FREEDOM, MISSISSIPPI: 1960 by Alana King
Sarafina stares out the window of the bus en route to Washington High—Booker T., not George. George was no one but a slave-holding, southern white man, and Freedom’s full of them already. If they were gonna name the school after someone like that, plenty of townfolk could receive the honor. Booker T. wasn’t much better for the name of a colored school: it was named after an “accommodator,” a black man trying to conform to a white man’s world instead of standing up and standing out as an equal in a supposedly colorblind world.
This is her last year of her accommodating, then she can leave. Go far away from Freedom—from the people in Freedom. It’s hard for her to make a good life for herself in a place that expects nothing from her. Worse to be in a place that demands it. She shouldn’t even be in school anymore as far as anyone else is concerned. Not when there are mouths to feed, rent to pay, and a nice family on the right side of the tracks ready to pay her good money to go work for them. Even got a “nice colored quarters” for her to stay in. Such a nice offer it is, being allowed to stay in the home she’d work in all day and the price for the privilege to do so would leave enough to make a dent in the sea of poverty in which her mother is drowning in. Why she’s being pushed into considering it.
The Hays family. Mrs. Hays was the one who offered Sarafina the position via her mother. Mr. Hays had been commenting on them being able to afford the extra help for months now. Ever since the late-in-life baby, Landon Junior—finally, for Senior, who had to survive four girls and his wife’s miscarriage to finally get the son he always wanted at the age of forty—was born, the house has been in need of someone to take care of it. Mrs. Hays told Sarafina’s mother to tell her that the sooner Sarafina could start, the better.
Better for who, Sarafina doesn’t know. Not better for her, that’s for certain. If her life’s goal was to be someone’s domestic, then what’s the point for her to go to school? The three R’s didn’t cover cooking, cleaning and caring: the three C’s every colored girl in Freedom should know. It’s not like they would ever be the chance to do anything more than care for somebody or clean for somebody once they leave school. Not graduate, most don’t graduate. Most get called to provide a white person the three C’s before their schooling is complete.
The three C’s is something Sarafina would never have to rely on if she could help it.
Reelect Landon Hays Freedom County Sheriff, says a sign the bus passes on the way to school.
Like anyone wouldn’t, she thinks. Located on the colored side of town, no less; like any of them can vote or something. Good ole Sherriff Hays took care of that trouble last time around. No one’s heard from Ernest, the man who tried to vote for Stephenson in the ’56 election since election night. Not a single colored person in the entire county’s tried to vote since then. Can’t here, not if they wanna live to see another day.
From what she’s overheard from white people as she serves them at the restaurant she works at after school, no one’s even contesting the sheriff’s race this time around. Why, good ole Landon Hays has done the town a world of good since first being elected to the post in fifty four after the old sheriff had to resign on account of being caught in a compromising position with a colored girl Sarafina used to know. The girl was sent up north to “visit relatives” and hasn’t come back since. Sarafina saw her once three years ago when she went to visit Big Momma in Chicago.
The girl’s son had his daddy’s bright blue eyes.
It’ll take a similar scandal to get good ole Landon Hays out of office. His daddy was sheriff. His daddy’s daddy was sheriff. His daddy’s daddy was one of the men who founded Freedom shortly after the War of Northern Aggression ended.
Sarafina rolls her eyes at the thought of Freedom’s incorporation as she looks out the bus’s window. Freedom was the last thing the founders wanted. At least, for people like her. Still, they’ve always made sure to keep colored folk as far down as they legally can without outrightly enslaving them. Slavery’s against the law; anything short of it isn’t.
The bus screeches to a sudden stop, making all the passengers jerk forward. One of the boys sitting three to a two-person seat falls into the aisle. It’s his own fault, the bus driver declares, “should’ve sat where he was supposed to, wouldn’t be a mangled piece on the floor right now had he minded the rules.”
Sarafina gets off the bus and is greeted by a full-sized poster of good ole Landon Hays, picture and all. A good man, good for Freedom. She looks good and hard at good ole Landon Hays before walking up the steps to enter the building.
Sarafina has her daddy’s eyes.
//ww
This is her last year of her accommodating, then she can leave. Go far away from Freedom—from the people in Freedom. It’s hard for her to make a good life for herself in a place that expects nothing from her. Worse to be in a place that demands it. She shouldn’t even be in school anymore as far as anyone else is concerned. Not when there are mouths to feed, rent to pay, and a nice family on the right side of the tracks ready to pay her good money to go work for them. Even got a “nice colored quarters” for her to stay in. Such a nice offer it is, being allowed to stay in the home she’d work in all day and the price for the privilege to do so would leave enough to make a dent in the sea of poverty in which her mother is drowning in. Why she’s being pushed into considering it.
The Hays family. Mrs. Hays was the one who offered Sarafina the position via her mother. Mr. Hays had been commenting on them being able to afford the extra help for months now. Ever since the late-in-life baby, Landon Junior—finally, for Senior, who had to survive four girls and his wife’s miscarriage to finally get the son he always wanted at the age of forty—was born, the house has been in need of someone to take care of it. Mrs. Hays told Sarafina’s mother to tell her that the sooner Sarafina could start, the better.
Better for who, Sarafina doesn’t know. Not better for her, that’s for certain. If her life’s goal was to be someone’s domestic, then what’s the point for her to go to school? The three R’s didn’t cover cooking, cleaning and caring: the three C’s every colored girl in Freedom should know. It’s not like they would ever be the chance to do anything more than care for somebody or clean for somebody once they leave school. Not graduate, most don’t graduate. Most get called to provide a white person the three C’s before their schooling is complete.
The three C’s is something Sarafina would never have to rely on if she could help it.
Reelect Landon Hays Freedom County Sheriff, says a sign the bus passes on the way to school.
Like anyone wouldn’t, she thinks. Located on the colored side of town, no less; like any of them can vote or something. Good ole Sherriff Hays took care of that trouble last time around. No one’s heard from Ernest, the man who tried to vote for Stephenson in the ’56 election since election night. Not a single colored person in the entire county’s tried to vote since then. Can’t here, not if they wanna live to see another day.
From what she’s overheard from white people as she serves them at the restaurant she works at after school, no one’s even contesting the sheriff’s race this time around. Why, good ole Landon Hays has done the town a world of good since first being elected to the post in fifty four after the old sheriff had to resign on account of being caught in a compromising position with a colored girl Sarafina used to know. The girl was sent up north to “visit relatives” and hasn’t come back since. Sarafina saw her once three years ago when she went to visit Big Momma in Chicago.
The girl’s son had his daddy’s bright blue eyes.
It’ll take a similar scandal to get good ole Landon Hays out of office. His daddy was sheriff. His daddy’s daddy was sheriff. His daddy’s daddy was one of the men who founded Freedom shortly after the War of Northern Aggression ended.
Sarafina rolls her eyes at the thought of Freedom’s incorporation as she looks out the bus’s window. Freedom was the last thing the founders wanted. At least, for people like her. Still, they’ve always made sure to keep colored folk as far down as they legally can without outrightly enslaving them. Slavery’s against the law; anything short of it isn’t.
The bus screeches to a sudden stop, making all the passengers jerk forward. One of the boys sitting three to a two-person seat falls into the aisle. It’s his own fault, the bus driver declares, “should’ve sat where he was supposed to, wouldn’t be a mangled piece on the floor right now had he minded the rules.”
Sarafina gets off the bus and is greeted by a full-sized poster of good ole Landon Hays, picture and all. A good man, good for Freedom. She looks good and hard at good ole Landon Hays before walking up the steps to enter the building.
Sarafina has her daddy’s eyes.
//ww