Excerpt from memoir-in-progress, The Roads.

EXCITEMENT FILLED US ON THE DAY OF THE PARTY. Mena had purchased new clothes for the three of us because we would attend the party too. Even then, she was exhibiting signs of the fashionista she would become later in life as our financial picture improved. She dressed Malcolm and BB in little boy versions of the popular suit with fitted legs that made them resemble mini Temptations. Malcolm wore blue, while BB’s suit was a dark mossy green. I wore a black dress with a white tulip collar and a huge upside-down white cross on the front. On either side of the two huge lines crossed was a red button. She finished my outfit with white go-go boots and dared me to get a drop of dirt on them!

As for the party, hair and clothing wouldn’t be the only notable items on display. She knew it wasn’t much, but Mena had purchased a lead crystal punch bowl set while she was in Germany. It was the first of what she hoped would be many beautiful pieces she could display in her home. The movers had even had to pack it in front of her. Tonight would be the first of many celebrations where she could pull the beautiful punch bowl set out. She had placed it in the center of the kitchen table, which she had covered with the beautiful dark gray linen and lace tablecloth borrowed from Cille’s sister Kelly, who had also loaned her a record player and several records containing the latest songs.

Cille was cooking food for the party and planning to drop it off two hours before people arrived. On the menu were deviled eggs, cucumber, and tomato salad, homemade pickles, chicken and dumplings, fried chicken, ham, fried catfish, dirty rice, potato salad, collard greens, creamed corn, Cille’s homemade yeast rolls, pound cake, peach cobbler, pecan pie, chocolate cake with chocolate icing, coconut cake, and Cille’s special fruit punch!

We were excited when we knew Cille was delivering the food. We were always happy to see her and Daddy together or on their own. The time we had spent living with them had truly cemented our bond.

I was also excited to see my Uncle Alfie again. He was my favorite uncle. He had gotten married just before being drafted into the U.S. Army. His new wife, Lola, was light-skinned with long flowing hair and fell into a category of black people so fair and with hair so straight they could pass for white. Throughout the years, many of these black men and women have disappeared into white society, some against the wishes of their families and others with the blessings of their families. Some families even conspired with their members to pass into white culture to improve the entire family's economic standing.

Mena had arranged things so everyone would arrive at the party an hour before Alfie because she wanted them to clap when he walked in the door. Before Alfie showed up, Mena pointed out all the food Cille had made for the party. It was also an excuse to point out the beautiful crystal punch bowl and glasses in the middle of the table.

By the time Alfie, our guest of honor, and Lola arrived, looking sharp and very happy, everyone knew where the food, bathrooms, and liquor were. The lookout had spotted them in time for everyone to greet them as they entered the front door.

When everyone applauded, Alfie teared up and said, “Boy, y’all just don't know how good it is to be home.”

Everyone took turns hugging and kissing them and telling Alfie how they and their families had continuously prayed for his safety. He thanked them and asked that they thank their family members. He knew their prayers were the only reason he had made it home. Everyone gathered in front of the table, where Mena invited Alfie to pray over the food. Mena had the guests of honor fix their plates first. Everyone else lined up behind them, and the party started. There was much discussion about the beautiful punch bowl and the delicious food Cille had prepared. The table was practically exploding with food, thanks to Cille.

There wasn’t a place to sit down and eat properly because all the food was on the dining table at the back of the kitchen. People just held their plates on their laps and ate. The conversation understandably turned to the assassination of Dr. King, especially since the killer was still on the loose.

One person said, “Well, at least they gone have the FBI vestigating. Otherwise, they’ll never catch nobody. Them crackers in Memphis is glad Dr. King dead. Now they ain’t got to worry ‘bout givin them black garbage mens no raise.”

This caused a longtime friend of Von’s from his old neighborhood to say, “Hell--oops! Sorry, I forgot y’all had ya kids here. Uh, heck, I’m surprised they admittin it’s a white man already. I figured they’d try and blame it on the nearest ignant nigga just to keep the peace.”

Von’s sister Belinda jumped in with, “Naw, they couldn’t cover that up. Too many news crews floatin round Memphis with all they eyes on Dr. King. Naw, they ain’t that stupid.”

Next to weigh in was one of Alfie's friends from school who said, “If I knew who done it, I’d stick a shotgun in his mouth and blow his brains out myself.”

Upon hearing the comment, Alfie jumped to his feet, spilling what little food was left on his plate. He walked slowly and sadly over to his friend and, using a semi-hushed but urgent tone, said, “Naw man, don’t do that, don’t you never do that to no man. Ya hear me? You don’t know what ya sayin man. Ya hear me?”

Realizing how badly his words had upset Alfie, the friend smiled and said, “Come on, Alf, man you know I’m just runnin' my mouth. What I look like shootin any white man? My life wouldn’t be worth a plugged nickel. Hell, it ain’t worth a plugged nickel to white folks as it is. I fool around and shoot one of em, I’m good as dead. Won’t matter one bit bout him havin killed Dr. King. Naw, man, you know I’m just runnin' my mouth.”

Alfie’s face relaxed as he laughed uneasily and said, “Yeah, you always been one for jokin round.”

As the tension relaxed, Mena said, “Hey, we came here to have a party, not sit round talkin' bout sad stuff. Come on, y’all, help me move this living room furniture aside so we can dance.

Everyone put their dishes in the kitchen and helped move the furniture to the sides of the living room. Mena brought the record player with all the records out, and Alfie picked the first song. He put on Aretha Franklin’s “Respect” and started dancing. He tried to pull Lola onto the dance floor, but she laughingly declined. She was beautiful, sweet, and an excellent wife, but she made no secret that she was not a party girl.

He ran over and pulled me onto the dance floor instead. I happily started dancing with him. Outside of Von and Daddy, he was the closest male figure in my life, so dancing with him was completely natural. Malcolm and BB saw us dancing and jumped in, too. When they saw Alfie showing me how to do the twist, they excitedly followed along. Someone changed the record to “Reflections” by Diana Ross and the Supremes, prompting Alfie to grab both my hands and start doing a two-step wherein he would swing my arms wildly or pick me up and twirl me around from time to time. I was giggling uncontrollably, and Alfie was happily watching my face and taking it all in. Our merriment prompted others to join in the dance. I alternated between dancing and taking dessert and punch breaks for the duration of the party.

Insisting that we dance had been the right thing to do. Most of the adults, except for Lola, Mena, and her sister Lena were drinking the alcohol, laughing, and showing off the latest dance moves. Several people who hadn’t eaten dessert with their meal were milling in and out of the kitchen to fill their plates with sweets.

I have always had a mean sweet tooth, and Mena was busy with her hostess duties, so I worked the situation to my advantage. I lost count of all the sweets I ate that night. My saving grace was that most people only gave me a tiny sliver of cake or pie, figuring I would waste it. Otherwise, I probably would’ve gotten sick. On my last pass into the kitchen, Alfie stood beside the table, devouring a slice of coconut cake. I asked him if I could have some, and he cut what, to my little eyes, looked like a giant, though jaggedly cut, slice. He nearly dropped the plate while handing it to me but caught it. We both laughed. I was giddy with the size of my haul. I went to exit the kitchen doorway to the living room. Just as I stepped through the door's opening and turned towards my seat, I heard a loud crash behind me! It was so loud I screamed and jumped along with everyone else in the room.

My plate of coconut cake went flying into the air, but I was so startled I didn’t realize it. All I could think about was seeing what had happened behind me.

My eyes fell on a debris field containing all manner of food, assorted broken and unbroken dishes, and most frightening of all, shards of glass surrounded by red liquid. I screamed, “AAALLLLFIIIIEEEEEE.!” He was the last person I had seen in the kitchen, so I thought sure the red liquid was his blood, and he was dead, just like Dr. King. Gone… Forever.

On the heels of my scream, a loud primal wail came from the kitchen, “AHHHHHHhhhhhhhhh! They done kilt ‘em all! Martin, Thomas, William, and Harry! It don’t matta how big and famous ya git, a black man’s life don’t mean nuthin.”

The men ran toward the kitchen first, yelling for the women to stand back until they called for them. Now everyone was either scared or crying. My two brothers and I were hysterical with tears.

As soon as they entered the doorway, someone yelled, “He alright! He landed mostly under the table, not in front of it.”

Mena said in a shaky voice, “Is it safe for us to come in yet?”

The voice said, “Yeah, but we prolly ought to get him outta here first, and watch out for all the glass. Better get some different shoes on Minnie. Ya got glass all over the place in here. If ya got some work boots, that’d be best.”

They carried Alfie out of the kitchen, past all the guests, and into a back bedroom, with Mena leading the way. Tears streaming down his face as he continued his pitiful roll call: Martin, Thomas, William, and Harry! They all gone, and for what? Nothin! Martin, Thomas, William, and Harry! Murdered for being born black in a white man’s world!

When Mena returned from showing the men where to take Alfie, the rest of the guests had already started cleaning up the mess.

Lola, who had gone into the bedroom with Alfie, was crying and apologizing profusely to Mena, saying, “We gone pay you back for anything he broke if it’s the last thang we do, Minnie.”

Mena may have been concerned about her broken physical possessions, but she had just come to the startling realization that her brother had come home from Vietnam terribly broken, and her husband was now in the same place for the very same reason!

As she walked back into the living room, Von’s sisters were trying to comfort us kids. I had cake frosting all over the back of my dress and hair, but I was too overwrought to realize it.

Louisa, the older of Von’s two sisters, said, “Minnie, it ain’t good for these kids to be seein' all of this. Ain’t there somewhere we can take em? You want me to take ‘em to my house? But Dru got to have a change of clothes first. Look, she covered in cake frosting.”

Mena gave Louisa a towel and a set of sleeping clothes to clean and change me just before she called Aunt Emma to arrange for us to spend the night with her. Von’s other sister, Belinda, changed Malcolm and BB out of their party clothes and into sleeping clothes.

Alfie had been taken to a bedroom in the center of the apartment, hoping his cries wouldn’t disturb the neighbors. Louisa had to walk me past that bedroom to get to the bathroom. After she cleaned me up, I knew we would have to pass it again. The thought of seeing into the room both fascinated and frightened me.

His wails could be heard from all the bedrooms because they were clustered in one hallway.

As Louisa cleaned me up, I heard, “Me, Thomas, William, and Harry shoulda been home ridin’ our daddy’s tractors. Instead, they threw us over there to get shot up and blowed up! Thomas died in my arms, blood pumping all over me! William, aw lawd William, almost wasn’t nothin' left to send home. And Harry, woo Harry. That bullet was meant for me! He pushed me, Lord, he pushed me, he pushed me, out the way! Jesus, help me! Why did he do it?”

They had closed the door but had to rush out for a trash can as we walked by on our way out. There Alfie was, lying face down on the floor, still crying and wailing, but now he was vomiting everywhere, so the foul smell of liquor and vomit hung thick in the air. I peered in as I walked past, horrified at what I saw but unable to take my eyes off it. Who was the person down on the floor? The one who destroyed food and furniture and ruined parties. This man looked like my favorite Uncle Alfie, but didn’t act like him.

We walked into the living room, and I saw Mena standing still with a stricken look, holding two large shards of crystal. Instead of her fancy shoes, she wore work boots on her feet.

One of the men said, “Here, Minnie, ya still got a few glasses. That’s somethin', ain’t it?”

Truly realizing how fortunate she was to have her brother home in one piece, she answered, “Yeah, you right, it is somethin’. It’s a lot more than a lotta families got. Here, give ‘em to me. And thank ya. Thank all of y’all for helpin'.”

As we walked out the front door that night, it felt good to know Mena had people helping her.

Aunt Emma greeted us at the door with a concerned look.

She asked Louisa, “He gone be alright?”

Louisa smiled and answered, “Yes, ma’am, he just had too much to drink. More n likely, he jus ain’t used to it.”

Aunt Emma bid her goodnight, took us in, and put us to bed.

Like most black families, we suppressed our emotions surrounding the national and personal traumatic events of that week. We just didn’t discuss them. Aunt Emma wanted to go to Dr. King’s funeral but finally decided it was too dangerous for her to go and equally as dangerous for her nephew to take the day off from his job, working for the state, to take her. The danger to her nephew was economic, not physical, because there was no doubt that his bosses would fire him if they found out he attended Dr. King’s funeral. Many blacks were afraid to take the day off even if they were genuinely sick. They ran the risk of being called militant for attending Dr. King’s funeral. The fact that someone could fire a person for using their earned time off to participate in a funeral was wrong, but for black folks, it was just one of the many ugly injustices we had to live with. In the end, Aunt Emma and Mena watched the funeral together in the safety of our living room, tears streaming down their faces. I sat next to them. I didn’t cry.

Funeral procession for Martin Luther King, Jr., April 9, 1968, Atlanta. AP/REX/Shutterstock.com

Virjena Whitehead is a retired Special Education Teacher. During her 20-year teaching career, she specialized in working with emotionally disturbed youth. She is working on a coming-of-age memoir that will be the first in a trilogy to follow her into adulthood because we don’t come of age until we’re well into our 30s or 40s. Virjena lives in the San Bernardino Mountains of Southern California. Her hobbies include cooking, reading, writing, traveling, eating, learning, and living. She holds a Master of Arts in Education from Claremont Graduate University in Claremont, California, and a Bachelor of Arts in Liberal Studies from LaSierra University in Riverside, California. She has also studied Architecture and Theology.

The Roads: Assassination of Black Men (Part II)

The Cycle

My Heart Beats