"I kno' wha' I said," he says, mo' like snaps. He nudges my hand, the one with the pencil- tells me to do anotha one.
"Then- why?"
"That ain't a G."
I huff, droppin' the pencil on the ground an' crossin' my arms 'round my chest. He got no right as a colored man to speak in that tone with me. No righ' at all. As 'is master's daughter- he shoul' treat with the upmost respect. I required 'is services an' that's what he should be given, without no attitude. I so flustered an' angry that I can't even come up with a proper response. I jus' can't.
The matter of the fact is- that maybe it ain't the best G but it is one. An' he don't gotta embarrass me further- it 'ready bad enough with a colored man havin' mo' skill than me. An' he slave- he shouldn't even be 'lowed to write- it against the rules. I could report 'im to daddy- who in turn could give 'em even mo' licks.
Finally, I sigh.I ain't angry anymore- I guess a little- but now it mo' sadness. I ain't never gonna be able to do this- I ain't never gonna get to write to James an' penmanship is the easiest part. Next I gotta learn 'ow to spell.
"It a legible G," I whisper, "Can't you tell it a G?"
"Only 'cause I kno' it."
"Do you think I'd ever get it righ'?"
"You will- jus' do anotha one," he says, 'is voice relaxin' as I relax. "That one ain't too bad. You got it down a little- don't need my 'and no mo'."
Maybe he thought I'd tell daddy 'bout 'im knowin' this if he didn't teach me right. Maybe that was why he was all strun' high, speakin' in a tone no colored man should ever do. He had a right to worry- I guess- I was thinkin' 'bout tellin' daddy.
"I don't think I'll evea get it," I say, lean in' back 'gainst the hard bark of the tree. It scratches my back- but I let it. I deserve it. I ain't even as smart as a colored man, not even as smart as a slave.
"You will- took me ages. Took me even longer to get to read- but Cecile says you got that down."
I nod, wonderin' why Cecile would even tell 'em somethin' like that. But I don't let my mind linger on that thought fo' too lon'.
"Here." He picks up the pencil, an' wraps my fingers 'round it. "Jus' give it one mo' go, alrigh'? Then we'll be done fo' tonigh'."
"Alright." I put the pencil to paper.
"Then- why?"
"That ain't a G."
I huff, droppin' the pencil on the ground an' crossin' my arms 'round my chest. He got no right as a colored man to speak in that tone with me. No righ' at all. As 'is master's daughter- he shoul' treat with the upmost respect. I required 'is services an' that's what he should be given, without no attitude. I so flustered an' angry that I can't even come up with a proper response. I jus' can't.
The matter of the fact is- that maybe it ain't the best G but it is one. An' he don't gotta embarrass me further- it 'ready bad enough with a colored man havin' mo' skill than me. An' he slave- he shouldn't even be 'lowed to write- it against the rules. I could report 'im to daddy- who in turn could give 'em even mo' licks.
Finally, I sigh.I ain't angry anymore- I guess a little- but now it mo' sadness. I ain't never gonna be able to do this- I ain't never gonna get to write to James an' penmanship is the easiest part. Next I gotta learn 'ow to spell.
"It a legible G," I whisper, "Can't you tell it a G?"
"Only 'cause I kno' it."
"Do you think I'd ever get it righ'?"
"You will- jus' do anotha one," he says, 'is voice relaxin' as I relax. "That one ain't too bad. You got it down a little- don't need my 'and no mo'."
Maybe he thought I'd tell daddy 'bout 'im knowin' this if he didn't teach me right. Maybe that was why he was all strun' high, speakin' in a tone no colored man should ever do. He had a right to worry- I guess- I was thinkin' 'bout tellin' daddy.
"I don't think I'll evea get it," I say, lean in' back 'gainst the hard bark of the tree. It scratches my back- but I let it. I deserve it. I ain't even as smart as a colored man, not even as smart as a slave.
"You will- took me ages. Took me even longer to get to read- but Cecile says you got that down."
I nod, wonderin' why Cecile would even tell 'em somethin' like that. But I don't let my mind linger on that thought fo' too lon'.
"Here." He picks up the pencil, an' wraps my fingers 'round it. "Jus' give it one mo' go, alrigh'? Then we'll be done fo' tonigh'."
"Alright." I put the pencil to paper.
