Skin Meant Everything

One. Two. Three. Four. I counted my breaths as I watched the scene before me. One. Two. Three. Four. I counted the lashes, digging into poor nine year old Billy's back. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. I watched the tears stream down his face, saw the blood run down his back, each bite, digging deeper, each sob and cry of his becoming weaker, until it turned to more of a whimper. Nine. The last lash dug into his back, they untied him, he fell in a bloody heap on the ground, trying to muffle his own cries, not wanting another nine lashes. He's lucky he ain't ten or twelve, then he'd of gotten ten lashes, or twelve. Little Billy curled up and winced, closing his eyes, a pained and desperate expression on his face.

I wish they didn't make us watch.

I wish Billy wouldn't defy the master.

    Billy should know better, they all should know better, these Africans. Nine lashes for Little Billy, for speaking his "native name", twenty-two for Old Pete, for singing his songs, a slap for not working hard enough, lost hand for fightin', these Africans should know better.

I may have black skin, but I will obey the Master, because the Master is white.

Even though my skin says African, my obedience says American.

    I looked, one last time, at Little Billy before retreating back into the Master's house, where I belonged. To work. To clean. To obey. I went to the kitchens where I worked on helping a couple others make the Master his dinner. Like every day.

    This time though, I got to pour the Master a drink, he always liked to have a drink after what he called, "a good whipping". I excused myself from the kitchens with The Master's plate of food and drink, keeping my head down as I walked through the house carefully, making my way to the Master's room.

    Most of the time when I came with his meal he wouldn't even be there, but I would always knock, just in case. Today I lightly kicked the door, a little tap with my foot, and was surprised when I heard his gruff voice, "Come in."

    I pushed the door open the rest of the way with my foot, balancing carefully as I entered the room. The Master was there, sitting on his bed and rubbing his face with his scarred hands, in his night apparel. He looked up when I entered, his gaze lingering over me, I ignored his gaze and set his food on the bedside dresser, handing him his drink and bowing my head, I spoke softly, "Your dinner and drink, sir." I stepped back as I spoke.

He downed the drink in one gulp.

    This time, I noticed the bottles that littered the other side of the room, there were five, maybe six, I tried to count with a quick glance, but the Master spoke again, "How old are you, lass?"

    I kept my head down, replying softly, "I be seventeen tomorrow, sir." I glanced up in time to see a slight smirk cross his face.

    "And what do we caaall ya, gal?" His words slurred a bit, I started to regret bringing him that drink.

    I closed my eyes for a moment, "I be given the name Anne, sir."

    "You like dat name, Anne? Think it's a good name?" He reached forward a bit, I stepped back, he stood up.

    "It be a good name, sir, I like it very much." I nodded slightly, to show I approved of it.

    When I had stepped back, he had stepped forward, "Close the door, will ya, Anne?"

    I bit my lip, "Yes sir." I mumbled as I went to close the door, hearing the click, and not able to help but wish I was on the other side, I was confused, the Master was never like this.

    When I closed the door, I felt a tight grip around my wrist, and I got pulled back, pushed onto the Master's bed, he pinned me. I winced as he looked down at me, a foolish grin on his face, his teeth yellow, a couple missing, his grip strong on my wrists, pinning them above my head, his voice was low as he spoke, it sent chills down my spine, "You sure are a fiiiiiiine negro gal, Annie, would you like an early birthday present?" I flinched at his words, avoiding looking into his eyes, like I was taught.

    He tightened his grip as he shifted slightly on top of me, I winced, knowing what he was going to do to me, I looked up at him, for the first time in my life, being born on his plantation, for the first time in my life, I looked my father in the eye and spoke with defiance, "My name is Anne."

I may have black skin, but I will obey my heart, because my skin may say slave, but my heart says human.