Chapter 4

“My goodness, that was some serious dancing, I can feel the sweat just dripping off my face and onto my chest.  How’s you doing, Bella, you sweating?”

“No Clarabelle, I don't sweat, I glow.  Weez both need to get home, long day tomorrow.”

“Yeah, you's probably rights on that call.  Let’s get a move on then.  Tomorrow I have a big protest going on, once again Miss. Mozell Ivy will be leading.  Ma,n her voice is so loud, it’s like the whole city can hear it.  We is gonna be protesting about Women’s Rights.”  Yes, we did get our rights after 72 years of hard work like having parades, pickets and marches, but we still aren’t equal.  I'm grateful to Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Lucretia Mott for launching women’s rights.  Now there is another issue; farmers, African Americans and immigrants are not equal too.  Now my best friend, Isabella (Bella for short), is a farmer and a woman.  Now just imagine how hard that must be.  She is unequal in two ways. 

“Well, I need a good night sleep for tomorrow big protest.” 

Ring, Ring.  It’s already mornin.  Ugg, it’s still pitch black out.  Leme get dressed and hopeful some sun will rise and it be a bit bright out.  Hallelujah, it is!  I better get a move on to the protest then.  I'm not out of my house yet and I can see people protesting, oh geez. 

“Women are equal, women are equal, we are the same, we are the same,” is what Miss. Mozell Ivy is shouten when I'm down at the protest.

“Come on, Clarabelle, get your butt down here,”  yells Bella.

I start running down with my sign saying EQUALITY and a bottle.  Most think it be water, but, it be alcohol, whisky to be exact.  I also keep a hidden cigarette in my pocket if I’s have the urge.  I'm runnin like the wind to the protest.  Determination is in my mind.

“Flapper stop, go to the bar or home where you should be,” says a tall, strong man with a deep voice.

I start walkin home, feeling like I was just stomped on by a giant, but I think, how will just walkin home help protest women’s rights?  So, I run pin straight past the man and to the protest.  I can feel the gravel crunching under my feet as I am running.  Luckily, I'm hidden in the sea of people and signs, and away from the spine-chilling man.  I meet up with Bella, and we start yelling about women’s rights.  Sadly, this protest can't go on long; my favorite store Macy’s is having a huuuuge parade to celebrate Thanksgiving tomorrow.  I can’t wait!  Also, who wants to be protesting on a holiday; not me.

“Clarabelle, Clarabelle, focus,” says Bella.

“What?  What happened?”

“You were zoning out,” says Bella.

“I’m just imagining the parade tomorrow.”

“What’s more important, a parade or protesting, there’s one right answer.”

“I know, I know, protesting is more important than a parade.”

“Come on, women, show these men we are strong,” says Mozell in that powerful voice of hers.

We walk down streets for what feels like hours protesting.  Often, I take a swig of my whisky and I'm good.  We was really protesting for two hours.  Once we was done me and Bella went to our homes, we grabbed our outfits and went out to dance the night away.  We went to Club Studio, best whiskey in all of New York City.  This is a secret, but Club Studio is really a speakeasy.  It’s got da bright, dazzling lights that everybody knows.  I gotsta remember to not get drunk tonight; tomorrow’s the parade.

-Keely McCullough