By the time I in fo' lunch, sittin' next to the Misses, the slave fussin' over both of a us, I done thinkin'. No mo', I jus' can't do that to myself. If I jus' don't think about it, it'll all go away. But, unfourtuntly, I can't blow out my brain. It ain't like a little candle flame.
Everytime I say I ain't gonna think of James, or daddy or all them, that's all I end up thinkin' bout. I can't stop. I want to shake my head, an' let all the information fall out, so I don't got it no mo'.
The best I can do is pretend. James still at Military school, the Misses was lyin'. She don't kno' nothin' 'bout daddy an' I- that jus' 'tween us.
"You okay Miss?"
It the slave again, feelin' like she gotta be my protector. Always askin' if I alright or sompin'. An' while it rather annoyin', it kinda nice too.
"She's fine," the Misses snap, slamin' down her water. "An' I, we'd appreciate if you would jus' stay in yous own business."
Well, there she is. The Misses that I missed so much, always grumpy an' rude. She back.
"Actually," I say, mostly to annoy the Misses than anythin'. "I still ain't feelin' to well. My head aches."
I glance to the misses who's face puckers. She don't say nothin', but I can tell she wanna. That jus' who she is.
"Why don' I get you some mo' tea," the slave insist. "I think it may help you a lot."
I nod real fast, even though I ain't too big a fan of tea. Some flavor all right, but not all. An' here, with this slave there only seem to be one flavor, that remind me of the taste a dirt.
"That would be nice," I say. "Thank you."
She scanter off, with my tea cup in 'er hands. I smile after her- it kinda fun to be taken care of. Even if I don't need it.
The dinin' room is silent, only the noise from the slave driftin' inta our ears. You can hear her from the kitchen, clankin' pots an' the whistle of the tea kettle on a fire. You can even hear her voice a little, singin' some colored folk son'.
The silence is real thick, the Misses an' I both angry from that night. I kinda desperate ta talk, though, cause even if I still mo' angry at her than I ever been- she also the only one who knows. She the only one who understands. An' I think she can tell me mo'.
Everytime I say I ain't gonna think of James, or daddy or all them, that's all I end up thinkin' bout. I can't stop. I want to shake my head, an' let all the information fall out, so I don't got it no mo'.
The best I can do is pretend. James still at Military school, the Misses was lyin'. She don't kno' nothin' 'bout daddy an' I- that jus' 'tween us.
"You okay Miss?"
It the slave again, feelin' like she gotta be my protector. Always askin' if I alright or sompin'. An' while it rather annoyin', it kinda nice too.
"She's fine," the Misses snap, slamin' down her water. "An' I, we'd appreciate if you would jus' stay in yous own business."
Well, there she is. The Misses that I missed so much, always grumpy an' rude. She back.
"Actually," I say, mostly to annoy the Misses than anythin'. "I still ain't feelin' to well. My head aches."
I glance to the misses who's face puckers. She don't say nothin', but I can tell she wanna. That jus' who she is.
"Why don' I get you some mo' tea," the slave insist. "I think it may help you a lot."
I nod real fast, even though I ain't too big a fan of tea. Some flavor all right, but not all. An' here, with this slave there only seem to be one flavor, that remind me of the taste a dirt.
"That would be nice," I say. "Thank you."
She scanter off, with my tea cup in 'er hands. I smile after her- it kinda fun to be taken care of. Even if I don't need it.
The dinin' room is silent, only the noise from the slave driftin' inta our ears. You can hear her from the kitchen, clankin' pots an' the whistle of the tea kettle on a fire. You can even hear her voice a little, singin' some colored folk son'.
The silence is real thick, the Misses an' I both angry from that night. I kinda desperate ta talk, though, cause even if I still mo' angry at her than I ever been- she also the only one who knows. She the only one who understands. An' I think she can tell me mo'.
