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 the kitchen where Mrs. Rogers regularly left me my check along side the list of chores I was responsible for that day. She knew that reading was sometimes difficult for me, so she would always also support her written instructions with verbal reminders of what needed to be done. Like I said, Mrs. Rogers was a kind and decent person.

Her son, Robert, was about 16 years old. As I started cleaning the kitchen with Mrs. Rogers going over the task list, he entered to fetch a glass of orange juice.

"I'm leaving," Robert announced.

"When are you coming back?" she asked, preoccupied with her thoughts.

"I'll be back tonight, OK?" he said.

Mrs. Rogers grinned as she nodded. Then he kissed her cheek and ran from the kitchen.

"You have everything you need to get started, Shirley?" she asked.

"Everything alright, Mrs. Rogers?" I asked, concerned.

Mrs. Rogers said everything was fine. She had been worried all morning about moving a substantial amount of money between investment funds that the family held. I told her that everything was fine and that she could leave.

As she walked out of the kitchen into the downstairs office, I decided to go back down the hallway to check on my daughter when I found her standing in the doorway.

"Mama," she sobbed, rubbing her eyes.

Although I could not tell from this distance, as I got closer, I could see that she was about to start crying hysterically. Her hands were pressed against her private area.

"What's the matter, baby?"

I looked closer. Her pants and the floor below her body were wet. I never understood how parents could chastise their children for having an accident; the humiliation seemed enough. I could tell she was really felt badly, so instead of making her feel worse, I changed her clothes, gave her some orange juice, and laid her on a towel in the setting room, so I could keep watch on her while I continued working.

Over the next few hours I hurried through my list of tasks. My goal was to finish early enough to make it to the bank before it closed. I had it all worked out in my mind since waking up. With the money from that check, I could go down and meet with the landlord giving him the rest of what I owed so I could take the keys and move in.

I finished my work but I was very distracted. Throughout that day my daughter grew increasingly worse. I was lucky that I was able to leave an hour early. After getting the banking past of my chores taken care of, I caught the next city bus with the intention of taking my little girl to the hospital for an examination. I was not sure exactly where the hospital was though, so we ended up trying to find the one in Hollywood. When I got out at the stop I thought was right, I realized that I had ridden about a mile too far.

Although the morning had started out hot, the clouds were rolling in and it began to rain like I had never seen it rain before. Lightning lit up the sky and a roll of thunder boomed and seemed to echo on across the land forever. We stood and within seconds were soaked to the skin. The time was approaching nine o'clock and I recognized I had no idea where we were. It was a very frightening moment for both of us.

I covered my daughter's head with my purse. Looking around I could find no shelter for us in the immediate area. I did not know what to do. The bus had left. I saw several people running to get into a parked cab, so I ran followed with my daughter.

The cab driver yelled at me when I arrived and tried to get inside.

"What in the hell you think this is? Get out!"

His voice was tense. I tried to keep my fears to myself, but by then my little girl had started screaming. It was raining so hard I couldn't even see across the street. I held my baby close to my body to keep her as warm and dry as possible.

Although it felt like forever, the rain subsided, and the bus came back from the south, headed in a northern direction. I waved the driver down and asked him to please let me know when we arrived at the hospital because my daughter was very sick. His was the first kind face I had seen in a long time. He told me he was very sorry and that before he hadn't realized that was where we were going.

We drove on for what seemed like a very long time. The driver said he would alert me when we got close.

"What's wrong with your daughter," he asked.

"I'm not sure, sir," I whispered. I didn't want her to hear. "I just know she's been sick all day and seems to getting worse."

He flashed his gentle eyes at her then smiled at me, assuring. "She's a strong child. She'll be just fine."

When arrived at the hospital, the driver saw to it that I got headed in the right direction. I was so appreciative for his help that I thanked him over and over as I stepped down onto the sidewalk.

The moment we entered the waiting area of the ER, a nurse recognized the predicament I was in with a crying daughter. We were both dripping wet. She came to me and asked what was wrong. I explained how my daughter had cried out when she went to the restroom. The doctor took her in immediately and determined that she had a urinary tract infection. I had one before and knew that it was very painful to go to the bathroom. I was dumbfounded. I told him that I didn't know a child of her age could get that kind of infection. He put my fears to rest and told me to give her plenty of water and described the prescription I would need to fill. The doctor told me that she would be fine in a day or so. He gave her a shot, which he said should ease her pain immediately and that I should follow up with her own doctor in a week.

Before we left, the doctor reached behind the desk and gave her a lollypop. Before the wrapper was off, she started to smile again. I breathed a sigh of relief. I could tell she was already feeling better.

We were soon on our way home. It was late so I called my friend at the shelter so she wouldn't be worried.

Just When Life Seemed to be Getting Better

My first apartment was coming close to being a reality. Even though we were only moving into a one bedroom, I felt that was going to be just fine okay. I was ecstatic that I was finally going to be able to spend quality time, alone with my children and as the day drew closer, I made so many plans for us as a family. Our most recent shelter was decent. They gave us two beds with linens and a dinking table with chairs to help us with moving in. All of my girls were happy and even though they were still small, they knew that something undeniably good was taking place.

I had been saving my money for three years and all of the expenses were covered, I still had $400.00 leftover. My daughters and I walked down to a pizza place, about two blocks away and I treated them to all of the pizza they could eat. After we finished eating, we sang songs from the jukebox together, played games and then went home and one took a bath. That night, we all knelt down in the living room together and said a prayer. I thanked God for blessing my family with our very own place, and as I lay down on the floor beside the girls to sleep, that moment represented a long dream come true.

I wanted the positivity to continue. I had taken a GED brochure from the pizza place and the next morning, I looked it over. I was determined to do better for my children and myself. Although the Rogers were a terrific family, I did not want to do housekeeping the rest of my life; but without a diploma, housekeeping was about the only paying job I could get. I looked over the options and decided that my goal would be to become a professional hairdresser and knew I needed to get started right away.

It was a Saturday. After making a call, I learned that the place offering the GED program was closed for the weekend. Next, I called Mrs. Rogers. I wanted to tell her about my new apartment, but also to ask her if I could take Monday off from work.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Rogers," I said. "This is Shirley speaking."

Mrs. Rogers seemed to be surprised at receiving my phone call. She stammered. "Hello. Is this Shirley?"

"Yes, this is me," I said. A sinking feeling coursed through me as I continued. "I was calling to ask you if I could take Monday off."

"Whatever for?

"I need to take my daughter to the doctor," I answered. "Also, I wanted to go downtown and check out a school about working on my GED."

Mrs. Rogers paused. She asked me to hold on before coming back to the phone.

"Where are you living now, Shirley?"

"I forgot to tell you," I said, overjoyed. "I do not live down at the shelter anymore. I got my own place. Can you believe it?"

I gave her my new address. As I gave her the street address, I thought it strange that she didn't seem happy for me. After years of working together, Mrs. Rogers seemed distant as though something was wrong with my reaching this goal.

I got off the phone and told myself that I was not going to allow anyone to steal this joy from me. I had prayed for this day for more than three years and I went back upstairs to fix my children some lunch.

After eating we were outside playing catch when a police car pulled up into the parking lot. Police were not an uncommon sight in this particular area, but as the officer approached, a sickening feeling overwhelmed me. He was an older man with a thick body and crew cut white hair.

"Are you Shirley Williams?" a police officer asked as he got out of the car, cruelty beaming from his beady eyes.

"Yes," I replied. "I am Shirley."

"Step away from the bench," he barked. "Now."

I stepped up, pulling the children behind me, protectively. As I flashed the officer a questioning look, his hands went toward his belt, an indication that I shouldn't ask anything more.

"You are under arrest," he continued. "You have the right to remain silent."

"Arrest?" I asked as the officer pulled a set of handcuffs from his belt and slapped them on my wrists. "What in the name of ...?"

He cinched them down tight, metal digging into my tender flesh. "Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law."