Recommended Study Break

This is just a little something. It may not be 100% historically accurate, but I'm just a kid. lol. I can't do TOO much in the way of research about certain things, but I promise, I did my very best. Enjoy.

Author's Note:

The stress of studying for a test that decides whether or not I'll have to retake U.S. History once I get to college is really beginning to weigh on me. I'm a nervous wreck, forgetting things all the time, and I'm so tired, I can hardly pay attention to anything. I'm constantly making schedules for what I need to do. Study then, shower at this time, eat now, sleep whenever you can. Well, I'm sick of all that, so I'm going to take a tiny break to do what I most love to do: begin telling you a story.

 

The summer of '67 was a season of riots in the north and midwest United States. I was in my third year at UC Berkley and so much wrapped up in everything that was going on around me. My boyfriend was an active opponent of the war, and he actually let me participate in his group's demonstrations (aside from pouring coffee and answering phones), even as a woman. Well, he was an active opponent of the war until he was drafted. Then he was an active immigrant to Canada.

 

When he left, he told me to take over SAW, our anti-war group on campus, which stood, simply, for Students Against War. But as I was saying about the summer of 1967, there were lots of riots and demonstrations, but we could never have guessed what was to come in the following year. One of my main idols was Martin Luther King, Jr. During the glorious summer before his wretched assassination, he gave a speech (a couple of days before my boyfriend left for Canada) close enough that I could track him down and take a listen for myself. I knew this would get my mind off of my boyfriend's leaving and could hopefully stifle the pain.

 

I arrived in the town two days before the speech, just having seen my boyfriend off a few hours before. He was probably driving still, dragging on his 5th cigarette and glancing carefully at the rosary beads hanging from his mirror. I gave him those as a joke, and he adored them. Anyhow, I put myself up in a motel (near the site that all the locals assumed would be a place that Mr. King would have to pass through) with the money I had made as a waitress in the on-campus cafe. I had opted to make my money outright, rejecting the idea of having the money automatically directed toward my tuition, which would only help out my parents. I had worked for three years, never even hinting it to Mom and Dad, so I had tips and wages of three years burning a hole in my lockbox.

 

I rented the nicest room there was in a not-too-nice pay-by-the-night. I liked it there. It was a new experience. The bed wasn't exactly the most comfortable in the world, and there were no conveniences beyond a window (which I continuously left open)and standard electricity and restroom facilities. Oh, yes. And it was a mostly "colored" motel.

 

Before you wag your finger, if you happen to be a fascist pig, it was a decision I made for several reasons. Mostly, for one, I was part of an ignorant race. Not to say that what I did by getting that room was ignorant. I mean that whites thought their s**t didn't smell, or however you wanna put it. I just wanted the colored people I was about to stand next to in a crowd of people who left their hope in the hands of the same man to know that I supported their efforts.

 

When I got my things settled into my room, I wanted to go out and see what the town was all about. I so enjoyed being alone and out of my element. When I  had descended the stairs to the lobby, I saw a tall, muscular "colored" man standing at the desk. He was apparently distraught, and I knew why.

 

Obviously, I immediately felt guilty for having taken the last room in the only mainly-colored motel in all of the area, but the "NO REFUNDS" sign on the front desk was really making me not want to check out before my time was up. The man turned, shocked to see me there. I knew what I had to do. There was no way he'd be happily welcomed (or able to afford a room) at a white motel.

 

"Hey. You need a room?" I called out to him.

 

He didn't speak. He just stared. Like I would smack him at any moment.

 

"I just got the last room. Do you need a room?"

 

"Uh, well, yeah. I can go somewhere else." He turned to leave, but I couldn't let him.

 

"No, please. Take my room."

 

"I couldn't do that. You're... you're a lady." The part of that sentence that he left out hung in the air.

 

I knew the look I would get when I said this next thing, but I ventured to try it anyway. After all, it had been three years since segregation was outlawed for good. "We could share a room. It's the least I could do."

 

"So, you're not scared of me?"

 

I was taken aback. "Why the hell would I be scared?"

 

"I don't know."

 

I helped Dennis carry his things up the stairs to our room (which he was paying half of the price for), with many objections from him. Wouldn't my mom just trip if she could see this?! I wished she could for just a moment.

 

Dennis was such a humble guy, quite opposite of my boyfriend. He was quiet and meek and overall, very nice. Turned out he was in college as well. Well, he was attending a technical college two states over, and he had no white classmates. "You're the nicest white person I've ever met, though," he told me. He surprised me when he said he didn't understand why there were no other available rooms. I giggled, thinking he was being sarcastic. "No, really, what did I miss? Is something happening?" He almost sounded frightened.

 

"MLK. He's coming here to speak. Why are you in town?"

 

"Oh," he said, almost unfazed, but there was something underneath his response... something I couldn't figure out in that moment. "I am heading to Michigan to see my grandmother." He quickly redirected our conversation, "So, could I see him?"

 

"Of course. I mean, I'm going. That's why I'm here!"

 

Dennis seemed to be mulling something over in his mind, so I shut up. After a few minutes of slience, I stood to go see the town. I had hardly ever been outside of California.

Author's Note

Not finished, yet. Not sure exactly where I'm going to take this. Let me know what you think!!

Reviews

[Kristin Brecoe]

i think i was referring to the typical things we check each other for. typoes tenses awkward areas.

[Kristin Brecoe]

I was about to say. You left me hanging. And it's been in the last bit of the story. There were a few other bits that can be fixed up, but I'll tell you that later when you and I both got more time. And you sure study a lot. You better get the grade you want with all that effort you are putting out.

-Kristin