Memphis in the Meantime
June, 1950.
James had never been anywhere hotter than Memphis, Tennessee. The heat clung to him like a second skin, thick and stifling, pressing against the back of his neck as he followed his mother up the front steps of his grandmother’s house. The air smelled different here, earthy, heavy, laced with something sweet he couldn’t quite place.
He already hated it.
London had rain, cool mornings, and people who minded their own business. Memphis had none of those things. Here, the sun burned too bright, the sky stretched too wide, and the stares followed him everywhere.
“You’re scowling,” Euphemia Potter murmured, her hand ghosting over the back of his head before she knocked on the door.
James turned his face away. “I’m not.”
He was. He had been since they stepped off the train.
His mother didn’t say anything else. She hadn’t said much at all since she announced they were coming to stay with his grandmother for the summer. His father had stayed in England, and James had pretended not to notice the way his parents had barely looked at each other when his mother packed their bags.
His grandmother’s house was small and neat, sitting on a quiet street lined with magnolia trees. It was a world away from London, from the places he knew.
From the world where he fit.
The door swung open, and his grandmother, Eleanor Johnson, looked him over like she was searching for something. Then she pulled him into a tight hug, bones and warmth and something that smelled like lavender and tobacco.
“You’ve grown,” she said, pressing a hand to his cheek. “Handsome boy, just like your daddy. And those hazel eyes, precious, just like his.”
James swallowed. She hadn’t seen him since he was small, but the comparison still stung.
His mother gave her a tired smile. “It’s good to see you, Mama.”
Inside, the house was cool, the scent of cornbread and something frying in the kitchen lingering in the air. James set his bag down near the stairs, wiping sweat from his forehead.
“Go on, wash up,” his mother said. “We’ll eat soon.”
James wandered through the house, restless and uncomfortable. The windows were open, but the air barely moved. He glanced out onto the street, eyes skimming the people walking by, men in hats, women in dresses that clung to their backs in the heat, kids running barefoot on the sidewalk.
Then he saw the sign.
It was posted on the side of a shop, big letters bold against the white paint:
WHITE ONLY
James frowned. His gaze flicked to the door beside it, where another sign hung, smaller but just as clear:
COLORED ENTRANCE
He stared at it for a long moment, something heavy settling in his stomach.
He didn’t understand.
The words made sense, but the meaning didn’t.
A car rumbled by, kicking up dust, and he turned away, shoving the feeling down. He was hot. Tired. Maybe even a little homesick.
Maybe he just needed something to take his mind off things.
James made his way downstairs, his steps slow, reluctant. The sound of chatter and clinking silverware filled the house, the familiar smell of food making his stomach growl. As he entered the dining room, he was met with a crowd of faces he barely recognized, his aunts and uncles, their spouses, and children who looked far too comfortable with the family dynamics.
They greeted him with the kind of familiarity that stung. “Look at you, grown up already!” his Aunt Margaret said, pinching his cheek, her voice high-pitched and sweet, like she was talking to a much younger boy.
James managed a tight smile, feeling like a ghost in the room. He had only been here once before, when he was about seven, and he could barely remember it. That trip had been a blur of heat, awkward silences, and his father’s temper simmering just below the surface. Fleamont Potter had hated how his wife and son had been treated, the whispered comments, the side-eyed glances, the glaring insults veiled in politeness.
“I’ll never come back to Tennessee again while I live,” Fleamont had said in a rare moment of open frustration, a quiet fury in his British accent. He had meant it. His father had been furious when they weren’t allowed to sit together at a restaurant, a simple thing that felt like a slap. James couldn’t remember the specifics of that day. He’d been too young, but the feeling of shame had stayed with him. He wondered if he should have been more aware of what was happening at the time.
James sat down at the table, next to his cousin Lee, who was about his age, and already talking animatedly about something he didn’t catch. Lee glanced at him, eyes curious, before asking, “So, you liking Tennessee so far?”
James snapped out of his thoughts, forcing a smile. “Yeah, it’s been nice,” he lied, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. He wasn’t sure why he was pretending. Maybe it was easier than admitting that he didn’t fit here, not in the least.
James picked at his plate, the food almost tasteless as he pushed it around, barely able to focus on anything but the noise around him. The voices of his relatives blended together into a constant hum, a backdrop to his thoughts. The chatter, the laughter, the conversations that went on without him, it all felt distant, like watching a movie from behind thick glass. He wasn’t a part of it. He wasn’t a part of this place.
His family was so animated, so at ease in their world, and James felt like an outsider in it. They spoke like they knew each other so well, and he was still trying to catch up, to piece together who they were to him. The heat of the room and the humidity outside settled heavily in his chest. Memphis felt suffocating in every way.
He glanced around the table, watching as his aunt and uncles spoke over one another, joking and laughing. His cousins seemed at ease, and James shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his fingers lightly tapping the edge of his glass.
“James,” his Aunt Clara said, breaking his trance. “Do you still play the piano?”
The question was casual, but it struck him like a spark in dry grass. The piano. He’d played since he was small. It was the one thing that never felt foreign, never felt wrong, no matter where he was.
“Yeah, I still play,” he replied, his voice steady.
His mother, as if on cue, looked up from her conversation and caught his eye. She was already anticipating the next part.
“You should play something for us after dinner, James,” Euphemia said, her smile warm but a little too eager.
James hesitated for just a second. He didn’t particularly want to perform for a crowd of strangers, at least, that’s how he saw them. But the idea of the piano, of the keys under his fingers, of losing himself in the music, it was the one thing that could anchor him here, in this strange new place.
“Sure,” he said finally, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth despite the discomfort he still felt. "I’ll play."
Maybe the piano would help him find his place here.
After dinner, the room seemed to shrink even more. James had never realized how many people could crowd into a single small house, but as the group made their way into the living room, he felt the weight of it. Conversations buzzed around him, the clinking of glasses, and the shuffle of people moving chairs to make space. It was a strange mix of familiarity and forgiveness, like walking into someone else’s life and trying to make it feel like your own.
He made his way to the piano. The keys were a welcome sight, like a beacon in the chaos. He sat down, fingers lightly brushing the polished surface. For a moment, he didn’t know what to play. The weight of the day still clung to him, the uncertainty about this place and his place in it. He glanced around, his relatives laughing and chatting, and he felt small again, like a visitor in a world that wasn’t his own.
Then his mind drifted back to what his mother had said on the boat, the importance of religion in her family. It was something she’d talked about a lot, her faith woven into the very fabric of her childhood. James had always been more of a skeptic, and his parents rarely went to church in England, but his mother had mentioned it so often that he had come to associate it with her family, this deep, undeniable connection to something bigger. His grandmother had been devout, too, and the thought of her, praying every day, believing without question, settled over him.
James didn’t consider himself particularly religious, but he knew his place here. This was his family’s world, and he would respect that. So, without thinking too hard about it, his fingers found their way to the hymn he’d learned years ago.
As his fingers hit the first chords, the familiar melody filled the room. It was a hymn, soft and slow, rising and falling with a rhythm that felt ancient and timeless. James’s hands moved with ease, his fingers dancing over the keys with a mastery that surprised him. He hadn’t played in weeks, but something about the music unlocked a part of him he didn’t know he needed.
As the music flowed, his shoulders dropped, tension easing out of his body. It was like everything else fell away. The noise, the unfamiliar faces, the uncomfortable feeling of being an outsider, it all faded into the background. All that mattered was the music, the way it felt to let the notes take him somewhere else, somewhere peaceful.
The room around him quieted. He didn’t notice at first, too lost in the melody, but soon the voices died down and the murmurs faded into an expectant silence. James kept playing, his hands gliding over the keys with a newfound calm. For the first time since he’d stepped off the boat, he didn’t feel like he was trying to fit in. He was just, there. Lost in the music, lost in the moment.
And for a brief moment, Memphis didn’t feel quite so bad.
When James finished the hymn, the room was silent for a moment, and then, like a wave crashing, applause filled the air. It wasn’t the loud, raucous kind, but the warm, appreciative clapping of family members who had just witnessed something unexpectedly beautiful. James felt his cheeks flush under their gaze, an unfamiliar heat rising in his face.
His cousin Lee was the first to speak up, leaning back against the armrest of a chair with an exaggerated grin. “Well, shoot, cuz, you’re pretty good on them keys,” he said, his southern drawl thick and teasing. “Got a real knack for it.”
James smiled, still feeling a little awkward, and nodded in acknowledgment. “Thanks.”
Lee’s grin widened, and he pushed himself off the chair, stepping toward James. “You know, there’s a little place in town where the real music happens. A club called The Blue Note. Ever heard of it?”
James blinked, unsure if he’d heard him correctly. “The Blue Note?”
“Yeah, that’s the spot,” Lee said with a sly smile, a spark in his eyes. “Jazz, blues, real good stuff. You should come with me sometime. I think you’d fit right in. Pretty cool vibe there, y’know?”
James didn’t entirely follow Lee’s meaning, but he could guess. His cousin was a little older than him, Lee had grown up in Memphis, knew the ins and outs of the city like the back of his hand. Still, James didn’t quite get what Lee was hinting at. The way he said “fit right in” made him feel awkward as if he could fit anywhere in Memphis. James didn’t want to seem rude so he nodded.
“Well, uh… sure, maybe,” James replied, not entirely sure how to react. “I’ll think about it.”
Lee gave him a knowing look, as though he knew James wasn’t entirely sold on the idea, but James could see the invitation was sincere. “Good, good,” Lee said with a wink. “Trust me, you won’t regret it. The Blue Note’s got that real Memphis soul. Ain’t nothin’ like it.”
That night, James retreated to the small room his uncle had set up for him. It wasn’t much, just a simple bed with an old quilt, a small dresser, and a window that let in the thick, sticky heat of Memphis. The air felt heavy, almost suffocating, and the crickets outside only made the silence inside feel more intense.
He tried to settle himself on the bed, but it was impossible to get comfortable. The sheets clung to his skin, slick with sweat. The room smelled faintly of dust and mothballs, and no matter how many times he turned his pillow, it never seemed to cool down.
There was a gnawing feeling in his stomach, something he couldn’t quite explain. It wasn’t fear, but it wasn’t entirely comfort either. It was like the world was holding its breath, waiting for something he couldn’t predict. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going to happen, something important, but what it was eluded him.
James rolled over on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, closed his eyes, hoping sleep would come.
After a few minutes he turned his head towards the door, still wide open, letting the oppressive heat in. He could hear his mother’s soft footsteps outside in the hallway, probably checking in on him.
“Mum?” James called out, his voice soft but strained.
She stepped into the room, her outline dark against the dim light from the hallway. “What’s the matter, darling?” she asked, her voice calm, but James could tell she was trying to hide her own unease.
James sat up, the quilt falling off his chest. “I don’t know… It’s just... this feeling. Like something’s about to happen, and I can’t make sense of it. I feel anxious.”
His mother sighed and walked over to sit on the edge of the bed, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. She gave him a reassuring smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“You’ll be fine,” she said softly. “You just need to follow the rules, James. Tennessee’s a place that has its ways. As long as you do what’s expected, keep your head down and respect their ways, nothing bad will happen.”
James looked at her, trying to let her words settle in, but the unease in his stomach only seemed to grow. He knew she meant well, but it wasn’t just the rules he was worried about. It was something else, something bigger that he couldn’t name.
“Do you ever get scared?” James asked suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper.
His mother hesitated, her hands smoothing the sheets in front of her. She avoided his eyes for a second before looking at him and answering with a quiet strength. “Fear is something that comes with living here, James. You can either let it control you, or you can live with it. We’re not here to change Memphis, just to be part of it, for better or for worse.”
James nodded, unsure of what to say. His mother had always been pragmatic, always the calm in their house back in England, but here, in this unfamiliar city, he could feel the weight of things left unsaid.
He leaned back against the pillow, trying to shut out the discomfort in his chest, trying to tell himself he could get through the summer. But as his mother kissed him goodnight and left the room, James couldn’t shake the feeling that something was brewing. And he had no idea what it was.
...
James woke up to the smell of something sizzling in the kitchen and the distant chatter of his family. The room was already warm, the morning heat creeping in through the window, the unease from the night before had dulled into something quieter. He stretched, running a hand through his curls before pushing himself out of bed. If nothing else, the promise of food was enough to get him moving.
When he stepped into the kitchen, the table was already set, filled with plates of biscuits, grits, scrambled eggs, thick slices of ham, and gravy. His grandmother, despite her frail frame, moved with practiced ease, fussing over the food while his aunts and mother helped serve. His uncles were already sitting at the table, drinking their coffee and reading the paper.
"Well, look who's finally up," Lee teased, grinning as he reached for another biscuit.
James rolled his eyes but took his seat. He had to admit, the spread was impressive. Back in England, breakfast was usually a simpler affair, but here, it was a full meal, rich and heavy. He took a bite of a biscuit, still warm and buttery, and for the first time since arriving, he felt a little more at ease.
His mother gave him a knowing smile from across the table. “Eat up, darling. You’ll need your energy.”
As the conversation carried on around him, James found himself quietly observing. He still didn’t quite feel like he belonged, but at least the food was good.
Halfway through breakfast, Lee nudged him with his elbow. “Hey, you wanna come take a stroll with me today? Walk through the city a little, see what Memphis is really like?”
James hesitated for a moment, but before he could answer, his mother cut in. “That’s a good idea,” she said, giving James a pointed look. “You should go. Get to know the city a little.”
James exhaled, realizing he didn’t really have a choice. “Yeah, alright,” he muttered.
Lee grinned. “Good. You’ll like it. Memphis ain’t all bad if you know where to look.”
The sun hung high in the sky as James and Lee stepped out onto the bustling streets of Memphis.
The city was alive with movement: cars rolling by, people walking along the sidewalks, the sound of shop doors opening and closing. It was nothing like London.
Lee walked with confidence, nodding to people he recognized as they passed by. James, on the other hand, kept his hands in his pockets, trying to take it all in.
As they walked, James caught sight of an ice cream parlor across the street. The sign above the door read Frosty’s, and through the window, he could see people sitting at the counter, enjoying cones and sundaes. The sight was enough to make him crave something cold in the stifling heat. Without thinking, he started toward the entrance.
Lee’s hand shot out, grabbing James’s arm in a firm grip. “What the hell you doin’?”
James blinked, confused. “Getting ice cream?”
Lee’s grip tightened for a second before he let go. He glanced around quickly, lowering his voice. “You crazy? You can’t go in there.”
James frowned. “Why not?”
Lee exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck like he was trying to find the right words. “’Cause that door right there?” He pointed at the entrance James had been heading for. “That’s whites only.”
James stared at him, his stomach sinking. “What?”
Lee didn’t flinch. “Black folks gotta go ‘round back.” He jerked his thumb toward the alley beside the shop. James followed the direction of his hand, spotting a narrow, grimy door tucked away in the shadows. It didn’t even have a sign—just a faded, splintered frame.
James let out a short laugh, waiting for Lee to say he was joking. “You’re messing with me.”
“I ain’t,” Lee said flatly. “That’s just how it is.”
James felt heat rise to his face, but it wasn’t from the sun this time. “That’s ridiculous.”
Lee let out a humorless chuckle. “Yeah, well, ridiculous’ll get you killed if you don’t pay attention.”
James shook his head. “But… my father is white.”
Lee looked him straight in the eye. “And your mother ain’t.”
James opened his mouth, then closed it. He felt like he was choking on something he didn’t have words for.
Lee sighed, lowering his voice again. “Doesn’t matter your daddy’s a white Englishman. You ain’t white. Not here. Not in Tennessee.” He studied James for a moment before adding, “And I ain’t tryna see the police come knockin’ you down over a damn ice cream cone.”
James clenched his fists. “That’s insane. It’s just a door.”
Lee scoffed. “Nah, it ain’t. It’s a message.”
James turned back to the ice cream parlor, staring at the people inside. Carefree, eating, laughing. It was just a door. But somehow, it was also a wall, keeping him out of a world he wasn’t welcome in.
James swallowed the bitterness rising in his throat. “Someone has to do something about this,” he muttered.
Lee gave a short, dry laugh. “Yeah? And who’s that gonna be?”
James didn’t have an answer.
Lee shook his head. “Look, man, I get it. You been in England. Ain’t the same rules. But here?” He gestured around them. “You break those rules, and you end up in the ground. Why you think your mama left?”
James turned to him, eyes narrowed. “What?”
Lee exhaled. “She couldn’t marry your daddy in Memphis. Not and live to tell about it. You think people here woulda just let her be? A Black woman with a white man?” He shook his head. “She’d be dead by now.”
James felt something cold settle in his stomach. His mother had never talked much about why she left. She always said she fell in love, that England had been a fresh start. But had it been a choice at all? Or had it been survival?
He clenched his jaw. “It’s wrong.”
Lee looked at him with something almost like pity. “Yeah. But being right don’t change a damn thing.”
James stared at the parlor one last time, then turned and walked away. The craving for ice cream was long gone.
James’s head was spinning.
He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t wrap his mind around what Lee had just told him. It wasn’t just the ice cream parlor. It was everywhere. Every sign on every door, every glance from the people in the street, every rule he hadn’t even known existed until now.
He thought about all the signs he had seen since arriving the ones that had confused him at first. White Only. Colored Entrance. No Negroes Allowed. They weren’t just words. According to Tennessee, according to the people here, he wasn’t supposed to exist.
His stomach twisted. He felt sick.
He wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to be anywhere.
James clenched his fists. His mother, his aunts and uncles, his grandmother they were just like the white people in that shop, just as human, just as whole. There was nothing wrong with them. Nothing wrong with him.
But the world around him didn’t see it that way.
His throat tightened. He felt like he was drowning in something thick and ugly.
Lee must’ve noticed the look on his face because he clapped a hand on James’s shoulder. “Hey, don’t let it get to you too much, cuz. Ain’t nothin’ new.”
James jerked away. “How are you okay with this?” His voice came out sharp, almost accusing.
Lee let out a slow breath. “I ain’t. But I am is used to it.”
James shook his head. “That’s not—” He couldn’t even finish the sentence. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.
Lee shrugged, like he had already had this conversation with himself a hundred times. “You get used to a lotta things when you got no choice.”
James’s chest burned. He didn’t want to get used to this. He couldn’t.
“I want to go back,” he muttered, voice low.
Lee frowned. “Back where?”
James swallowed hard. “Back to Grandmother’s house.” But even as he said it, he knew that wasn’t enough. He shook his head. “No. I want to go back to England.”
Lee let out a short laugh, but there wasn’t any humor in it. “Yeah? And leave your mama behind?”
James didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say. And he had never wanted to escape something so badly in his life.
...
On the weekend, Lee asked James if he wanted to go out with him. "You coming with me tonight?" he asked casually, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
James hesitated, still fuming about everything—the heat, the signs, the way everything seemed to separate him from the world he once knew. "Is it... a colored place?" James asked, the words tasting bitter as they left his mouth.
Lee’s smirk softened, and he clapped James on the shoulder. "Trust me, you’ll have fun. Just come on."
James didn’t have much to lose. He was still mad at Memphis, at the segregation, at the whole damn system that was trying to tell him he didn’t belong. But he also didn’t want to sit in his room all night, thinking about how nothing was ever going to change. So, with a reluctant nod, he agreed. "Alright, I'll go."
Let’s grin widened. "Good. You’re gonna like it."
As they left the house, James couldn’t shake the heaviness in his chest. He wanted to escape Memphis, but for now, this was all he had. At least, Lee promised it would be fun. Even if it was just for one night, maybe that would be enough.
...
The moment James stepped inside The Blue Note, the music wrapped around him like the humid summer air outside, thick, slow, and electric. The blues seeped into his skin, into his bones, and for the first time since stepping foot in Memphis, something inside him uncoiled.
But none of that compared to the man on stage.
James froze.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away. The singer, tall and lean with dark hair slicked back, stood at the mic, a cigarette hanging loosely from his fingers. His voice poured out like velvet, smooth and rich, mingling with the low thrum of the bass and the twang of the guitar. It was the kind of voice that made the room still, that commanded attention even without trying.
James felt his heart stutter in his chest as the man sang. Each note seemed to sink into the air, heavy with emotion, yet effortless. It wasn’t just the voice it was the way he moved with the music, every subtle shift of his body like he was one with the rhythm. His presence was magnetic, pulling everyone in. Even the low hum of chatter in the background seemed to quiet whenever he hit a particularly high note, as if the room held its breath.
James’s mouth went dry, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe. He didn’t know why, but something about the man, about this moment, felt so… right. It was
like he had found the one thing that had been missing. The one thing that had been eluding him since arriving in Memphis.