September 28, 2011

One word: sorry. Sorry for not posting on this for over a week. School has been taking a bit away from me, type this, type that, etc. So now here I am posting. The rest will come during the weekend.

Angel

Calling a white person by name was just weird, but calling them anything else was just illegal. And it has been like that for centuries ever since my ancestors and I first steeped onto this land. Hello, I’m Aamir and I’m an African American slave. Master always said that it was good that I was born on the plantation, not really knowing what’s out in the big wide world, because then I won’t know the dangers that come with it. Minus the fact, that there are plenty of dangers here, from mean people taking stuff away from this place without permission, to an accidental house incident. And I believed him, because I felt safe and protected here, because for one I have all my family members here. And most of my friends are here as well, and plus I get some of the easiest jobs, all just for being a strong little boy, as mama would say.

Mama the word makes me feel all sad inside, as I realize I won’t see her again. Master has told me that she found a new place to live, because she needed the change, and I accepted it. But whenever I ask papa about what happened to mama he would instantly blank up, and be quiet not willing to tell me anything. And I don’t bother to press on for me, for I was afraid of getting hurt. Only grandmamma told me what happened to mama, and it was that she decided to go rest in the heavens above, and that someday I’ll see her again. At first I didn’t understand her, till I saw something moving one day.

It was a hot day, as it usually is on the plantation, as papa sun shined its rays on everything in the world. And it was my duty to pull the big box on wheels carrying the usual water supplies. And just as I was making my three round today, with the guys taking the water from the box and splashing the big yellow corn, did I notice a dark shadow pass out of the corner of my seeing eyes. “Aamir, time to get moving,” said one of my friends, and I nod slowly before moving on.

“Did you see that Neshon?” I ask stopping again, so he can sprinkle the corn.

“See what?” he asks not really caring about my talk.

“A-a-an angel, “I say back in awe, fully knowing that it was my mama watching me.