Deep Realities (a short story)

It was just another hot day in a succession of the many hot days of my childhood. The sun baking the cotton in the fields. the air seaming to boil.

The slaves working ever hard in the fields as I watched them from the main house.The way I watched them was like a bored person watches bugs crawl across the dirt.

I was higher than them, more human than them... or so they told me.

My father, the owner of the plantation and all the slaves, man, woman, and child, always told me that those who weren't one hundred percent white weren’t to be trusted. They were feral animals, dangerous, and only partially tamable. That's why only two were allowed to enter the main house; one to cook, and one to clean.

It was best for me to keep my distance. I believed father; I had absolutely no reason not to. I was a small eight year-old, my blond hair long and course, dressed in pink ribbons a dress and a snug corset.  I was weak compared to the big tough negroes of the fields.

Nanny had taught me negroes attacked little boys and girls who disobeyed their parents and nannies, so when they told me to stay inside, I did. I wore my dresses and only watched the negroes in their dirty clothes from a distance.

“Ma’am, izza time for me to clean da room,”said a slave girl about my age, her head poking through the door.

“Go ahead,” I said coldly, “I wish to stay here.”

“I not sposed ta do it when ya are in here,” she said quietly.

“I won't say anything,” I whispered looking into her eyes.

I didn’t fear her like the others. I had never seen a slave my age, especially a girl one. Father usually kept the big ones around because they can do a lot of work, and only a handful of women, breeding stock is what my father called it, but this girl was like me. But different, I reminded myself.

Even at that age I could ever so easily see the fear in the girl’s eyes but I couldn’t understand it. Wasn’t it supposed to be the one to fear her, not the other way around? What was there about me that was fear inspiring?

“Go ahead,” I said with a gentle smile.

I watched as the girl quietly brought different cleaning tools into the parlor. The girl had a slim frame. She was practically skin and bones. As she worked she hummed quietly a song I had never heard before.

“What is the name of the song you are humming,” I asked curiously.

“I don't know iz name, but my momma used to hum it to me and my baby brother ‘fore bedtime, ma’am,” she said quietly.

The words that caught my attention were “used to”.

“What happened to her,” I asked, “Is she dead like my mamma?” I hadn’t heard of any slave deaths recently, but you never knew.

“No, ma’am, she still ‘live an’ well, i think,” she said, a deep sadness present in her eyes and voice.

“Oh.” I said, embarrassed at the fact that I had talked about my momma like that. I usually didn't talk about her like that.  In fact. I usually avoided talking about her whenever possible. what was it about this girl that was so disarming?

“Don't be embarrassed ma’am, my mamma be back at da plantation I was born in,” she said with a smile. She finished her work quietly and left with her tools to clean somewhere else
After that, I learned where she cleaned and when, and made sure to be in certain rooms at certain times, so that I could be there when she cleaned. I would ask her questions for her to answer and she would ask questions for me to answer. she would tell stories about her family friends at her old plantation.

One day she asked me what the food I ate tasted like.

“I’ll be right back,” I said running out of the room, down the hall, down the stairs and into the parlor where nanny was.

“Nanny, I am hungry for a snack,” I said breathing heavily.

“Hold your horses,” she said, “For heaven's sake it’s like you ran the fields and back with how winded you seem.”

I followed nanny across the hall and into the kitchen, and listened as she commanded the kitchen to cook up a quick snack.

Then she turned and said, “That is how the lady of the house shall one day be able to address all the slaves under her.”

I nodded, but secretly disagreed

As soon as I had the snack from them I ran back up the stairs, down the hall, and into my room where my wonderful slave friend waited.

“Here, try some of this,” I said offering her the food, “it’s one of my favorites.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” she said. After taking a bite she exclaimed, “It’s the best food I ever taste before.”

Just then, I heard a gasp behind me. I turned around as fast as I could and was shocked to see nanny standing in the doorway her face full of disgust.
I then got dragged by my ears to my father’s office, where nanny had me wait outside while she told my father what happened. I knew that I would need to come up with a story pretty quick if I was to protect my friend and myself.

After nanny left, I was called in.

“your nanny says you asked for food then ran to the slave girl and gave it to her,” father accused.
i knew that what he said was the truth, but i couldn’t agree with father if i wanted to protect my friend. i had to come up with a convincing lie.

“father, why would i do something as horrid as that,” i said with a disgusted look on my face, “ you’ve always said that they are mean animals, why would anybody want to come in contact with one?”

“where were you then, when your nanny says you did it.” suspicion seeping into his voice.

“In the parlor window, where i always spend my mornings, of course.”

“ah, that makes perfect sense,” father said. many times had he searched the house, looking for me and found me sitting in the parlor window.

“well than, I guess that i should show you something important about being a slave owner this afternoon,” Father said with a smile that scared me.

That afternoon I stood in the heat of the sun, for once not sheltered by the window I loved so much. My father stood next to the whipping pole, which I had never personally seen used, preparing it. Nanny was grabbing onto my wrist way too hard with a sour face.

Than a large slave brought my friend out as she begged for him to let her go. That's when I understood what was going on. they were going to wip my friend. I fought nanny’s grip the same way my friend fought her captor's grip.

I knew that if I didn’t fight than she would get whipped, but fight as I might, I couldn’t break free.

I was weak and it was hot. I was unable to fight long. I watched as she got whipped bloody, tell her back was raw and  she could no longer stay conscious. than I cried and cried like I hadn’t cried in the years before.

I never say my friend after that, but i never forgot the kind person she was and what happened to her.

Since than, I have learned many lessons of great importance, but none of them can compare to the lessons I learned about equality the horrors of slavery that day so very long ago.