Chance Encounter

CHANCE

ENCOUNTER

B.D. ANDERSON

Copyright © 2015 B.D. Anderson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-2470-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-2469-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015900759

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Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 01/28/2015

CONTENTS

1   July, 1965

2   Spring, 1966

3   May, 1966

4   July, 1966

5   May, 1967

6   Prom Night, 1967, Part 1

7   Prom Night, 1967, Part 2

8   Prom Night, 1967, Part 3

9   July, 1967

10   Mid-July, 1967

11   Dinner at the Weston’s, August, 1967

12   Last Week of Summer Vacation, 1967

13   The Talk, August, 1967, Part 1

14   The Talk, August, 1967, Part 2

15   The Day before Departure, 1967

16   Day of Confrontation, 1967

17   Williamsburg, October, 1967

18   Spring Break, 1968, Part 1

19   Spring Break, 1968, Part 2

20   June, 1968

21   Mid-June, 1968, Part 1

22   Mid-June, 1968, Part 2

23   Thanksgiving, 1968

24   Spring Break, March, 1969

25   Spring, 1971

26   May, 1971

27   August 13, 1971

28   Billy’s Wedding Day, 1971

29   Paris’s Wedding Day, 1971

30   Billy’s Honeymoon, 1971

31   Paris’s Honeymoon, 1971

32   May, 1974

33   August, 1981

34   July, 1995

This book is

dedicated to the memory of Dr. Maryland Taft Fleming

who was the pastor of Zion Baptist Church for 25 years and a warrior in the fight for equal rights for black people in Richmond, Virginia during the civil rights movement.

Special thanks to the members of Zion Baptist Church for their support in my quest to become a writer.

Though this is not a Christian romance, Christian themes are woven throughout the story and are there if you choose to see them. Evangelism is more than quoting scriptures or pointing out people’s sins, it’s meeting people where they are and presenting to them the Savior of the world.

I would like to thank Dr. Robert and Edit 911 for the work they did in helping to make my manuscript presentable for publishing.

CHAPTER 1

July, 1965

Paris sat in her father’s 1957 Chevy and sighed. She’d run out of gas. Her father had told her before she left home to stop by the Esso service station and get some gas because he didn’t think there was enough for her to get to Richmond and back. Being the procrastinator that she was, she had put it off because she had wanted to get to Richmond for the sale at Thalhimers Department Store.

She should have known that leaving for Richmond after 4:00 p.m. would make her late. The store closed at nine, and while she hadn’t planned on being there until they blinked the lights on and off, signaling for customers to head to the checkout, she had done just that.

She had barely made it back across the county line when the car’s engine faltered and died. Paris knew immediately what had happened. How was she going to explain this one to her father? She knew that the filling station was closed, but they did have a phone booth that she could use to call home and admit her mistake to her father.

She fumbled in the glove compartment and found a flashlight, praying that its batteries worked. She quickly cut it on and breathed a sigh of relief as light flooded the car’s interior. The only thing she could do now was to walk to the phone booth at least a mile away.

She got out the car, smoothed down her mini skirt, and slung her purse on her shoulder. Shutting the car door, she took a deep breath. If she hurried, she figured that she could get to the phone in about twenty minutes. Crickets chirped noisily and the sound of her feet on the graveled highway crunched annoyingly as she walked as fast as she could.

It was dark and just a little after ten. She was sure that her parents were wondering where she was. Still, she had a midnight curfew, and most likely they would assume that she was at one of her friends’ homes.

Paris tried not to be nervous, but she couldn’t help but think about all the riots in California and Dr. King marching in Selma. There was a lot of tension between blacks and whites lately, and she prayed that she could make it to the phone safely, though nothing much ever happened in the small town of Carson, Virginia.

Things were usually quiet in the sleepy town of Carson, but Paris knew that she could never be too careful. She silently berated herself as she walked along the familiar but dark road. She was glad that she had on comfortable shoes.

At eighteen, Paris Branch knew few whites personally, and it pained her to see her family members lower their eyes in the presence of white people, who in turn smirked in approval. She knew, however, that while coloreds were as good as whites, there were unwritten rules that had to be followed in order to survive.

Her parents were scared about what Dr. King was doing and were afraid that there would be retaliation from whites against colored people. She was a bit afraid also, but secretly she was proud of Dr. King. There needed to be changes in this country, and she felt that someone had to lead the way.

Halfway to the intersection Paris saw a car approaching. Not wanting to take any chances, she quickly walked to the side of the road and turned off the flashlight. She backed up close to the trees and waited for the car to pass.

When it drove by, Paris sighed in relief and cut the flashlight back on to continue her journey. She figured that she had to be at least halfway there and picked up the pace a little. In a matter of moments the car that had passed her turned around. Paris jumped as the high beams flooded the highway with light. She knew that she had been spotted. The car stopped a few feet away, blocking her path.

When a tall white youth got out of the car and stood in front of his headlights, giving her a view of his blond hair and lanky frame, Paris didn’t recognize him right off. What did he want? What was he going to do to her? Her legs began to tremble.

You alright? he asked with a deep Southern twang. I saw your car back there.

Paris stared at him unable to speak, her mouth suddenly dry. She was shaking like a leaf. She’d heard stories of white boys taking advantage of colored girls, raping them and leaving them half dead. Why oh why hadn’t she stopped at the filling station as her father had told her to?

You alright? he asked again, moving closer to her.

Uh, I ran out of gas, she stammered, silently praying that he wouldn’t harm her. She didn’t recognize his voice and could barely make out his face.

Well, I’ve got some gas in the trunk, he said, smiling as he moved closer. Don’t you even have a gas can? How was you gonna get gas?

Paris could see him better now. She couldn’t see his eyes all that well, but he was smiling at her. Maybe he wouldn’t hurt her.

I was going to call home, Paris replied. You can just go on. There’s a phone booth up ahead at the intersection where the filling station is. I was gonna use that.

Well, don’t you worry about calling home. He opened his car’s passenger door. Come on. There’s no use in you walking up there by yourself. I have some gas, and I’ll take you back to your car and put it in there for you. It should be enough to get you home.

Paris stood there undecided. It wasn’t a good idea for a colored girl to get into a car with a white boy on a dark road at night, especially a boy she didn’t know.

He stared at her as if reading her mind. I ain’t gonna hurt you. Honest, he said. I’m Billy Weston. My pa is Dr. Weston. You know him, don’t you?

Paris was surprised by his declaration. Dr. Weston treated a lot of colored people, and she knew that he had a son who was a couple of years younger than herself. The light from the inside of his car gave her a better view of him as he held the door open. He was still smiling at her.

Yeah, I know Dr. Weston, she said feeling a bit relieved and moving closer. My family sees him on occasion.

Most of the colored people come to my daddy, he replied proudly.

That’s true, Paris said, returning his smile. Dr. Weston was good to colored folks, she told herself. His son couldn’t be that bad. She walked up to him and shook his hand.

You’re Millie’s daughter, aren’t you? he asked as she got into his car.

I am, Paris replied, surprised that he knew her. I’ve been to Doc Weston’s lots of times, but I don’t remember ever seeing you there.

I’m there from time to time, Billy said while shutting the car door, though I don’t go unless my daddy summons me to run an errand for him.

Paris glanced at him and looked away as he turned the car around. He was a handsome boy with his straw-colored hair and pouty pink lips. She was glad that he was being nice and mannerly toward her. She felt herself relaxing.

I met your ma, Billy said as he pulled up behind her car. I’ve seen her in the office from time to time when I’ve been there.

He quickly got out of the car and opened its trunk to retrieve a gas can. Paris watched him as he poured gas into her Chevy’s tank. After she handed him her keys through the window, he started her car before walking back toward Paris.

There, Billy announced. That should get you home.

He opened the passenger door, and Paris got out. She knew that his cologne was Old Spice. Her daddy wore Old Spice, but it smelled differently on him.

I hope I didn’t stop you on your way to a date, Paris said. What made her ask that she immediately wondered. It was none of her business, and she’d crossed the line by talking so familiarly with this stranger, even if he was Doc Weston’s son.

Billy laughed as he opened the driver’s side door of her car for Paris to get in. Nope. I wasn’t on a date, he said, grinning at her.

Paris felt her face flush and wouldn’t meet his gaze. I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. Sometimes my mouth talks before my brain thinks.

No problem, Billy said, shutting the door after she got in.

Paris turned on her cars overhead light to get a better look at him and fish out some money to pay for the gas. She realized that his eyes were blue like the sky on a clear day.

You should get some gas tomorrow, or you’ll run out again, Billy was saying.

Yeah, I know, Paris said, turning off the overhead light. She looked at Billy one final time and reached out to him with money in her hand. I appreciate the gas, I really do. Here’s some money that I was going to use to buy gas.

Your money’s no good here, Billy said, backing up a bit. Millie brought the best blueberry muffins by my dad’s office. I’m just paying her back, that’s all.

Well, alright then, Paris said, returning the money to her purse. Mama does make good blueberry muffins. I’ll see you later.

Billy didn’t say anything, and Paris waited for him to back up so that she could pull away. Instead he leaned into her car window a moment as if wanting to say something. She started her car and looked at him with a puzzled expression.

You’re real pretty, he mumbled before quickly retreating to his own vehicle.

Paris was stunned. Pretty? He thought she was pretty? Well, that was a first. Most of the colored boys that she went to school with didn’t think she was pretty. Paris was dark-skinned, and most colored boys went for lighter-skinned girls. She’d had a few dates but nothing serious, especially since she didn’t put out. She had never been in love, and anyway her main focus was on higher education.

Still it hurt some when she overheard comments about her color, particularly from bitchy yellow girls calling her Crow while tossing their long hair over their shoulders. Paris wore her hair in a large Afro, and her father had told her that she looked like a militant. He wanted her to straighten it as she once had done, but she had refused to comply.

Now Billy Weston, Doc Weston’s boy, had just called her pretty. She watched amazed as he zoomed by her in his car. She knew that he was running from her after making that remark, and she couldn’t hide her smile.

Paris pulled out into the traffic and headed home.

CHAPTER 2

Spring, 1966

Paris was home for the weekend. It was her freshman year at Howard University, and she had found out that D.C. was nothing like Carson. Her parents had sacrificed to send her to the prestigious Negro university, and she wanted to succeed and make her parents proud.

She knew that she was doing well and had adjusted better than she’d hoped. She also was glad that she wasn’t that far away from home, even though it was a four-hour trip on the bus.

Paris had focused on her academic work and not a lot on social activities. She didn’t have the time anyway, and besides she wasn’t the type of girl who drew a lot of men’s attention.

Washington, D.C., men weren’t that different from their counterparts in Carson. The girls with long hair and light skin got most of the attention. A few guys looked her way, but something about their giving her the once-over along with their lame pickup lines turned her off. Where, Paris wondered, were the sincere men who weren’t just looking for just a good time in bed? Now that the birth control pill was out, many a girl didn’t hesitate to have sex, but Paris wasn’t ready for that.

Every now and then her mind wandered back to the night when she’d run out of gas on Beecher Road. She’d never told her parents what had happened because she knew she’d catch it from both of them. Though she had kept silent about the chance encounter, she still wanted to find out more about Billy Weston.

She didn’t know why he had invaded her thoughts. Paris could still hear the huskiness in his voice when he said, You’re real pretty. He had taken her by complete surprise. White boys didn’t think dark-skinned girls were pretty, did they? He’d rendered her speechless and then run off totally embarrassed. The realization that he thought that she was pretty warmed Paris, as well as the fact that he had helped her in her moment of distress. The memory of that night made her smile.

Accompanying her mother to Wilson’s Feed and Seed while on her spring break, Paris thus was totally unprepared to encounter Billy again. She hadn’t spotted him immediately, but she heard her mother say, Well hello, Billy. Paris immediately looked