When I hear the thunder real loud, shakin' my bones beneath my skin, I kno' that the storm ain't over. I don' even kno' if it's really begun. Mary is huddled in a corner, with Miss. Lizabeth, a flickerin' candle righ' by their side. Miss. Lizabeth's eyes are open real wide, unblinkin', an' I get the feelin' that she ain't seein' the world as I. That possibly she asleep with 'er eyes open. Mary's restin' her head on the older woman's shoulder, soft sounds comin' out her sleepin' mouth. She look like she dreamin' peaceful dreams, wrapped up in 'er pretend mother.
The Mistress is still on the bench, her head lyin' on one end, her feet stretched out in front of 'er- all the way to the other side. Her dress, blue silk with patches of green lace fans out beside her- the faint tips touchin' the concrete groun'. Her hands are collapsed almos' prayer like on her bosom, her chest risin' an' fallin' with each passin' breath. Her mouth-noises are real loud- almos' reachin' the volume of the thunder from outside. She flichin' every so often, like the dream beneath her eyelids ain't great at all. Fo' a moment I feel connected with her- knowin' how it feels to have a nightmare almos' every nigh' of the week.
Half my brain mus' still be in dreamland, cause it took me longer than it should've to notice that daddy ain't down 'ere with us. Usually his presence is dauntin' -fillin' up any large room with his loud voice an' commandin' ways. But today I wasn't missin' it, I didn't notice no absence. I actually considered fo' a good chunk of time jus' stayin' down 'ere 'till the storm passed, but the thought went as quickly as it had come. Like them Greek Myths, I gotta tragic flaw. An' that'd be my curiosity. Or maybe my impatience. But which ever one will be my down fall don't matter, cause it a mixture of both that make me go up to the first level.
The stairs creek beneath my weight, but lookin' behind me- no one girl sits up. I can't tell if they awake- fo' I can't see their eyes, or in Miss. Lizabeth's case- her gaze- well enough to kno' if I've waked them. But after holdin' my breath fo' a lon' second- and seein' that none of 'em shout my name- I continue my way up. When it gets darker, the next candle not 'till the kitchen, I try not to imagine any of them nightmares that haunt my dreams. I ain't normally too afraid of the dark- it nice not to be seen- but with the storm as my background an' daddy missin' a little paranoid. Instead I try to sing some hymns, in my head at first but then out loud.
The Mistress is still on the bench, her head lyin' on one end, her feet stretched out in front of 'er- all the way to the other side. Her dress, blue silk with patches of green lace fans out beside her- the faint tips touchin' the concrete groun'. Her hands are collapsed almos' prayer like on her bosom, her chest risin' an' fallin' with each passin' breath. Her mouth-noises are real loud- almos' reachin' the volume of the thunder from outside. She flichin' every so often, like the dream beneath her eyelids ain't great at all. Fo' a moment I feel connected with her- knowin' how it feels to have a nightmare almos' every nigh' of the week.
Half my brain mus' still be in dreamland, cause it took me longer than it should've to notice that daddy ain't down 'ere with us. Usually his presence is dauntin' -fillin' up any large room with his loud voice an' commandin' ways. But today I wasn't missin' it, I didn't notice no absence. I actually considered fo' a good chunk of time jus' stayin' down 'ere 'till the storm passed, but the thought went as quickly as it had come. Like them Greek Myths, I gotta tragic flaw. An' that'd be my curiosity. Or maybe my impatience. But which ever one will be my down fall don't matter, cause it a mixture of both that make me go up to the first level.
The stairs creek beneath my weight, but lookin' behind me- no one girl sits up. I can't tell if they awake- fo' I can't see their eyes, or in Miss. Lizabeth's case- her gaze- well enough to kno' if I've waked them. But after holdin' my breath fo' a lon' second- and seein' that none of 'em shout my name- I continue my way up. When it gets darker, the next candle not 'till the kitchen, I try not to imagine any of them nightmares that haunt my dreams. I ain't normally too afraid of the dark- it nice not to be seen- but with the storm as my background an' daddy missin' a little paranoid. Instead I try to sing some hymns, in my head at first but then out loud.
