Deep South stuff

 I was born and raised in the Deep South, and have lived to tell about it.

And tell about it. . . I did, in my 2017 novel, King of Soul.

In 1963, Medgar Evers was shot dead in his own front yard by a white supremecist. 

My novelic story in King of Soul describes events that might have happened the next day.

Here is one scene in which a housemaid, Aleen, is sitting at a dining room table where she is usually the server; but on this particular day, the lady of the house has chosen to serve her: 

        Cora Jean . . . stood up. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back. Please keep your seat, Aleen.”

       Then it was Aleen and Donnie sitting at the dining table. Donnie felt a little funny about it; this had never happened before. In the evenings, the table was usually stocked with supper, most of which Aleen had cooked, before she went home to cook for her own family. Donnie’s sister, Nancy, walked in the room. She’s nine. 

       “Where’s mama?” she said. She was looking at Aleen with curiosity.

       “In the kitchen,” Donnie replied. “Go see her.”

       “No.”

       “Go ask her if we can have some sweet potato pie.”

       “No. It’s too close to dinner for pie,” objected Nancy.

       “No, it’s not. Go ask her.”

       “You go ask her.”

       “Aw, shucks, Nancy, go sit on the couch. Me and Aleen are talkin’.”

       “Talkin’ about what? I can talk too.”

       “Grown-up stuff.”

       “You’re not a grownup,” charged Nancy, sticking her lower lip out.

       Now that was true. Sally was a little smarter than Donnie thought. She had not always been, though.

       Nancy walked halfway around the table, next to Aleen. “Are you gonna cook some dinner for us, Aleen?” she asked, meekly. Her brown eyes were wide open with anticipation. 

       Aleen just smiled at her, and stroked the stray bangs from the girl’s forehead. 

       “Aw, Nancy, mama’s makin’ dinner,” Donnie declared. “ Today’s different. Can’t you see that?”

       “Oh yeah, smarty pants! What’s different about it?” she persisted.

       Now Donnie was stumped. Something was indeed different about today, but he didn’t know what, except he knew that some important colored man had been shot and Aleen’s daughter had been arrested. 

       His sister was involved now, and she liked it that way. She looked at Donnie, challenging him with her eyes. “Aleen’s sittin’ at the table. That’s what’s different!”

       Donnie could not argue with that. It’s a fact.  

Fast forward: Last night, I was watching a 1990 movie, The Long Walk Home, on Amazon.The story there depicts events surrounding the Montgomery bus boycott of 1955-56. There was a turning point moment in the video that echoed my novel scene above. So I snapped it: 

King of Soul