Bittersweet Memories

Reverend Sydney Williams, pastor of Lola’s church, who was also Nay’s first cousin, was beaming when he arrived at 1:45 p.m. on Sunday October 30, 1955 to perform our marriage ceremony.

“I’m always glad to join two young people, who are in love, in holy matrimony.  Marriage is an honorable state,” Reverend Williams said enthusiastically.

Howard beamed and extended his hand in greeting to the minister.  Nay joined us in the living room, where Tyrone sat sucking his thumb and probably hoping it would soon be over so he could go back outside to play.  I wished I could revert to childhood, call the whole thing off and go outside to play.  I was deeply troubled in body and mind, and finding it difficult to conceal my feelings when the shrill ringing of the phone pierced the air and interrupted my thoughts.

Lola answered the phone which was in the dining room.  She returned and whispered to me, “Bay, a lady is on the phone insisting on speaking to you.  She says it’s important.”

“Hello,” I said into the phone, wondering who could be calling me with something so urgent.  Lola would have known if the woman was a family member.

“This is Ethel Gee, Sammy’s sister,” the voice on the other end responded.  “Sammy wants to speak to you.”

My heart began to pound and I felt faint.

“Hello,” came his deep, masculine, yet melodious voice.

“Hi.”

“Did you get married yet?”

“No, but the preacher is here and they’re all waiting for me right now in the living room.”

“Do you really want to go through with it?”

“No, but I have no choice.” Tears began to stream from my eyes, and I’m sure he heard the sob catch in my throat.

“Don’t do it, baby.  Leave now before it’s too late.  Get a cab and come down here, I will be waiting for you.  Tomorrow, we can drive to Toledo and get married without having to wait.”

I envisioned myself fleeing out the front door, running down the street to Seven Mile Road where I could hail a cab and speed to the waiting arms of the man I truly loved.  I could be free to be with Sam, all I had to do was run out of the door.   Then I imagined Howard chasing after me, threatening to throw himself in front of oncoming traffic.

“I’m sorry, Sam, truly sorry, but I must honor the commitment that I have already made.”

“Baby, I will wait for a year to see if it works out.  Best wishes.”

I stopped in the bathroom and held a cool, wet facecloth to my eyes to stop the tears and puffiness.

Howard never asked who was on the phone; I have a feeling that he knew.  I repeated the wedding vows in a zombie-like state, and collapsed when it was over.  Howard rushed me to Henry Ford Hospital where we spent the rest of the evening.  There was no romantic wedding night, and no honeymoon; I spent the next three days in bed, in physical and emotional agony.  On the third day, I returned for a follow-up visit with the doctor, who said that I was well enough to resume work.