The Land of Cotton

They resented me for my youthful beauty, but it was I who showed my people the way out of bondage.

I never had to pick the cotton.

My life was destined to be easy because of my charm and beauty.

My room was in the big house. Massa Levine made sure of that. I slept close to him, but far enough away where we could not be heard when he came to see me at night.

He told me he loved me sometimes, especially when he stood at the foot of the bed and I brought him his supper, served up right, as I backed my way to the metal rails at the end of the bed.

I loved him too.

I pretended like it hurt, only because that’s what he desired. Anything was better than picking cotton in the hot sun and living down back with them.

I loved taking baths. That’s all I really had to do.

Sometimes I helped the others downstairs, but I didn’t have to. I soaked my life away and knew my place.

I knew how to make him cry, though, just like a baby he would whimper when he called my name.

I would wait until I saw that look in his eyes—the meanness and sweat and I took a deep breath and imagined myself as cotton, and allowed my blossom to pop open as he picked me night after night.

"Look away," he would shout, "Look away!"

I didn't blink until he was done.