Dirt by Teffanie Thompson

Author:Teffanie Thompson [Thompson, Teffanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Brown Girls Publishing

15

Lucy craned her neck over her left shoulder. She shushed me with a finger to her mouth. We listened for something, I didn’t know exactly what.

“Okay, now,” she ordered.

We skipped. Well, she skipped. I ran after her straight into a group of slaves leaving the fields. We sneaked into line.

They hummed a sad verse. Square’s earlier description sprayed through my thoughts, the sad songs that bind us. I guessed this song was for Square’s eyes.

The slaves stayed their distance from me. Most of them probably also believed I was a haint. I kept my eyes on Lucy and did exactly what she did. If she stepped, I stepped. If she stood, so did I.

When I finally saw the driver leading the line riding his horse, sweat sprouted all over me. What if he saw me? I was the only one not wearing a shirt. What would I say? What would I do? I would run. He stopped.

I tripped and slammed into an older lady. Did the driver see me? What’s he doing? He looked like he was counting heads and herding cows. Lucy gave me that look. The same look as before. She really believed I was crazy. Our group drug past him.

“See y’all come morning. Not nearly enough bags were filled today. That’ll cost you double tomorrow.”

No one talked to anyone for a while. We walked down a red dusty road. What the… that’s the Hall, our Hall before it was our Hall. That was not my Hall. Two white women dressed in long layers and layers of white like us, but not like us, sat on the porch. Their white was lacy. They sipped from teacups.

White kids our age played in the yard passing a ball. One missed the catch; the ball rolled. It stopped next to the fence post that I would be passing in a second. I wondered what would happen if I grabbed it, spun it, bounced it, and threw it in the air back to them.

That would make life better. A ball in my hands. But right now, I was not free. I was a slave. I followed Lucy. If she stepped, I stepped.

There wasn’t a fence around our Hall now. Everything else looked pretty much the same. I bet it’s the first thing Square removed. The fence separated their world from us. I felt invisible more than when I huddled with Square in the dirt ring.

Grasshoppers screeched in gaps that reminded me of the referees’ whistles during a game.

Lincoln Logs. Life-size Lincoln Logs. Two rows of them. Two, four, six, eight, ten, twelve. I could see twelve from here. Mom and I used to build with miniature logs at the gallery. I pretended we made a city. It didn’t matter which famous artist had an exhibit on display or what opening was scheduled for the day, no one could destroy our creation.

The field hands finally relaxed. They talked with one another. This must be home.

Where was Grandpa George? None of the men looked familiar.

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