tried to get a room in seven different motels on Prince Street, and they all told me they were full. I had called every single one of them just this morning and was told that they had vacancies,” I said angrily.
I looked up at the rearview mirror. The driver was looking through it at me with pity in his eyes. “Well, some of us still refuse to accept certain changes. I know of two Black restaurants on Liberty Street that suddenly run out of everything I want every time I try to eat there. Assholes come in all colors.” We both laughed. “How long do you need a room for?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe a week or two. I need a place near public transportation that’s cheaper than the place I’m in now until I find a job and an apartment.” I sighed. Like this stranger cared. I was wrong; he did care.
“My brother-in-law manages a place downtown right next to the police station. It’s cheap, clean, and you’d certainly be safe there.”
“Will they let me use a hot plate there? Do they have a refrigerator in the main office or in any of the rooms?” I asked with renewed eagerness. My hands were gripping the back of the driver’s seat as I leaned forward.
“Well, all the rooms I’ve been in have little kitchenettes. This is not a motel but one of those residential hotels run by the state,” the driver explained. He seemed as excited as I was.
“Do you know if they have any rooms available? Do you have their phone number—never mind. I’ve had enough for one day after that ‘no room at the inn’ drama I just went through.”
“Well if they have a vacancy, and if you’ve got the money, they will rent to you. A lot of the residents are Black. Mostly single mothers, new people in town—like yourself.”
“Can you take me there now?” I begged.
The hotel the cab driver took me to was called the Richland Hotel. The name being the same as the city I had grown up in had to mean something. Muh’Dear and even Mr. Boatwright would insist, “God tryin’ to tell you somethin’.” It was a large, tight, brooding gray building with well-worn gray carpets. The minute I stepped into the lobby I could hear kids yelling and screaming and radios blaring in the background. But it looked clean, there was a security guard in the lobby, and I was not turned away. I paid two weeks rent at the Richland and checked out of the Travelodge all within an hour.
My room at the end of a long dark narrow spooky hallway on the tenth floor was not impressive. The brown furniture was plain and musty, and you could see through the plastic curtains. I hung up the few clothes I had brought with me and took a long, hot bath in a tub that could barely accommodate my body. The hotel had a restaurant on the second floor, where I ordered a fried chicken dinner. The chicken was greasy, overcooked on the outside and raw on the inside, but I ate the sorry mess, knowing I wouldn’t have to eat it again unless I wanted to. I didn’t even touch the plastic-looking vegetables that had come with it. I ate the French bread, drank the Coke, then left. “Come again,” the waitress yelled after me, smiling at the fifteen percent tip I had left on the table.
There was a convenience store across the street from the hotel. With a kitchenette, I could do my own cooking. I was actually humming when I returned to my room and dialed Rhoda’s number. I gave her a brief description of my bus ride and the hotel room. “What’s it like down there in…”
“Atwater,” she answered. “Miami is only a few minutes away by car, the weather’s fabulous and—oh I just love it here,” she squealed.
“I’m happy for you,” I lied, speaking in a weak voice. From the day she met Otis, I’d wanted their relationship to fail so that she would have more time for me like she used to.
“Our nearest neighbors, the Fergusons, are five minutes away,” Rhoda continued. “They’re white, white trash I might add, and most of the family members are not very friendly.” She paused, then added in a whisper, “Klan.”
“Oh no,” I lamented. Suddenly my sadness turned to concern for her safety.
“Oh don’t worry. Uncle Johnny used to be in the Klan before he got religion. That’s when he