1956

The greyhound bus wheezed to a labored stop in front of the diner that stood just across the road from the "Welcome to Ohio" billboard. I waited until those around me who seemed to be in a hurry had made their way down the aisle and through the open door. Sunlight and fragrant air greeted me as I literally jumped to the ground from the last step. I was not tall for my twelve years and I wanted no assistance with any part of this trip. Traveling alone on the overnight express from Charleston back to my home in Cleveland made me feel very grown up indeed.1

I was hungry and thirsty after the long interval since breakfast at the Virginia bus station and wasted no time moving into the line which had formed so quickly. I chose a hot dog and coke from the cafeteria offerings and fished a dollar from my still-new purse. Elvis was singing "Don't be Cruel" on the radio over the din of dishes and orders. I declined an invitation to join a gray-haired lady with dark red lipstick, who also was traveling alone, and found a small table near the window where I began my meal without even removing it from the faded green plastic tray. 2

While I drew the last sweet drop through my straw, I noticed the man, his wife, and their two children peering through the window of the diner. The family had been on the bus since Virginia, but had not come into the diner with the rest of us. I didn't know, until someone told me, that they were looking for the "Colored" sign on a restroom door. I was ashamed.