With my dressin' robe tied real tight, I debate on whether I should even go or not. I could jus' sneak back up stairs, an' fall inta my bed, sleepin' away the bruise jus' beneath my eye. I could dream about the mother Cecile tol' me of, an' give my mind a break of thinkin'. I could do as daddy would want me to- as I should do.
Or- I could open the door. I could walk righ' outside, beneath the blanket a stars an' keep on walkin' 'till I reach my tree. He'd be there, waitin' fo', perhaps smilin' when I finally reach 'em. I'd 'and over my pencil- my paper, an' we'd get ta work. I could do wha' daddy'd forbid if he knew- I could spend my time with a colored man.
I dunno wha' to do. I dunno. Before my mind made up, my hand is already turnin' the knob an' I outside. The air is cool, too cool fo' my dressin' robe- almos' tauntin' me. I shoul' turn 'round, it says. 'Turn 'round an' go back ta the manor, to my bed all warm an' real nice.
But before I can decide- he sees me an' it too late. He is smilin'- like I thought he might, an' this time he stand righ' up to greet me. I still a little 'nnoyed 'bout the way he didn't even care when I departed earlier, but slowly that melt away, with each step I get closer.
"Hello," he says, takin' my hand when I within' reach, an' helpin' me to the ground. I pull my hand way real quick, not likin' how weird feelin' it get when he touch me.
"Good evenin'."
"It is, isn't it?"
I don' replay, so we jus' starin' at each other in silence. It like he waitin' fo' me to say somethin'- anythin' to keep us talkin', but I don't. Even if I wanted to- which I don'- I don't got nothin' to say to a slave man.
"Alrigh'- whaddya say? We start at H."
"H- is that real hard?"
"No- not too bad."
"Oh, alrigh'."
"You got the paper?"
I nod, handin' it ta him, alon' with the pencil. He gotta show me first before I even put the pencil ta paper- I kno' sorta what a H look like- but I dunno even close how to write it.
"So you start with a line."
Or- I could open the door. I could walk righ' outside, beneath the blanket a stars an' keep on walkin' 'till I reach my tree. He'd be there, waitin' fo', perhaps smilin' when I finally reach 'em. I'd 'and over my pencil- my paper, an' we'd get ta work. I could do wha' daddy'd forbid if he knew- I could spend my time with a colored man.
I dunno wha' to do. I dunno. Before my mind made up, my hand is already turnin' the knob an' I outside. The air is cool, too cool fo' my dressin' robe- almos' tauntin' me. I shoul' turn 'round, it says. 'Turn 'round an' go back ta the manor, to my bed all warm an' real nice.
But before I can decide- he sees me an' it too late. He is smilin'- like I thought he might, an' this time he stand righ' up to greet me. I still a little 'nnoyed 'bout the way he didn't even care when I departed earlier, but slowly that melt away, with each step I get closer.
"Hello," he says, takin' my hand when I within' reach, an' helpin' me to the ground. I pull my hand way real quick, not likin' how weird feelin' it get when he touch me.
"Good evenin'."
"It is, isn't it?"
I don' replay, so we jus' starin' at each other in silence. It like he waitin' fo' me to say somethin'- anythin' to keep us talkin', but I don't. Even if I wanted to- which I don'- I don't got nothin' to say to a slave man.
"Alrigh'- whaddya say? We start at H."
"H- is that real hard?"
"No- not too bad."
"Oh, alrigh'."
"You got the paper?"
I nod, handin' it ta him, alon' with the pencil. He gotta show me first before I even put the pencil ta paper- I kno' sorta what a H look like- but I dunno even close how to write it.
"So you start with a line."
