MILDRED

Shoot.

After waiting and waiting

we lose in the highest court

in the state of Virginia.

The lawyers,

they expected that.

But Judge Carrico agreed with our lawyers.

He said that our first sentence was

cruel and unusual punishment—

six years of not being able

to travel home together to see

our families.

I’m glad he sees that.

And now our case can go

to the U.S. Supreme Court.

And while our lawyers

get ready for this next part of our case—

they say our sentence is

stayed.

Which means Richard and I can return

to our farmhouse

and live together in Virginia

and no one can

arrest us.

It’s hard to believe.

Just maybe we’ll sleep

a little easier,

knowing that no sheriff

can drive up to our house,

walk right in,

and go shining lights in our eyes

in the middle of the night.

And then Mr. Cohen says

someone could make a mistake

and the sheriff might still try

to arrest us.

I’m scared of Sheriff Brooks.

You never know what he’ll do.

Anyway,

if we get arrested,

we’ll call Mr. Cohen

and he’ll get us right out.

He promises.

That’s what I understand.

Mr. Cohen says

Judge Leon Bazile has done us a real nice favor

making that racist statement.

“The Almighty God placed

the races on their own continents . . .”

Indeed!

That business made me feel

the kind of wild anger I felt

when I was a child.

Mr. Cohen and Mr. Hirschkop

care that Richard and I

are tired of all this,

that we’re struggling with money,

that we’ve paid out so much for Richard’s gas money,

and he’s been gone so long each day—

but being home

will be wonderful.

Clearly, they are excited

about taking our case to the very top.

And then we go outside where the newsmen

are all gathered.

For the camera, I say,

“If we do win, we’ll be helping a lot of people.”

We pick up the kids

at my parents’ house and go to the farmhouse.

I walk out into the field with

Sidney, Don, and Peggy.

I watch them run and yell,

their voices

muffled by the wind.

A group of big black crows

stands around on the stubbly land—

until the children run at them.

The crows take off,

float on the wind.

Some try to make their way

into the wind, but the wind

won’t allow it.

The crows seem to say,

I want to go over there

but the wind says, No, I want you here.

So they let the wind carry them

real graceful on outstretched wings.

I think,

that’s like our life.

We’re those crows.

The wind is casting us around—

go live here,

now you can live there,

now get on over there.

You can’t control the wind.

They say we’re making progress.