“Well, I’m certainly not pregnant!”
“Let’s get on with the exam, shall we?”
I looked again at the stirrups and fully realized the position I would be in to get my feet into them. I met the doctor’s eyes once more. “Can we get the nurse in here?”
“I told you there’s no need for a nurse. Now, if you want this form filled out, get into position. I’m sure you know the position.”
I was silent a moment, considering what he meant by that, then I said quietly, “I told you I’ve never had a pelvic exam.”
“Come now. A pelvic exam has nothing to do with knowing the position. All you colored girls know it, married or not.”
I got down from the table. I had never spread my legs for any man, and I certainly was not about to do so for the first time with a white man, doctor or not, not without a nurse present.
“What are you doing?” the doctor asked, looking startled.
“I don’t think I’ll take the exam,” I said.
“But you need it for the form.”
“I also need a nurse in here.”
He became indignant. “Why? I’m a doctor!”
“I said I want a nurse in here for the exam, so why can’t a nurse come in?”
“Because I said so.”
I had heard those words from white folks all my life. Even more than this man’s implications concerning my character, I hated those words from white people. They cut me to the core. “You need to understand something,” I said. “I’m not putting my feet into stirrups for you without a nurse being in here, so I guess this exam is over.”
He turned red. “You think I want something from you? You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.”
“I’d like to get dressed now.”
“Well, I won’t be signing off on this form.”
“Fine,” I said.
He glared at me, took his file, and left the room. He left the unsigned form on the table. I got dressed, folded the form, and put it back in my purse. I returned to the waiting room, paid the office clerk for the visit, and waited for Dee. “How’d it go?” Dee asked when she came out with the girls.
“Not as expected,” I said, hurrying from the office. I did not want to stay any longer in this place. “I won’t be getting the job.”
“What? How do you know?”
“I’ll tell you about it in the car. Let’s go.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
Dee told me I could go to another doctor to fill out my form, but I figured them all to be the same. They all were white. By the time Moe arrived, I was in a foul mood. My friend Brenda from down the street and her boyfriend, Henry, were going to the movies with us and Dee had invited them to join us for dinner. I stayed quiet all through dinner. When Stacey asked about the visit to the doctor’s office and if I had gotten the form filled out, I said I would talk about it with him later. The whole thing was too embarrassing to talk about in front of everybody. Stacey just studied me without comment as Dee quickly changed the subject. When dinner was over, Moe, Henry, Brenda, and I headed downtown to the theater. We went in Moe’s car. Whenever Moe and I went out, if not with the family, it was usually with Brenda and Henry, for even though I was a grown woman, the tradition of double dating remained, and that was expected until I married. That was simply the way things were with many of the families from back home.
Moe, a mocha-chocolate young man, tall and skinny, parked his car a block from the theater, and with Brenda and Henry a few feet behind us and out of hearing, he asked quietly, “What’s wrong, Cassie? You’ve hardly had a word to say all evening.”
“Didn’t have anything I wanted to say.”
“That’s not like you.”
“It is today,” I said, and we walked the rest of the way in silence.
There was a line as we approached the ticket window located in a bubble-like structure in front of the theater. It was a long line and all who stood there were white. In Mississippi there was a separate entry for “colored,” but in Toledo white and colored stood in the same line to buy a ticket. “So, are you going to tell me what’s the matter or not?” Moe persisted as we waited.
“Just had a run-in about something.”
“What kind of something?”
“Don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay.” Moe let the matter drop. That was the way it was with Moe. He seldom pressed me about anything. Because of that, I usually told him just about everything, when I figured I was ready. Moe was aware of this and his easygoing nature allowed him to be patient with me. Moe bought the tickets and we entered the theater. At the concession counter, Brenda pulled me aside and told me she needed to go to the ladies’ room. I didn’t have to use the restroom, but I went with Brenda. The ladies’ room was in the lower lobby. Brenda and I descended a winding staircase covered in plush, red, velvet-like carpeting to the lower lobby, which was smaller than the lobby upstairs but had the same thick carpet and was furnished with large, comfortable sofas where people were lounging while awaiting the start of the movie. All those people lounging were white.
We crossed the lobby to the door marked “Ladies” and entered first into a small room with a sofa and chairs. A mirror covered one of the walls. A counter and chairs were in front of it. Women and teenage girls, all white, occupied the chairs as they combed blond or sandy-colored hair, primped their faces, and reddened their lips. Then we entered the next room, lined with toilet stalls. We were stopped by a Negro woman in a maid’s uniform. “There’s a stall at the end next to the wall you girls can use,” she said, “but you’ll have to wait. Somebody’s in there.”
A door opened to a stall near us and a white woman came out. “There’s one open,” I said. “Go on, Brenda.”
Brenda hesitated and the attendant said, “One at the end’ll be open in a minute.”
“Go on,” I said again to Brenda. “Thought you had to go so bad.”
Brenda looked at me, then went into the stall. The attendant stared nervously on. “You girls gonna get me in trouble,” she muttered. “Colored girls usually use the one at the end.”
I turned to her. “What?”
“Never mind,” she mumbled as another white woman stepped from a stall. The woman washed her hands and the attendant, smiling, handed her a towel. The woman thanked the attendant, tipped her a quarter, and went out. Several other women, all white, came in. Not in line, I stepped aside. One of the women entered the empty stall. Then the door to Brenda’s stall opened and Brenda came out. The second woman in line said to the woman in front of her, “There’s a stall open.”
And the other woman said, “I’m not about to use that toilet after she’s been in there.”
Brenda heard, but said nothing and went over to the sink. The attendant heard as well and she too said nothing. As another stall door opened and a white woman exited, the white woman who had made the remark started toward the stall. I stepped in front of her and looked back. “You too good to use a toilet after a colored person, you won’t be able to use this toilet either.” Then I entered the stall and closed the door in her face.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
When Brenda and I returned upstairs Moe and Henry were waiting for us at the stairs leading to the balcony. “You two certainly took long enough,” laughed Henry. “We thought you fell in.”
“We had better go on up,” said Moe. “They’re beginning the previews.”
I stared at the winding staircase as several couples made their way up the stairs. Clusters of people were already gathered on the landing. All were well-groomed, well-dressed, and all were colored. The balcony was where colored folks always sat, and it was understood that it was where we were supposed to sit. I figured not to sit there today. I was sick of the bigotry. I turned from the stairs to Moe. “Moe, could I have my ticket,
please?”
“Well . . . sure, Cassie,” Moe complied, without questioning me.
“Thanks,” I said, and moved away.
“Cassie, where you going?” asked Brenda.
“I think I’ll sit downstairs this evening.”
“What!” exclaimed Henry.
And Moe shook his head. “Cassie . . .”
“I’m not sitting in the balcony, Moe. Not today.”
“Girl, you must be nuts!” surmised Henry. “What’s got into you?”
Brenda grabbed my arm. “Cassie, don’t get us into trouble!”
My eyes locked on hers. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. Go on upstairs.” I looked at Moe. “You too, Moe. I’ll sit down here by myself.” I didn’t wait for Moe to respond. I left the three of them standing there and headed for one of the two downstairs entries into the theater.
I got in line behind a white couple. As the young uniformed usher took their tickets with a friendly smile and said, “Hope you enjoy the show,” I stepped forward. With his head turned toward the couple who had just passed, the usher, still smiling, turned toward me and his smile vanished. “Uh . . . you’re in the wrong line.”
“I don’t see any other line,” I said. “Here’s my ticket.”
The usher reddened. “Like I said . . . uh, you’re in the wrong line. You’re supposed to be in the balcony.” He nodded toward the stairs. “You just head up those stairs. Someone’ll take your ticket up there.”
“No, I don’t think so. I’m sitting downstairs today. Here’s my ticket.”
“And here’s mine.” I turned. Moe took my ticket and held both toward the usher.
“But you can’t—” objected the usher.
“We’ll need our stubs back,” Moe said.
The usher was baffled. He looked around for help, but the lobby had cleared and there seemed no one available. Most of the moviegoers were now inside.
“Could you hurry up?” I asked the usher. “The movie is about to start.”
Seemingly not knowing what to do, the usher took the tickets, tore them in half, and handed the stubs to Moe. “I’ll have to get the manager, you know,” he said as we walked past him.
“Go ahead,” I said. “We’ll be down front.” With that, I stepped into the darkened theater with Moe beside me and walked the plush red carpet toward the huge screen looming before us.
It was a long walk down the aisle and the audience began to take notice. A murmur rose against the backdrop of cartoons on the screen. I tried to ignore them. There were three sections of seating divided by two aisles, with the center section being triple the size of the two sections that ran along the walls. Four rows from the stage were empty seats right at the entry to the row. I took the second seat from the aisle and Moe sat in the aisle seat. I had finally made it to the main floor, the forbidden section of the theater. The irony was, though, as I sat watching the screen, I realized that the view of the massive screen was actually better from the balcony. But I kept telling myself it was the principle of the thing. Several seats separated us from the other moviegoers in the row, who nudged each other and turned to stare at us.
All eyes in the theater, it seemed, were on us.
I sipped the drink Moe had bought me. Moe looked at me and smiled. “Popcorn?” he said, offering me the box. I smiled back and took a handful. Then we both set our gaze on the screen. The main feature was about to begin. A few minutes into it, murmuring rose from the back of the theater and, turning, Moe and I saw a circle of light on the aisle floor. Then two men, one carrying a flashlight, were standing at our row. One was the young ticket taker. The other was a much older man who announced softly, “I am the manager. The two of you will have to leave.”
Moe and I looked at the screen.
The manager continued. “Now, I don’t want any trouble in here, but if you don’t leave voluntarily, I’ll have to call the police.”
Moe didn’t say anything, but I knew what he was thinking. He couldn’t afford to deal with the police. He could have gotten up and left, but I knew he wouldn’t. I had started this thing and he was leaving it up to me. I acknowledged Moe with a look and said to the manager, “Why do we have to leave? We paid our money just like everybody else sitting here.”
The manager seemed startled by my question. “Why? You know as well as I do the answer to that. You want to see this movie, you’ll have to move upstairs.”
Moe and I just sat there, staring straight ahead.
The manager’s voice rose. “Are you going to leave?”
Without turning to him, I repeated, “We paid to see this movie. We should be able to sit where we want.”
“Then you give me no choice,” said the manager. “I’ll have to call the police.” The manager left with the usher behind him. Murmuring rose throughout the theater.
Moe took my hand. “Cassie . . .”
“You’d better leave,” I said.
“I need to speak to Henry,” said Moe. “I’ll be right back.” Without giving me a chance to say anything else, Moe got up. I held the box of popcorn and my drink and gazed at the screen. The murmuring subsided and all grew quiet again, except for the action on the screen.
Moe did not come right back. He was gone so long I began to worry that maybe the police had already been called before the manager spoke to us and maybe they were arresting Moe. I hadn’t been afraid before. Now I was. This had been a stupid thing for me to do. I knew it. I already knew too what would happen if we sat here and so did Moe, yet he had come with me anyway. I figured I needed to go see about him, but before I made up my mind to do just that he came back and sat down beside me. The moviegoers took notice with renewed mutterings.
“What took you so long?” I whispered.
“Wanted to ask Henry to call his father. He already had.”
“Attorney Tate’s coming?”
“If there’s going to be trouble, maybe he can get us out of it.”
“They didn’t try to stop you from coming back in?”
“No,” Moe said. “They didn’t lay a hand on me. They’ve called the police.”
“Then you’d better go.”
“No.” He looked at me and again took my hand. “Not without you.”
As I looked at Moe I knew I needed to swallow my pride and not put Moe through this. He had too much to lose. I knew we had to leave, but still I sat there. I sat there too long. Light flooded the theater and the movie was stopped. The crowd reacted with a noisy swell, including a sudden rise of voices from the balcony. Heads turned as four men walked down the aisle toward Moe and me. The manager was one of the men, accompanied by two policemen. The fourth man was Stacey. The manager and the policemen stood back and it was Stacey who approached us. He stopped at our row, looked at me, and quietly said, “All right, Cassie, let’s go.”
I looked at Stacey, took a moment, then got up. So did Moe. “You call him?” I asked softly of Moe.
“Figured he was the only one who could talk sense to you.”
Moe stepped into the aisle and I followed, and together we left with Stacey. The manager and the police walked behind us. As we passed down the aisle, someone said, not in a shout, but loud enough to be heard, “Damn niggers! Think they can do anything they want!” I turned, but Stacey, not stopping and not turning, took me by the elbow and led me out. We stepped into the lobby and the lights dimmed behind us and the movie resumed. All was calm now. The moviegoers could see their film in peace.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
Attorney Charles Tate stood at the far end of the lobby talking to two white police officers. Brenda and Henry stood apart from them, watching the group as Henry’s father did most of the talking. Other than the two groups, the lobby was deserted except for three people behind the concession counter, who looked on curiously as they awaited the next w
ave of moviegoers. The manager headed straight for Attorney Tate and the other policemen. The policemen who had escorted us into the lobby, after warning Moe and me not to leave, went with him. Stacey followed, joining Lawyer Tate and the police. Brenda and Henry joined Moe and me.
The police talked only a few minutes to Lawyer Tate and Stacey, then, with only a glance at Moe and me, left the building. Through the glass doors of the theater we could see them standing outside, but they did not get into their cars. Attorney Tate and Stacey came over to us. “Enjoy the movie?” asked Attorney Tate with all seriousness. Then he smiled and waved us toward the doors. “Come on,” he said, “we need to talk.”
The manager watched us leave.
Outside, Attorney Tate herded us down the street. I looked back. The police had not moved. “What about them?” I asked.
“My car’s around the corner,” said Lawyer Tate. “Just keep walking.” I glanced back once more as we rounded the corner. The police were still standing there. When we reached Attorney Tate’s car, he said, “Miss Logan, I understand you’re the instigator of all this.” He set his lawyer eyes on me and waited for me to respond.
“Well . . . I suppose I am.”
“Now, for my own understanding, I would like to know why you thought sitting down on the main floor of that theater was so important? Couldn’t you see the screen just as well from the balcony?”
“Probably better,” I admitted.
“Then what was so important about the main floor?”
I glanced at Stacey and Moe, then looked again at Lawyer Tate. I was finally getting a chance to explain myself. “It’s the principle of the thing, Mr. Tate. All my life, living in Mississippi, it was understood everything was separate. Up here, this was supposed to be like the promised land.”
The lawyer smiled. “And it’s not?”
“It’s a false promise, Mr. Tate. The signs aren’t there, but the rules are there just the same. I wanted to sit downstairs, just because I wanted to have the choice to do so.”
All the Days Past, All the Days to Come Page 5