the racial uproar we were experiencing, the cabs stopped running at 6 P.M., and the bus she normally took stopped running for a few days. When Judge Lawson was unable to provide transportation, she had to walk to work, leaving the house two hours earlier to get across town and getting home two hours later.
It was a few minutes before 10 P.M. four days after the assassination, when Mr. Boatwright hopped into my room and jumped into my bed and started kissing up and down my neck. I had been in bed since 7 P.M., but I was still wide-awake. I was still mildly depressed. In addition to the assassination, there was so much on my mind: the policeman’s mysterious death, the riot, my uncertain future, and my relationship with Mr. Boatwright. “How could you be thinking about sex at a time like this?” I asked. I sat up and pushed him away as hard as I could. When I was younger, smaller, and weaker he used to get real mad and threaten to whup me when I resisted him. Now when I did it, he still got mad, but his age and failing health had slowed him down tremendously. I was as strong as he was now, maybe even stronger. I had pushed him so hard he almost rolled off the bed.
“You tryin’ to kill me or what?” he asked, more startled than angry. He sighed with exasperation and slid off the bed, struggling with the bedpost to balance himself.
“Get the hell out of here!” I ordered. “Martin Luther King might not have meant much to you, but I cared about him.” I stood up next to my bed and put my hand on my hip, facing him angrily.
There was a look of absolute astonishment on his face. “Don’t flatter yourself. Who said I came in here to pester you? I’m upset over Dr. King, too. The whole mess got me feelin’ real befuddled. Just like that Kennedy thing. All I wanted was a hug from somebody,” he whined.
I looked at his pleading eyes for a long time. In my confusion, I leaned over, wrapped my arm around his shoulder, and patted him. Then, surprisingly, he let out a long sigh and left my room without another word. I don’t know how much time passed, but I had dozed off when he returned to my room later and shook me awake. “Slide over,” he ordered. “I done run out of condoms,” he complained, crawling back into my bed.
“I…can’t wait until I get out of school so I can leave this town and get away from you,” I said tiredly, trying to push him away with no success.
He didn’t say anything else until after he had entered me. “You ain’t…gwine no place,” he muttered between thrusts. “You do, you…you might…not never see your mama alive again…”
I was wide-awake by the time he had satisfied himself. He left the room without a word. I put on my housecoat and went downstairs to the kitchen and dialed Rhoda’s number. Uncle Johnny answered and yelled at me for calling so late, but he called Rhoda to the phone.
“He did it to me without a condom,” I blurted. “I hope I don’t get pregnant again.” I stared at the phone for a moment, waiting for Rhoda to respond.
“Did you hear me, Rhoda?”
“I heard you.” She sounded as detached as she did when I talked to her about the policeman’s death.
“He didn’t say it, but I think he was tellin’ me he would do somethin’ to my mama if I leave home. Besides, after we do graduate, I’d still have to get a job and save enough money to leave home with. That could take another year.” I moaned. “I can’t go through this for another year. I’ve had it, Rhoda. I was still a little depressed, and he knew it but still did me,” I wailed.
Rhoda cussed under her breath, and I could hear her shifting around in her seat.
“Where is he now?” she asked.
“He went to bed. Can you come over? I wouldn’t be surprised if he came at me again before Muh’Dear comes home. I can’t ever let him touch me again.”
“He won’t,” Rhoda said calmly.
I heard her let out a long sigh first. Then she told me, “As soon as I finish helpin’ my daddy and Uncle Johnny clean up the mortuary, I’ll come over. But first I have to help Aunt Lola unpack. She got back up here a little