The day she refused
DANIELLE TRIPP
Year 12, Gore High School
THE hands of the clock must have been glued down.
It said she’d had 10 minutes left for too long now, and the pain in her back was quickly increasing.
Her vision was going blurry after hours of sitting over the sewing machine as an endless mess of fabrics and patterns were scattered around her, waiting to be transformed.
When will it end?
Rosa couldn’t stand it much longer.
Eventually, a tired command was spoken: ‘‘All right ladies, that’s enough. You can all go home now’’.
The supervisor, Ms Walters, with her fancy hat and everpresent frown stretched across her white face, strolled up to Rosa’s desk.
‘‘Miss Parks, I assume you won’t mind clearing the spaces around you before you head out,’’ she said, gesturing to the catastrophic mess that took over the expanse of all the nearby tables.
It was due to the high demand of work expected from them all, throughout the long hours of their shift, that caused the chaos.
‘‘Of course Ma’am,’’ she said through gritted teeth as she began to sort the scraps from the useful fabrics.
This day had been especially bad for her.
All the same, once Rosa was finished clearing the area, she packed up her purse and shopping bag before padding out into the cold.
Rosa continued down the street, heading for the bus stop five blocks over.
She had but a few minutes to reach it or else she’d be finding her long way home by walking.
Oh Ms Walters, making me late again!
Walking past the many shops, Rosa couldn’t miss the discriminating signs outside the shops — an established jewellers with ‘‘white trade only’’ sprawled on a window sign, a diner with a flyer on the door displaying ‘‘help wanted — white only’’.
Such a natural part of society, the segregation didn’t usually faze her. But not today.
As she walked past them, a strange sensation grew in the pit of her stomach.
It was an anger towards the injustice that none of her race had any say against.
It was all anyone knew. Things needed to change.
Who did she think she was? There was nothing she could do to change anything.
She made it to the bus and began boarding.
To her dismay, Rosa discovered the bus driver was the same grouchy man who had evicted her only months ago for entering from the front of the bus — a white privilege only.
She avoided looking at the man as she walked down the isle.
The front half of the bus had multiple ‘‘White Only’’ signs above the seats.
She found the ‘‘Coloured’’ seats at the back.
She lowered herself down on the first one, a dirty seat, smeared with several days worth of grime.
She doubted the front seats were in such condition.
Despite this, Rosa could hardly contain her pleasure as she rested.
There would be four stops before she would be within walking distance of her home and she could finally rest up for the day.
A few more coloured and white people climbed on at the next stop, and the white seats were beginning to fill rapidly.
Some of the coloured folk around her began to grumble that they would have to give up their seats to any white people still standing by the next stop.
The next stop came and so did a crowd of white people.
At the front, a lady in a dark green dress who held an expensive handbag, looked in the direction of them in the back.
She headed there, as did several others.
‘‘Yer’ to get outa’ yer’ seats,’’ growled the driver from the front, glaring at them through the rearview mirror.
The people around Rosa sucked in their breaths. Noone was willing to give up their seats. ‘‘Now!’’ he barked.
The others stood up and gathered their belongings and made their way to the back to stand as their seats were taken by the white people.
Thank goodness! Rosa thought.
She wouldn’t have to move for anyone.
The bus door was about to close when a final man jumped on just in time.
He saw that there was no room at the front and strolled down the isle heading right for Rosa.
The driver, having now recognised her from their past interaction, yelled at her from the front.
‘‘I said, stand up!’’
That same anger about segregation she had felt moments before, flourished within her, bringing forth a courage she had never before seen in herself.
‘‘No.’’
A deadly hush flooded the bus. Everyone turned towards Rosa as they gasped.
The white people up the front had disgust written across their faces. The people around her gleamed in awe, despite realising the dangerous ground she had stepped on.
Something within Rosa had her frozen in her seat, condemning her, commanding her, not to back down.
Perhaps this small refusal was all the movement they needed to get the tides changing and set things in motion to make history for her people.
Perhaps ‘‘No’’ would be the beginning of a revolution.