April 3, 1968
"Mama!" I called as I raced into my house. I tossed my book bag on the ground near the door and wandered to the kitchen where my mother was making dinner for me and my seven siblings.
"Yes, baby? I'm in the kitchen," she hollered back.
"I won! I'm officially Miss Lester High," I told her. She smiled real wide at me. "Congratulations, Bonnie. I'm so proud of you," she said. She set her big stirring spoon down and enveloped my small frame in her long arms. "How about this. Sometime tomorrow, you, your sister, and I can all walk down to Zayer's and pick out some fabric for your dress. Any color you like."
I hugged my mama tightly, burying my face in her chest. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
My mama chuckled lightly. "Now go on and get your siblings. It's time for supper."
"Yes ma'am!" I hollered as I darted out of the room to round up my brothers and sisters.
Once everyone was seated at the dinner table, my mama said grace and we ate. My sister, Kay, spoke up after a short silence.
"Mama? Can Bonnie and I go down to the protest going on tomorrow? We'll be extra careful-" she tried to ask but our mother cut her off with a sharp glare.
"No. Certainly not. Unless I went with you, but I'm busy tomorrow. It's Wednesday, we've got church," she reasoned.
"But Mama," I tried.
"No buts, Bonnie. I said I would consider it, but as of now, the answer is no."
Of course she won't let us go. She never does. My brothers, George and Russell, went all the time, but not me or my sisters. Too dangerous, she would tell us. Especially since my daddy died, she's been protective of us. But I've heard people at school talking. I'm not stupid. I know how bad it's getting. I know that Mr. King is coming into town soon to try and help. But I'm just not sure if he'll be able to at this point.
April 4, 1968, That Afternoon
"Girl, you better put on a coat. Just because it's April doesn't mean it's warm outside," my mother told me. I willingly obliged to her command since she was letting my sister Kay and I go down to the march today. She was coming with us, of course, but I was just glad to go.
"Mama? After we go downtown, can we stop by Zayer's and get the fabric for my dress?" I asked as I slid my arms into my jacket.
"I suppose. I did tell you we would, didn't I?" She answered.
"Yes ma'am, you did."
"Then I suppose we ought to, don't you?"
"I do," I replied cheerily, walking out my front door with Kay and Mama in tow. We blissfully walked through the streets of downtown Memphis until we came to the scene of the march. There were people everywhere. Most of them were sanitation workers, who were on strike, but there was a good number of other people like myself and my family. The reason we were marching today was to protest against the amount of money the sanitation workers were being paid. It was far too little in my opinion.
As we pushed our way through the crowd of people, my eyes darted in every direction.
"I wonder if we'll see Dr. King today, Kay. Do you think he's already here?" I asked my big sister.
"He might as well be, but shoot if I know," she answered, shrugging. I sighed contently to myself; I enjoyed being out in the town. As we walked, we passed a few little boutiques. My mother warned me not to go into any shops or I could be called nasty things. That was the point, she had told me. That was how we were going to protest. We were going to stop buying things. That would get peoples' attention for sure.
Even if I wasn't allowed to go into any stores, I still admired them from afar. There were some "white-only" stores that I crinkled my nose at, but I quickly wiped the look from my face. The bible says to love everyone, including white folks.
Being too absorbed in my window shopping, I completely missed the rock that had been thrown a few feet in front of me. All hell broke loose after that; there was shouting and yelling everywhere you looked.
My mother drug my sister and I by the wrists out of all the mayhem.
"And you wonder why I don't like these things," she grumbled. Kay and I laughed quietly, for we enjoyed the excitement of it all.
We kept walking until we reached Zayer's. Inside the store, each of us began selecting colors that would compliment my complexion. So far, I liked light blue and emerald green the best.
Our shopping was abruptly interrupted by the squeal of the store's intercom system. A woman began speaking with a shaky voice.
"Attention shoppers, I have, uh, an announcement to make," she said, stuttering every now and then, "I have just been informed that Martin Luther King Jr. has been," she paused and I could have sworn I heard a sob, "assassinated. We will be closing in five minutes. Please come to the register now to make your final purchases," the woman's voice disappeared. A stunned silence filled the store.
She must have been joking.
She had to have been joking.
She needed to be joking.
My heart turned to lead. My feet were glued to the floor. I was aware of my surroundings, but it was like I was seeing them from a distance. The tears flowing down my mother's crushed face were dripping in slow motion. The cheering from the two white men standing ten feet away from me seemed far away.
Somehow, someway, my feet began to move. I walked over to my sister who stood in a paralyzed state. I gripped her hand tightly and pulled her over to our still crying mother.
"Mama," I said with unforced urgency, "we gotta leave." She snapped out of her temporary trance and nodded.
"Yes, and quickly."
If inside the store was bad, then the outside was complete and utter chaos. I was so shaken up that I was almost convinced that this was a nightmare. Buildings were on fire. People were fighting in the streets. It broke my heart even more, if that was possible at this point.
The difference in the reactions of the people were truly astounding. Just about every white person I passed on my short walk home was celebrating in some way, whilst the blacks were in overwhelming states of horror and dismay.
We made it home safely, and for the first time since I can remember, my mother locked all the doors and windows. Normally, they were always open, day and night. My mother sat in front of the television for the next few hours to watch our city fall apart even farther. My sister and I went straight to bed. We didn't even go to church.
As I laid in my bed that night, my mind wandered to the only other time I had felt like this. It was in eighth grade, when President John F. Kennedy was shot and killed. I shuddered at the mere thought of it.
I didn't know what exactly was going to happen now that Dr. King was gone, but I knew that things were going to change. For better or for worse, I had no clue. I just knew that his death wouldn't be ignored. Neither would the things he stood for.