C A T C H 22 |BWWM|

Ch. 16 • Hardships: An Everyday Thing

Jackson, MS. November 1943
Wednesday, 4:47 pm

Paislee

No wandering

Only fix food that's in the kitchen

Don't touch any of the furniture

Don't go into the rooms

Clean the house

Don't touch any of our clothes (you will be punished if I catch your hands on them)

No talking to my neighbors

No . . .

I released a deep breath as I read over the long, yellowed sheet of paper. In ink was written of all the rules that I was obliged to follow according to the lady that owned the house that I would be working at. Folding the paper delicately, I placed my bike on the side of their house and jogged up to the steps of the porch. I rang the doorbell—holding a breath out of nerves—and waited. Simply waited. The woman who opened the door wasn't who I saw two days ago though.

Out burst a brunette woman with red lipstick smeared against her thin lips. A skimpy dress made of shiny, lace material, and hand-pinned curls bouncing just right. She looked at me cluelessly before she blinked for a while. Placing a middle finger on the bridge of her nose.

"Almost forgot who you were. Remember the rules, girl. Don't burn my house down because I'll do the same to yours," She said grimly.

She brushed past me and left the door wide open. The cool, November breeze whipped past me and into the house. I was scared, cautious even. Going into this fine, white lady's house? Unheard of.

I took my first step in, sweaty fingertips clinging to my bag, and held in a breath. It was silent—for now—and when I finally lifted my head there they were. Five red-faced children. Ages ranging from maybe one to ten years. They all raised their eyebrows and traded glances with each other.

"Are you the maid?"

"Where's our mama?"

"There's a Negro in our house. . ."

"I'm hungry"

"You're the help right?"

"She's a Negro."

I turned my attention to a small four-year-old boy. His eyes widened as if he had never seen anyone darker than his own skin color. Had he not been exposed to the public?

"Hello, children." I smiled and fixed my snow-white gloves. "I'm here to do. . . House. . Things." My own voice sounded questionable.

"What kinda' house things?" A girl asked now.

"Like clean, and arrange things, and take care of y'all. How does that sound?"

"I'm hungry," a young boy said.

I nodded. "I'll be sure to fix you some snacks–"

"Mama." A wail escaped from the baby.

"Just wait a minute–"

"I don't want you touchin' my food."

I sighed, it was becoming too much already. These children had something against me because of my race, they couldn't seem to stop moving, and they wouldn't seem to be quiet.

"This'll be a gas," I mumbled quietly.

° ° °
"I can't hear you. . I can't hear you!"