It don't take to long to fall asleep after that, and I have dreams of Samuel. I don't know which slave is him, I really don't pay close attention to no names. I think he may be the one who is always causin' trouble in the fields and slackin' off all the while.
But in my dreams he ain't no troublemaker, he's gentle and sweet and my hero. It's a weird dream, for no man of color is ever gentle in reality. But when I sleep he rescues me and takes me to Hill Country in Virgina. There I ain't loved by daddy and there ain't no Mary or Miss. Lizabeth. I just sit by myself, sometimes Samuel comes too, sittin' with me and readin' Washington Irving.
I know it ain't a proper dream, but when I wake I find myself wishin' it was real. At least the part of me leavin'.
Miss. Lizabeth calls me out of bed early, sayin' somethin' about healin' a whippin'. I use a curse word daddy taught me in my mind, too scared to say it out loud. I want to stay in my dream world longer, where I don't have to heal no wounds, but Miss. Lizabeth is real mean before the sun is high.
I'm thinkin' mean things about my daddy, and feelin' guilty about doin' so, all the way to the kitchen. There I'm welcomed by a dark-as-night back, covered in raw marks stretched across his skin. I gasp, though I promise myself it ain't cause he hurt, it's cause the blood. I go queasy with blood. Though I promise myself, I know it ain't the truth.
"You're daddy did some extra whippin' last night 'cause he was runnin'. He's needed on the gin. Fix 'em up a little."
I nod, already goin' through the motions in my head. Fixin' up his shredded back ain't gonna be too hard, but it may hurt him a little. It don't matter though, cause it won't hurt as bad as how he got it.
Miss. Lizabeth leaves,content with my response, leavin' me alone with the slave. I silently get a slab of meat, pressin' it to his wounds. He don't make no noise either, and though I silently beg him to turn around so I can see his face, he don't do that either. He hisses as I take the slab off and replace it with a rag to clean the blood and I feel a drop of guilt.
I try to think of other things, like Mr.Smith and Mary, but it don't help, I still grow angerer with my daddy. 'Specially 'cause the man in front of me saved me from him last night. He didn't deserve this harsh of a whippin'.
It ain't long before I'm done. I've practiced this many times. Daddy can have a real bad temper.
But in my dreams he ain't no troublemaker, he's gentle and sweet and my hero. It's a weird dream, for no man of color is ever gentle in reality. But when I sleep he rescues me and takes me to Hill Country in Virgina. There I ain't loved by daddy and there ain't no Mary or Miss. Lizabeth. I just sit by myself, sometimes Samuel comes too, sittin' with me and readin' Washington Irving.
I know it ain't a proper dream, but when I wake I find myself wishin' it was real. At least the part of me leavin'.
Miss. Lizabeth calls me out of bed early, sayin' somethin' about healin' a whippin'. I use a curse word daddy taught me in my mind, too scared to say it out loud. I want to stay in my dream world longer, where I don't have to heal no wounds, but Miss. Lizabeth is real mean before the sun is high.
I'm thinkin' mean things about my daddy, and feelin' guilty about doin' so, all the way to the kitchen. There I'm welcomed by a dark-as-night back, covered in raw marks stretched across his skin. I gasp, though I promise myself it ain't cause he hurt, it's cause the blood. I go queasy with blood. Though I promise myself, I know it ain't the truth.
"You're daddy did some extra whippin' last night 'cause he was runnin'. He's needed on the gin. Fix 'em up a little."
I nod, already goin' through the motions in my head. Fixin' up his shredded back ain't gonna be too hard, but it may hurt him a little. It don't matter though, cause it won't hurt as bad as how he got it.
Miss. Lizabeth leaves,content with my response, leavin' me alone with the slave. I silently get a slab of meat, pressin' it to his wounds. He don't make no noise either, and though I silently beg him to turn around so I can see his face, he don't do that either. He hisses as I take the slab off and replace it with a rag to clean the blood and I feel a drop of guilt.
I try to think of other things, like Mr.Smith and Mary, but it don't help, I still grow angerer with my daddy. 'Specially 'cause the man in front of me saved me from him last night. He didn't deserve this harsh of a whippin'.
It ain't long before I'm done. I've practiced this many times. Daddy can have a real bad temper.
