that I would never see them again.

As I approached the Rogers driveway, I noticed that the same car was parked about a block on down the street. They were on my side of the street so I crossed over and picked up my pace, walking briskly toward the safety of their house. A young, black woman doesn't need any more reason to be cautious than a few racial slurs from strangers. I watched the nightly news and it always seemed to be full of terrible stories about women, just like me, getting themselves into horrible situations. I became so frightened that I felt my whole body begin to shake and tremble.

"What is it, Mama?" my little one asked. Her voice was weak.

"Nothing," I replied, caressing the back of her head with my hand. "Don't you go and worry your sweet little head about a thing."

I turned and glanced over my shoulder as I grabbed the doorknob; although the suspicious car was still there, I breathed a sigh of relief. I was safely inside.

In my haste to enter the house, I accidentally knocked Mrs. Rogers' purse over, which had been sitting on the stand by the door like usual.

I set my daughter down and did what felt natural. With contents spread across the polished, marble floor, I leaned over and quickly set about picking her things up. I was embarrassed more than anything else as I gathered her belongings. I was careful not to be too nosy, but I remember that there were all the usual things a woman carries with her on a regular day, plus some amount of money in an unsealed envelope. Later, I would learn it was $3,000.00 in cash.

"Do you want some help?" my daughter asked.

I sent her away as I finished with Mrs. Rogers' purse. As soon as I placed the purse back on the stand she came around the corner.

"I thought I heard somebody come in," the older woman said, smiling. She had a kindly face, rarely showing off any anger or disappointment.

"Good morning, Mrs. Rogers," I said, still shaken by the morning's events. "As you can see here, I had to bring my daughter with me today because she is not feeling well." My daughter smiled, charming the woman. "I hope you don't mind."

"Why of course not," Mrs. Rogers replied. "In fact, you can lay her down in the extra room at the end of the hall, if you would like to."

I thanked her. Mrs. Rogers had always been quite generous with accommodating my needs. The trip from the shelter to the Rogers' house had taken a lot out of her, so I decided to take her up on the offer of laying my daughter down for a nap.

The room was like a palace. The extra room's bed was nicer than anything I had ever slept in before, soft, unlike the beds in the shelter. I remember that before closing her eyes, my daughter gently touched my cheek and my lips with her little finger and mouthed those three little words: I love you. My heart practically melted.

I moved on to...