The next week Rachel and I go to every meeting in the afternoon at the church. We always make sure to get there early so we can talk to Dr. King. We would go where he was in the back of the church and sit on his lap. He always loved to hear us sing, and we would sing him some of our favorite freedom songs. We especially liked to sing “Come by here Lord, come by here”. Sometimes we would change the lyrics so that we could ask the Lord to help Selma.
Come by here my Lord, Come by here. Come by here my Lord, Come by here. Come by here my Lord, Come by here. Oh Lord, come by here. Selma needs you, Lord, Come by here. Selma needs you, Lord, Come by here. Oh, Lord, come by here.
Dr. King would also ask us one main question. He would simply ask us, “What do you want?’ and every time, we would reply “Freedom”. “I can’t hear you, what do you want?” We both replied louder, “Freedom and justice for all!” I think he wanted us to learn to really speak up for ourselves because he always tells us he can’t hear us so that we have to say freedom louder and louder. The louder we say it, the more we learn that we truly want it. One day after a meeting with Dr. King, as I walk out of the church and down the street, I notice a leaflet of a telephone pole. I have seen similar leaflets around town, announcing when our next meeting is, or when an important event is about to take place. This one, however, looks a little different. Instead of telling us when the next meeting was going to be, this one had the word “March!” spelled out in big letters. I look at it more closely. It says, “Join the Selma to Montgomery march this Sunday”. This Sunday! There is going to be a march! Finally! We are going march for our freedom! I get to be part of something big. This is it. The moment I have been waiting for. I race to Rachel’s house and knock on the door. Her father answers the door and invites me inside. There are people everywhere, it seems like every free inch of flooring is taken by bedding. There are freedom fighters everywhere. “Welcome to the second freedom house, Sheyann. Rachel is in her room over there.” “Thank you, Mr. West,” I say. I walk over all the blankets until I reach Rachel. “Did you hear?” I ask excitedly. “Hear what?” "There is going to be a march! This Sunday!” “Oh yeah,” She says quietly, “I did hear about that.” “Well, aren't you excited? This is really important!” She looks down, then through her door to the people in her living room. “I know it is important, and I want to participate. I am just a little scared. I don’t want any of us to get hurt. What if something goes wrong? What if fighting breaks out and one of us die? I don’t want to lose anyone. My parents told me not to march” “Well, we knew this would be dangerous…” I trail off. The concern she expressed just made the reality of the terrors of marches real. I have to face the idea that instead of being this grand freedom march I have been envisioning, this could be a disaster. I had heard of brutality going on with other marches, but I hadn’t thought about it happening here. I still want to do it. I know I want to fight for my freedom, but now I am beginning to feel fear for tomorrow. “So, we are still going to march right?” I ask. “Yeah,” She says, “But as soon as things get dangerous, I think we should leave.” “I agree,” I say. The next evening there is a mass meeting concerning the march that will be happening tomorrow. There were a lot of speakers giving their speeches about the dangers and procedure for tomorrow and how we are to conduct ourselves and what to do in an emergency. They talk about the different routes that were going to be taken, and where we wanted the most people. They also warn us that the march would not be successful, but either way, we were still going to try. Dr. King tells us that, even though he will not be participating in the march, he wishes us the best of luck for our safety and success. We prayed together, thanking the Lord for what he has done for us, and praying He will be with us tomorrow keeping each one of us safe. I go home that afternoon to find my parents waiting for me in the kitchen. My mother beckons me over to sit down with them at the table. I stay in the doorway. “Mom, Dad, what’s going on?” Dad motions to the chair across from him, “Sit down Sheyann.” I take a seat at the table and look at my parent's faces. Mom’s face seems to be red with anger, whereas Dad’s eyes are filled with disappointment and his frown shows his sadness. “Sheyann, I know we told you that you were not allowed to go to those meetings they have been having in the church recently,” says Dad. I know that I am not allowed to go to those meetings, but I feel like I had to do it, even if it meant being disobedient to my parents. The only reason they have let me out of the house was because I told them I was playing with Rachel. And I was hanging out with Rachel, of course, but what I didn’t tell them was that I was hanging out with her at the meetings. Which was where I was not supposed to be. “Sheyann, I have been asking around the neighborhood, just to see where you two were.” Mom says, “Did you know that no one has seen you around anywhere? Then, today, I called one of our neighbors that call themselves a freedom fighter. I wanted to make sure that you haven't been sneaking off to those no-good meetings. When I asked him if he had seen you, do you know what he said? He said that not only has he seen you at each and one of those meetings, but you have been making friends with their leader! He said you two have been singing songs to him and in front of everyone in those meetings. How could you do this Sheyann? How could you lie to us?” I look at both with pleading eyes. How can I make them understand? “I’m sorry I lied to you. But you, you just don’t understand. I want freedom! I want to be part of what they stand for. We deserve to have a voice in this country, and since they aren’t giving grownups a vote, we need to shout louder to make sure we are heard. I have a purpose there. I feel like I belong with them. Please, try to understand” I plead with them. Mom’s face turns a different shade of red as my explanation seems to anger her further. However, it is Dad, whose frown seems to keep getting deeper, who speaks next. “Sheyann, I know you feel like you need to stand up and fight for freedom. But let me tell you, you do not need to be the hero. You are only eight years old. There are plenty of other people out there willing to stand up. Yes, it would be nice to be able to vote. If I could vote, I would vote every time. But that is not an option right now, and neither is your participating in these meetings. Do you understand?” I look at them for a moment before I respond. “I understand what you are saying Dad,” I say slowly, “But just think, if enough people stand up and march, voting will be an option for you! And you will not have to fear for your life just to let your voice be heard. This is important, and although I am only eight, I am one more person closer to getting our vote. I need to do this” “I’m sorry, did you say march, Sheyann?” Mom says furiously, “What march!” “Well, other freedom fighters have had marches before, I am sure you have heard of them. I didn’t say that there has been a march hare.” “So, there won’t be a march here then?” Mom asks. “Well, no, I didn’t say that. There is going to be one here” I say to them, “and you can’t stop me from going! I promise I will be careful, but I need to be part of this. Maybe you could march with me?” “Child, if you march, I will whip you.” Mom threatens me. “Even if you do, I am still going to go. They need me, and I need them. I...” “No, Sheyann”, Dad says firmly. His voice scares me a little. “No, you listen to me. I forbid you to go to that march. You are not allowed to get involved further in this endeavor.” I don’t know what to say. I love my Dad, and I hate being disobedient to my parents, but I can’t quit now. I really don’t like doing it, but I must lie to my parents. I tell them that I will stay away from the marches and the meetings, but I have no intention of doing either. Going to sleep that night, I have mixed feelings of shame, terror, and anticipation of what tomorrow will bring.