Nothing Happens Overnight

May 2nd, 1963

“There!” Mama announced as she shut off the radio. Papa said something else, but I wasn’t listening. I was too absorbed in my own thoughts. 

“Why can’t I protest or even go to school, even though Nissy can?” She wasn’t going to protest today, but I wasn’t about to tell Mama that. Nissy is short for Janice and she’s my best friend. 

“Now, I’m not Nissy’s mama, honey,” Mama huffed.

“Well, I know tha–”

“You will not protest today or any other day!” Mama never yelled, but she did today. 

Angela and Eddie Davis are my parents. I’m Lizzie Davis, I’m 12 years old, I have kind of straight (Yet still frizzy), dark hair, chocolate brown eyes, and Nissy always teases me for wearing pants instead of dresses.

May 3rd, 1963

Mama and Papa let me go to school today. I was worried that Nissy wouldn’t be at school, but she hasn't missed a day of school since I’ve known her. She said ‘hi’ and went to her first class, but not before berating me for not being at the protest. Quick as a whip, I asked her why she wasn’t at the protests either, and she turned ripe tomato–red. 

I knew the protests would start during second period, but I had no idea how many teachers and kids would make up the wave that swept me through the tight hallways and out of the building. In that wave was a kid named Will Harris. He's the one that convinced me to protest. It all went by in a flash.

Suddenly I found myself at the 16th Street Baptist Church, wondering, how did he convince me to be here?  Then, as if in a terrible nightmare, I watched my best friend get attacked by police dogs and “saved” from the chaos by a white police officer who then arrested her. Then, it was me that was being washed down the road by the forceful current of the firehose. Now it was my turn to be forced into a car and hauled off to jail. 

May 5th, 1963

The jail was bleak, hard, and the cold was stinging. But at least I had Nissy and now Will. I wouldn’t talk to Will, so poor Nissy was in the crossfire of two numbing stares. He wasn't angry at me, but I was oh so furious at him. The only thing keeping from shouting at him was the thought that if we were good enough, we would be let out. 

May 19th, 1963

I am still grounded. Two weeks later I am still grounded. At least it's better than prison. I felt genuinely guilty and apologized at least a thousand times, but it's alright now. The lesson I've learned from this mess is that the world will not get better overnight; we as human beings have to work for it.