The Bus Ride

“Ya sur, I was there. I was there when it happened, it was a long time ago sur, but I remember it. No, I’ll call you sur, Mr. Habit, it’s a good ol’ name, but sur will do just fine.My name? My name is a strong name sur, but it’s not respected in your community, no offence sur. So as I was sayin’ it was a long time ago, too long for me too remember most of the words, no, and I was at the back of the bus. Yes sur, before the boyocott, before people knew about that little lady that sat in front of me. Yes sur, that was a long time ago. Before I had my chillun’ an before I met my husban’.” She stopped, glaring at the window and did something so unexpected of a old lady her age. She spit on the floor.
“When I was younger, I often found myself in childish dreams, sur, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Sometimes I wondered if the white water fountains water tasted better then the black’s, and that’s why they were segregated. Intrestin’ enough, I would find out soon. Thanks too that ratty old bus driver and that skinny thang of a woman.”
“That bus driver was a horrible man, I’m sure he was a wife beater. Yes sur, a wife beater, and a hater of colored woman. That’s why he got onto the little lady near the front of the colored seats, he was a ugly man, with a face that easily turned pink unda pressure. Like a tomato he was. A awfull rotten tomato that was squishy on the inside and it’s guts spilled out into your mouth like a child spillin’ into this world. He was a bad man sur, you must believe me. That poor woman, I’m sure she had guts, had too to sit up front and face ‘em. Heck, I don’t even have the guts too face that horrible man.
“No sur, you don’t need to correct my speech. I just talk like this, yes sur, no sur, okay sur, I’ll try to talk clearer. Anyways, I don’t exactly ‘meber if it was cloudy, sunny, or rainy. No, I was bad at these things. I can’t remember the date either, wether it was hot, cold, or maybe cool like the spring breezes that carry the children of weeds. No sur, no sur, she came onto the bus alright. Like a lady, she looked like a seamstress; I could tell by the workings of her hands, they had calluses from the work, mighty tough to get a job sur. Mighty hard.
Anyways, I didn’t know at the time I was lookin’ at the revolution. In that tiny frame of a woman, that had her hair pulled into a bun, with those glasses of hers. She looked mighty spindly to me, not like the strong worker of the fields like our granddaddy’s and grandmothers were back in the day. No sur, she looked like a regular woman, just a normal house wife. When the bus driver walked up too her, I pitied her.
“Again, the bus driver was a cold man, I’ve rode his bus many times before. Had to, my work was too far from home, and I had to go home and fix suppa for my pa. He was elderly at the time, ma had passed away a couple years back from cancer. We were too poor to pay for it sur. The irony, sur, it was curable. This small frame of a lady stood up to the old man. He was tryin’ an tryin’ too get her out of her seat. So the white man could sit and she would be forced to stand. It was a rough thing to go through, which was why I always sat in the back. I didn’t like the tomato man yellin’ at me much anyways. His breath smelt like tobacco.”
“That little woman just sat there and took it, his face turned rotten tomato red, it looked like he was going to implode on himself sur, I swear he was. His veins popped from ‘is head! What a sight!” The old woman started to laugh, which was interrupted by a loud spasm of coughs, “What a sight.”
She shifted herself into a more comfortable position, “As I was sayin’ sur, she didn’t move like the tomato man said. How I wish I knew his name, it’s improper too call a man, little alone a white man, tomato man.” She busted into a fit of giggles, they were hoarse and dry, like the dying wind. “She just sat there. And said “No sir, this is my here seat. And I’m staying.” That man, oh sur! That man just exploded, he marched right outta that bus and when he came back with too men in blue. Oh sur, you should’ve seen it. It was a sad sight, I pitied the woman. When the bus driver dropped me off, he gave me a rather harsh glare, it wasn’t my fault that the woman stood up to him sur! She was strong willed, maybe a bit thin on the outside, but as strong as our ancestors in the inside.”
She nodded, seemingly having nodded off into a coma like state. Sometimes it made me wonder if this poor old woman was going to live to see another year or so. So far, she seemed to be going pretty strong. “Next week, I was waiting outside of that stop again, just waitin’ like usual. And the bus didn’t stop! It was awful, my pa had to get his medicine and suppa before the lights went out. But everything turned out fine, I hitched a ride with my future husband. Oh how hansome’ that boy was. Hmm? Why the buses weren’t pickin’ us up? Well, sur, easy explanation. This man, Martin Luther King Jr. they called ‘em, was doing a boyocott. That’s why you’re talkin’ too me today, isn’t it? The whole dang doggit reason!”
She slapped her knee, which I was afraid was going to pop out of place if she did it with more ‘omph’. “Yes sur, the next day, black folks like me were doing anything to get to work. I even saw a couple of pack mules on the street, what a mess sur! Those things made it mighty hard for those white people to go through traffic, imagine, just cruising down the road, and rolling into manure. Ha!”
“I stayed and waited at these bus stops with my future husban’ he later proposed after segregation was over, sweet ole thing, who knew that seeing that little woman on the bus would help my life blossom? Now sur, I have six kids too that man! Heh, sometimes I regret ever getting’ on that bus, but hey. Who knows what would’ve happened then. I joined a couple more organizations after that sur, NAACP, CORE, and I did a few Sit-Ins and freedom rides with me and my boyfriend from the bus lanes. Pa? Well sur, he had gotten better, had moved to an elderly home. They took good care too ‘em, I told you I had a name of power, didn’t I? I was there for the Martin Luther King Jr. speech as well sur, it was interestin’. That day, was the day me and my soon-to-be-husband had our first kiss. Right when Martin Luther King Jr. shouted ‘free at last, free at last!’ and yes sur, we were, free at last from the chains of segregation. We still have our battle, but we’ve won our freedom, and our human rights. We are, free at last now.”

The little old lady that refused to say her name in this small biography, died a week later after she had spoken to me. Now, she rests in a grave in Georgia, it was if her will was too speak the truths, then pass on to the other side when it was finally spoken. She is now, free at last.

(A fictional story I did for Civics class. I just thought it was interesting, and maybe someone would like too read it. It's no wonderfull poem, but it's something. ~Lyre.)

Great job Lyre. I would never be able to write something like that. You got a good talent, i hope you go places with it

Thanks, erm, I'm already a published author of a few essays. ;D Let's see what will happen to this one, shall we?

Let's see indeed where this gets you, and congrats on being published with a few things already.