It was on a cold night, December the 1st, 1955. I remember the day, because on that very day they light up the Christmas tree on our street. The wind was howling, and the pale snow froze the tips of my toes as it covered my feet. I held tight onto my brown coat, a coat that’s suffered with me for the past nine winters, and a pink woolen scarf my Aunt nit for me. My body was aching from hours of work; all I wanted was to get home. I walked on the edge of the road; the bus stop was only a couple of feet away. Rushing towards it, I noticed the bus driver looking annoyed in the review mirror, his hand anxiously tapping the steering wheel. I handed over the few coins I had left in my purse, and sat myself near the window not so far from the back of the bus.

Two white people were sitting behind me. A young-looking man dressed in a smart suit, and a young woman clinging on his arm. The lady had red ringlets hidden behind a hat, and she wore a blue scarf that was firmly tightened around her neck. I put down my bags, and slowly took my feet out of my damp shoes. Just as I had begun to close my eyes, a middle-aged white man entered the bus. He walked confidently towards my seat and demanded that I moved. I was stunned; who did this man think he was? I was irritated and refused to move from my seat. I'm tired of being treated like a second-class citizen. A sense of coldness washed over me, and my heart began to thump.

My feet were now numb, and I could feel the blister that had been penetrating deeply under my baby toe. I knew it would cause trouble, but I simply turned my head away, facing the window that was now covered in mist, and said ‘no’. Before long, the bus driver rushed over with rage. His eyes were a bulging red, and one of his veins was thumping across his forehead. The man was overweight and each part of his body shook as he spoke, and a drop of spit escaped his mouth every now and then. As he stood beside the middle-aged man, he shouted to me ‘Get your colored skin off my bus!’ Strangely enough, I was not frightened. My mind was set on the two children playing outside, throwing handfuls of snow to one another. They played with smiles on their faces, they didn’t know anything besides innocence, and the world was a peaceful playground for them.


When I turned towards the two men, now even more annoyed, I noticed how everyone in the bus was watching us. Some had shocked expressions on their faces, but sat silently. Near the front, a black family that had quickly gotten off the bus and were now making their way down the street. The baby that they were carrying didn’t have anything to keep it warm. Although the mother did her best to hug him tight, he cried hopelessly.
Seeing this made me angrier. It was time someone put an end to the injustice of our country. I couldn’t even count how many lives were being destroyed, how many people went hungry at night, how many children without education. All of us being forced to suffer for their greed. Whatever my individual desires were to be free, I was not alone. There were many others who felt the same way.

‘If you don’t move it, I’ll call the cops and have you arrested’ said the bus man through his teeth. I could almost sense his burning desire to hit me. All his hatred towards the color of my skin was almost legible on his forehead.
But as I sat firmly, focusing on the children behind my window, he kept his words. The passengers became anxious as they saw the two policemen making their way down the street. I watched them too, looking nervously at the wooden sticks they kept around besides their waist. As they walked I was certain of seeing a smile play around their lips.
I thought to myself, there is no time to be scared, no time for fear. If I start others will follow, it only takes one to build the path.
Each person must live their life as a model for others.


The rest of what happened after that was a blur. One of them held me tight just under my shoulder, and the other put his hand around my scarf. I looked down; I had left my shoes on the bus. I had also left my fear.