© 2012 Phylicia Joannis
Several years before the civil rights movement, hip hop, dvds, cell phones and laptops, two young sisters lived in the small city of Mooresville, Alabama. They were like night and day. The oldest sister, Jane, was shy, dark and thin with short, coarse hair. The younger sister, Bessie, was fairer-skinned with long hair as fine as an Indian. Bessie was outgoing and friendly with everyone in the neighborhood.
Back then, it was mostly rural. People lived off of the produce from their farms and gardens, neighbors helped one another during dry seasons, and the stores lent you supplies on credit.
These two young girls worked in one of those stores helping out their mama. It was unusual for a black family to own a store, but their grandparents had worked hard and left their children an inheritance. The eldest of their sons, Abel, took the money and invested it in a feed and supply store. It took a while for the neighbors to get used to the idea of a black shop owner, but Abel treated everyone fairly and they came around.
After Abel expanded the store to include linens and a bakery, he hired his sister, Mary Grace, to help him. Mary Grace was the mother of the two little girls, and she took them with her every day to the shop to bake bread and cookies.
The two girls loved coming to the shop, because they got to meet all kinds of interesting people. One day a man came in to talk to their Uncle Abel about a music machine called a Jukebox. He told their Uncle that if he bought one of them, people from far and wide would come to his store, just to have a listen. And he could sell them cookies and hay feed on the side.
Uncle Abel was skeptical at first, so the man gave him a demonstration. He set up the jukebox and put in a coin. As the music filled the shop, several people in the store stopped. Some began to smile, others began to tap their feet and whistle to the beat.
Bessie ran over to the jukebox and placed her hand on its smooth, wooden frame. She closed her eyes and listened to the music for a moment. It wasn’t long before her feet, legs and hands began to twirl to the beat.
Jane was horrified to see her sister carrying on and right away she told her mama. Her mama walked up to Bessie and watched her for a moment. She nudged Uncle Abel and they both watched as young Bessie hopped and twirled in circles to the beat. Long after the song ended, Bessie was still twirling and dancing.
Bessie’s mother smiled.
Uncle Abel bought the machine.
***
Every day, while the girls were supposed to be making dough for bread, Bessie would steal away to the front of the shop, waiting for someone to stick a coin in the jukebox. Whenever they did, Bessie would dance and prance in a rhythm so infectious that people kept putting in coins just to watch her dance.
Bessie spent so much time dancing in front of the jukebox that Jane was often left to make the bread by herself. Bessie also got a lot of attention from the shoppers, as well as their mother, who was thrilled to see Bessie so happy.
This made Jane very jealous. So jealous that she began thinking of ways to keep Bessie from dancing.
One day, Bessie was dancing in front of the jukebox, and Jane walked up to her and pushed her.
Bessie got up from the floor and rubbed her bottom. “Why’d you do that, Jane?”
“Stupid chile,” Jane frowned. “While you makin’ a fool of yoself in front of the music machine, I gotta make this bread by myself!”
“Mama said I could dance if I wanna,” Bessie began to cry.
“Not unless you do your work first,” Jane grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her to the bakery.
“Stop it, Jane!” Bessie cried. “You’re hurting me! Let go!”
Jane pulled her wrist harder and stomped towards the bakery. Their mother saw them from the window and frowned.
“What is going on?” she asked.
Jane frowned. “Mama she ain’t doin’ her work!”
“I just wanted to dance,” Bessie whimpered. “And Jane’s hurting my wrist.”
Jane pulled her wrist harder and Bessie howled.
“I’ll pull it harder again if you don’t listen to me!” Jane screamed. “I’m the oldest, and you’re sposed to mind me!”
“Let go of her right now, Jane,” her mother demanded.
Jane immediately let go of her sister’s wrist, leaving a red and purple mark in its place.
Bessie sniffed as her mother examined her bruised hand.
Their mother glared at Jane. Jane knew she was in trouble.
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