The woman kept her seat. Despite the driver who, after several minutes, became noticeably irritated that a black person would have the audacity to do what this woman did. She refused to give up a seat to a white man. She sat in the middle of the bus, staring out of a grimy window, deaf to the shouting around her. She was determined not to give in to what she considered to be an unjust demand. In
Are you going to get up or do I have to call the police? the driver shouted.
The woman shifted her position slightly but did not get up. Call them, she simply said.
Damn it! replied the driver as he marched off to the front of the bus. The woman watched the man, all in a huff, as he cursed his way to the nearest street corner to pick up a pay telephone. The driver was shouting into the receiver the last time she looked. The white passengers on the bus stared at her. Most were visibly angry; their faces displaying disapproval and disgust. But it was no matter to her. Having lived in
Glancing out the window, she saw a young boy ride by on his bike with several friends trailing after him. Across the street, young women carried their children in one arm and groceries in the other. Trucks rumbled by the stalled bus, sometimes blowing their horns in quick protest, oblivious to the growing drama. But the woman remained serene. She had more important things on her mind.
She was thinking of another boy who was in the news recently, a teenager from
She saw the police roll up in a black and white radio car. Two very large and very white
Things were not right here, she said to herself. Maybe if people just didnt go along with it anymore. Maybe if everyone just stuck together. Something had to happen. She saw a red-faced cop moving toward her but little did she care.

The only thing Rosa Parks thought about was the boy, Emmett Till.



