As I watch Mary go, I realize that I ain't got no where to go myself. It too hot outside to do nothin' there, an' all them slaves are workin', only a few excused fo' longer prayer. So I don't gotta watch them inside ones doin' them chores, cause they all outside or in Church. An' that little boy- the one that I promised to go see is probably out workin' today too- daddy gotta big sale comin' up soon. All them slaves gotta work extra hard now. Our production of cotton almos' need to double- he been workin' them real hard. Sun up through sun down. It the only way to get things done, round 'ere. Daddy kinda nervous 'bout makin' the deadline, an' he real stressed out, but it'll all be worth it when we get that check. An' really- I don't mind when daddy all worked up- he leave me alone then- cause he got them slaves to worry 'bout.
I wander 'round fo' a little while, almos' breakin' one of the Mistress' big, 'ol statues but it survives. I feel kinda disappointed that it ain't shattered on the ground, but I keep tellin' myself that it better that way. No mess. It still kills me- to put the bust- un-broken- back in its place.
Eventually I make my way up that red carpet, passin' through the dinin' room. I sick of bein' alone, at least fo' righ' now. It'll be good to talk to someone, hear the sound of my own voice.
I do hope to find Cecile in the kitchen, but she ain't in there, an' I find myself starin' at the empty spot she usually occupies. I let my shoulders drop, any tint of a smile leavin' my face. I make my way, real careful, to the counter, smoothin' my hands over the marble surface. It real smooth, an' clean. There ain't no trace of dirt- no trace of Cecile.
I sigh, feelin' real lonesome. Even though it ain't true- I feel like Cecile ain't never gonna come back. It seem like she haven't been in this kitchen fo' months. 'Er presence 'is jus' gone. She was'ere this mornin'- I kno' cause I saw 'er, but it don't feel like it. No sir.
I raise my eyes to look out the window. There ain't much outside- the cotton field an' them slaves live on the other side of the 'ouse. There a few trees- no more than four, each separated by a 'uge chunk a land. The wind- which ain't real stron' today but still there, blows a leaf off of one of them, an' it comes flutterin' to the ground, real slow, real slow an' careful. I watch its journey all the way down to its end an' then watch it lay on the ground- dead.
It's green, little spots of brown dottin' the left side of it. I can't see no veins in it from 'ere, only the surface. I ain't able to tell what inside- I ain't able to see what once had made it live.
I wander 'round fo' a little while, almos' breakin' one of the Mistress' big, 'ol statues but it survives. I feel kinda disappointed that it ain't shattered on the ground, but I keep tellin' myself that it better that way. No mess. It still kills me- to put the bust- un-broken- back in its place.
Eventually I make my way up that red carpet, passin' through the dinin' room. I sick of bein' alone, at least fo' righ' now. It'll be good to talk to someone, hear the sound of my own voice.
I do hope to find Cecile in the kitchen, but she ain't in there, an' I find myself starin' at the empty spot she usually occupies. I let my shoulders drop, any tint of a smile leavin' my face. I make my way, real careful, to the counter, smoothin' my hands over the marble surface. It real smooth, an' clean. There ain't no trace of dirt- no trace of Cecile.
I sigh, feelin' real lonesome. Even though it ain't true- I feel like Cecile ain't never gonna come back. It seem like she haven't been in this kitchen fo' months. 'Er presence 'is jus' gone. She was'ere this mornin'- I kno' cause I saw 'er, but it don't feel like it. No sir.
I raise my eyes to look out the window. There ain't much outside- the cotton field an' them slaves live on the other side of the 'ouse. There a few trees- no more than four, each separated by a 'uge chunk a land. The wind- which ain't real stron' today but still there, blows a leaf off of one of them, an' it comes flutterin' to the ground, real slow, real slow an' careful. I watch its journey all the way down to its end an' then watch it lay on the ground- dead.
It's green, little spots of brown dottin' the left side of it. I can't see no veins in it from 'ere, only the surface. I ain't able to tell what inside- I ain't able to see what once had made it live.
