The room goes all silent, both Mary an' Cecile starin' at me, like... Like they pity me. I never got that look 'fore, specially not from Mary- who got the same life as me, almos', jus' worse. An' not from Cecile- who got no freedom at all, an' got no mother.
I also never talk 'bout mother neither, so maybe that it. I was lyin' but they don't that. An' I 'ave prayed fo' Mother before, but it don't mean that I need some pity. I don't want no pity. No sir. No pity.
They both stunned in silence still, Mary open 'er mouth like a little fish suckin' at the air. Cecile reachers 'er hand out then falls back down. They don't kno' how to respond, mother always been a sore subject in our manor. Daddy treat the word, less it directed at the Mistress, like it a curse word. Bad as those ones.
"Don't tell daddy," I finally say, breakin' the sticky silence. I dunno if this new Mary will tell daddy or no. Min' as well ask. Won't hurt none.
"No," Cecile answers first, even though she kno' the statement ain't directed at 'er. 'Course she ain't gonna tell daddy, though she never say, I kno' she too fond of 'is skin-daddy's. The Mistress worse.
"I pray fo' mother some time too," she whispers, kinda pallin'. "Actually no mo'."
"Why no mo'?" Cecile ask, steppin' 'er boundaries. She forget it me, not Mary. She don't- she ain't allowed to talk to no white folk like that, cept me 'cause I trust 'er. In a way- I love 'er. But Mary don't.
"Excuse me," Mary snaps, the sadness gone a little. She mo' angry at Cecile, now. Less sad 'bout mother. Not pityin' me as much.
"Sorry," Cecile murmur, though I can tell she ain't.
"Why?" I ask, actually wantin' to kno'.
"'Cause I figured it out," she says, suddenly lookin' lost. "I figured out that mama ain't comin' back. She ain't never been 'ere."
Mary pushes 'er self away from the counter, away from Cecile. She steps up closer to me, 'er 'and righ' on my shoulder.
"An' you shoul' figure it out real soon too."
Then she walks righ' past, not lookin' back once, jus' walkin', walkin' an' walkin' no place to go.
I dunno if I should follow 'er, so I don't, goin' back to Cecile, standin' right where I am.
I also never talk 'bout mother neither, so maybe that it. I was lyin' but they don't that. An' I 'ave prayed fo' Mother before, but it don't mean that I need some pity. I don't want no pity. No sir. No pity.
They both stunned in silence still, Mary open 'er mouth like a little fish suckin' at the air. Cecile reachers 'er hand out then falls back down. They don't kno' how to respond, mother always been a sore subject in our manor. Daddy treat the word, less it directed at the Mistress, like it a curse word. Bad as those ones.
"Don't tell daddy," I finally say, breakin' the sticky silence. I dunno if this new Mary will tell daddy or no. Min' as well ask. Won't hurt none.
"No," Cecile answers first, even though she kno' the statement ain't directed at 'er. 'Course she ain't gonna tell daddy, though she never say, I kno' she too fond of 'is skin-daddy's. The Mistress worse.
"I pray fo' mother some time too," she whispers, kinda pallin'. "Actually no mo'."
"Why no mo'?" Cecile ask, steppin' 'er boundaries. She forget it me, not Mary. She don't- she ain't allowed to talk to no white folk like that, cept me 'cause I trust 'er. In a way- I love 'er. But Mary don't.
"Excuse me," Mary snaps, the sadness gone a little. She mo' angry at Cecile, now. Less sad 'bout mother. Not pityin' me as much.
"Sorry," Cecile murmur, though I can tell she ain't.
"Why?" I ask, actually wantin' to kno'.
"'Cause I figured it out," she says, suddenly lookin' lost. "I figured out that mama ain't comin' back. She ain't never been 'ere."
Mary pushes 'er self away from the counter, away from Cecile. She steps up closer to me, 'er 'and righ' on my shoulder.
"An' you shoul' figure it out real soon too."
Then she walks righ' past, not lookin' back once, jus' walkin', walkin' an' walkin' no place to go.
I dunno if I should follow 'er, so I don't, goin' back to Cecile, standin' right where I am.
