"Mornin'," the Mistress calls, fluffin' up 'er curls with 'er right hand. She looks at me all hard-like, 'till I answer.
"Hi," I say, all flat. She don't deserve no hello, she jus' with daddy fo' 'is money an' ability to 'elp make 'er a son. The Mistress ain't rich 'fore- an' she had to work hard fo' daddy's attention, cept not too hard cause she all pretty. But she didn't have no jewels back then. She did 'ave plenty of suitors, though none as wealthy as daddy. She didn't talk to no men with less than thirty slaves. Thirty! I would be fine with a man who had none. I wonder if Lloyd 'as some- I bet you he does, or 'is daddy at least. I wonder if they nice to them or no, as nice as daddy.
"That ain't a real nice grertin'," she sighs. "Why you all dirty? Lloyd here, don't you wanna look at least acceptable. Get washed an' all?"
The Mistress always try to down play my looks. I kno' I pretty, I've got complements since I was a girl- my American blue eyes an' real perfect curls, jus' like the sun. But she don't like that- she don't like no other pretty girl in the room. I once thought that the Mistress came from white trash, but daddy said she didn't. I asked once, when I was youn' an' could get away with sayin' such things. People would jus' think that I didn't kno' better- but 'course I did, I jus' pretended. I real good at that.
He said no, but that coulda been a lie. It embarrassin' to be datin' white trash, even marryin' one. Almos' as bad as marryin' a northerner.
"You gonna answer me?" The Mistress snaps, always as impatient as ever. What real bugs me 'bout 'er sometimes, is I can see 'er as myself. When I was youn'- I used to be jus' like 'er, drippin' in jewels, takin' advantage of everyone 'round an' gettin' prettier the meanier I was. She why I stopped.
But sometime I slip back, an' I become 'er jus' younger. An' that my biggest nightmare, why I hate 'er so much, 'cause I am 'er.
"I was prayin' outside," I say.
I can't never be like 'er, I do whatever it takes to not be 'er life. Cause under neath every thin' she wear, she jus' as miserable as Mary. She fake.
I don't wanna be fake.
"Well, next time go to the Church to pray, an' go wash up. 'Fore our company gets down 'ere."
"Yes ma'am."
She watches me leave, cause she got nothin' better to do, an' I watch 'er watch me. I won't be 'er, I turn my head.
"Hi," I say, all flat. She don't deserve no hello, she jus' with daddy fo' 'is money an' ability to 'elp make 'er a son. The Mistress ain't rich 'fore- an' she had to work hard fo' daddy's attention, cept not too hard cause she all pretty. But she didn't have no jewels back then. She did 'ave plenty of suitors, though none as wealthy as daddy. She didn't talk to no men with less than thirty slaves. Thirty! I would be fine with a man who had none. I wonder if Lloyd 'as some- I bet you he does, or 'is daddy at least. I wonder if they nice to them or no, as nice as daddy.
"That ain't a real nice grertin'," she sighs. "Why you all dirty? Lloyd here, don't you wanna look at least acceptable. Get washed an' all?"
The Mistress always try to down play my looks. I kno' I pretty, I've got complements since I was a girl- my American blue eyes an' real perfect curls, jus' like the sun. But she don't like that- she don't like no other pretty girl in the room. I once thought that the Mistress came from white trash, but daddy said she didn't. I asked once, when I was youn' an' could get away with sayin' such things. People would jus' think that I didn't kno' better- but 'course I did, I jus' pretended. I real good at that.
He said no, but that coulda been a lie. It embarrassin' to be datin' white trash, even marryin' one. Almos' as bad as marryin' a northerner.
"You gonna answer me?" The Mistress snaps, always as impatient as ever. What real bugs me 'bout 'er sometimes, is I can see 'er as myself. When I was youn'- I used to be jus' like 'er, drippin' in jewels, takin' advantage of everyone 'round an' gettin' prettier the meanier I was. She why I stopped.
But sometime I slip back, an' I become 'er jus' younger. An' that my biggest nightmare, why I hate 'er so much, 'cause I am 'er.
"I was prayin' outside," I say.
I can't never be like 'er, I do whatever it takes to not be 'er life. Cause under neath every thin' she wear, she jus' as miserable as Mary. She fake.
I don't wanna be fake.
"Well, next time go to the Church to pray, an' go wash up. 'Fore our company gets down 'ere."
"Yes ma'am."
She watches me leave, cause she got nothin' better to do, an' I watch 'er watch me. I won't be 'er, I turn my head.
