"Why-why, I just wouldn't think of it!" She twisted and twitched. "The very idea, going to a hotel with a strange man!"
"But I ain't strange," I said, giving her a pinch. "I'm built just like the rest of 'em."
"Oh, you awful thing, you!" she giggled. "You're just terrible!"
"Why, I ain't neither terrible," I said. "Anyways, it ain't fair to say I am without more knowledge on the subject."
She giggled and blushed, and said she just couldn't go to a hotel. "I just couldn't! I really couldn't."
"Well, if you can't you can't," I said, getting a little tired of it all. "Far be it from me to urge you."
"But-but we could go to my rooming house. No one would think anything of it if you just came up to my room for a little visit."
We took a streetcar over to the place where she lived, a big white house a few blocks from the river. It was a very respectable place, from all appearances, and the people were too. And no one lifted an eyebrow when Myra said we were just going upstairs to clean up before we went out for supper.
Well, sir, I hardly touched that woman. Or, anyway, if I did touch her, I didn't do much more than that. I was ready to and rarin' to, and, well, maybe I did do a little something. But with all them clothes she had on, it was god-danged little.
All of a sudden, though, she pushed me off to the floor, starting to bawl and sob so loud you could hear her in the next block. I picked myself up and tried to shush her. I asked her what the heck was the matter, and I tried to pat her and calm her down. She shoved me away again, setting up an even bigger racket.
I didn't know what the heck to do. Anyways, I didn't have time to do anything before a bunch of the other roomers came busting in.
The women hovered around Myra, trying to soothe her and talk to her. Myra kept bawling and shaking her head, not answering when they asked her what the matter was. The men looked at me, and kept asking me what I'd done to Myra. And it was just one of those situations where the truth won't do and a lie's no help. Which fortunately there ain't many of in this vale of tears.
The men grabbed ahold of me and began to bat me around. One of the women said she was going to call the police, but the men said no, they'd take care of me themselves. They'd give me what I deserved, they said, and there were plenty of men in the neighborhood to help 'em.
Well, I couldn't really blame 'em for thinking what they did. I'd've probably thought the same thing in their place, what with Myra bawling and her clothes being messed up, and me not being in very good shape neither. They figured I'd raped her, and when a fella rapes a gal in this part of the country, he hardly ever gets to the jail. Or, if he does, he don't stay there very long.
I figure sometimes that maybe that's why we don't make as much progress as other parts of the nation. People lose so much time from their jobs in lynching other people, and they spend so much money on rope and kerosene and getting likkered-up in advance and other essentials, that there ain't an awful lot of money or man-hours left for practical purposes.
Howsoever, it sure looked like I was about to be the guest of honor at a necktie party, when Myra decided to speak up.
"I'm s-sure Mr. Corey didn't mean to do wrong," she said, looking around teary-eyed. "He's really a fine man, I'm sure, and he didn't mean to do wrong, did you, Mr. Corey?"
"No, ma'am, I sure didn't," I said, running my finger around my collar. "I positively didn't mean nothing like that, and that's a fact."
"Then why did you do it?" a man frowned at me. "This is hardly something that a person does accidentally."
"Well, I don't know about that," I said. "I wouldn't say you're wrong, but I ain't sure you're right either."
He started to take a swing at me. I ducked but another fella caught me by the shoulder and flung me toward the door. I went down on my knees and someone kicked me, and some others jerked me to my feet again, not being very gentle about it, and then everyone was hustling me out of the room and trying to sock me at the same time.
Myra said, "Wait! Please wait! It's all a mistake."
They slowed down a little, and someone said, "Now, don't upset yourself, Miss Myra. This skunk isn't worth it."
"But he wants to marry me! We were going to get married tonight!"
Everyone was pretty surprised, including me, and they were puzzled too, which I wasn't. It looked like I'd sold my pottage for a mess of afterbirth, as the saying is. I'd been chasing females all my life, not paying no mind to the fact that whatever's got tail at one end has teeth at the other, and now I was getting chomped on.
"That right, Corey?" A fella nudged me. "You and Miss Myra getting married?"
"Well," I said.-"Well, it's like this, or at least that's the way I see it. I mean, uh-"
"Oh, he's so bashful!" Myra laughed. "And he gets excited so easily! That's what happened when-" She looked down at herself, blushing and brushing at her mussed-up clothes. "He got so excited when I said yes, I'd marry him, that-that-"
The women put their arms around her and kissed her.
The men slapped me on the back, and began shaking my hands. They said they were sorry they'd misunderstood the situation; and doggone it, couldn't a woman get a man in a heck of a lot of trouble without even halfway trying?
"Why, we might have had you strung up by the neck, Corey, if Miss Myra hadn't set things straight! Now, wouldn't that have been a fine state of affairs?"
"Yeah," I said. "That would have been a good joke on me. But looky, fellas. About this marriage business-"
"A wonderful institution, Corey. And you're getting a wonderful woman."
"And I'm getting a wonderful man!" Myra jumped up and threw her arms around me. "We're getting married right tonight, because Mr. Corey just can't wait, and you're all invited to the wedding!"
It just happened that there was a preacher right up in the next block, so that's where we went-where everyone else went, I should say-and I got took. Myra dragged me along, with her arm hooked through mine; and those other folks brought up the rear, laughing and joking and slapping me on the back, and crowding on my heels so that I couldn't slow down.
I tried to sort of hang back, and they thought that was funny as all-heck. They thought the expression on my face was funny, and they practically went into hysterics when I said something like what was the god-danged hurry, and maybe we ought to think this over for a while.
It reminded me of one of those ceremonies you read about in ancient histories. You know. There's this big procession, with everyone laughing and carrying on and having themselves a heck of a time, and up at the head of it is this fella that's going to get sacrificed to the gods. He knows he'll get his ass carved up with a meat axe as soon as they stop throwing roses at him, so he sure ain't in no hurry to get to the altar. He can't get out of the deal, but neither can he put his heart into it. And the more he protests, the more people laugh at him.
So…
So that's what it reminded me of. A fella getting sacrificed for something that just ain't worth it.
But I guess a lot of marriages strike me the same way. Everything for show and nothing for real. Everything for public and nothing for private.