Only Skin

Chapter 4

I felt the blood boil in my veins. I was so tired of being my fathers son. To take out the heat, I write some more. By the time I finish writing about the vivid details on Mr. Jack Reynolds adventures, Thomas comes and knocks on my door again, signaling that it is time for dinner.

I made my way down the stairs once more, and eventually took my usual seat at the table. My father sat at the very end, with me and his wife on either side of him. They continued to make chit chat while I poked at my pork roast. I normally loved the food our cook Dolly made, but today I lost my appetite.

After a long and antagonizing dinner, I went back up to my room for bed. I felt more exhausted than normal, and ignored my usual routine of changing and what not. I simply went out onto my balcony, and gazed onto the grounds below. The workers were just now beginning to leave fields, even though nightfall was already brimming the sky. For a moment, I thought I could spot Rose amidst the see of dark skin, with the occasional speckle of white males bickering them in.

I couldn't stand the men my father hired. All they seemed to do was spit on the workers and beat at them, knowing that they could not do anything to defend themselves; if they did, it would result in a foul and cruel punishment. One time, a worker man tried to run away, and once he was caught, they cut off one of his feet. He's dead now, but I remember as a child watching him limp from station to station, working as fast as he could, and still, they beat at him for going too slow.

I never could understand the concept that is slavery. Truth is, I hated calling it that, despite me knowing that is what it is. I do not understand how people could enslave other people, even if they had skin darker than your own. This is why I did not want to own the plantation, for I know having such a position means I had to be one-hundred percent for it- and I was not one-hundred percent for slavery.

Eventually, I was in my bed, dreaming of the future I despised. There I was, thirty years old, with at least ten children running around my feet. I had my fathers' job and his impeccably fading vision with grey hair to match. Slowly, I turn to my left and see Charolette, looking just like her mother; overweight with tons of wrinkles across her skin. Her stubby fingers were reaching across my hand, and as I made eye contact with her, her face contorted into a demons. It smiled greedily, and then suddenly jumped out at me. I have never awoke faster in my life.

Taking in a deep breath, I slowly calmed down. My bedding and clothing were drenched with sweat, and my head was pounding. Removing my cover clothing, I quickly ran to my balcony to get some fresh air. The gentle breeze felt wonderful through my breathable shirt. The drawstrings at the top of my collar blew with the same pattern as the breeze in the wind. I felt refreshed and finally calm. I opened my once closed eyes and took the scenery in- it was breathtaking.

As I scanned the area, I noticed a moving figure running across the field. Trying to adjust my eyesight, I leaned forward a bit. The figure was stopping in certain areas to make sure no one was watching. Obviously, I was. It looked to be a female slave running past the house. Shock washed over me, as I began to realize who it was.

I ran back indoors and put on my boots and overcoat. I tried making as little noise as possible as I head down the stairs into the unknown.

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I arrived to the gazebo, and saw the person I expected to see; Rose. She was staring at the moonlight, and had not noticed I standing behind her. Not wanting to alarm her, I walked up and stood next to her, making sure to make the noise I could so she would recognize me. Her head spun around instinctively, and the amount of fear inside her terror. Filled eyes was alarming.

"Do not be scared," I whispered Rose "It's only me. I will not hurt you." I slowly scooted my way close to her, inch by inch. She began to ramble on, pleading almost. Please do not turn me in, sir! I have a family to take care of-" "I won't turn you in, Rose. I would not dream of it." I interrupted. Her once tensed body immediately went to its relaxed state after I spoke. The dark and slender fingers that were gripping onto the railing followed suit.

"Thank you, sir." I walked over to the bench next to her and sat, then motioned her to join me. She nodded her thanks and I spoke to ease the atmosphere. "I am not like my father, you know. Or the men who work for him, in that matter." "Why?"
"To be honest," I began after a short pause "I am not sure. It must be my morals compared to his. You see, my father believes that people who are not like us-white- are bad." She let out a short laugh unlike any I had heard before. It was not light and girly like Charolette's, but deep and raspy with an attached snort. I quite liked her laugh.

"Believe me. I know. Not to offen' you, but yo' father is a retched man." I laughed alongside with her, for what she said was indeed truth. "I do not understand how he could think the way he does. Most men like him and I do." There was a long moment of quietness after that. We sat there, content at that moment in time.

"How do you escape out here without being caught?" I asked Rose. "I have been workin' here all my life. I know these grounds betta' than you do." My shocked face must have shown my disbelief for the simple reasoning behind her masquerade, because she responded shortly after with "That and I memorized the stations of your daddy's workers at night." We both busted out laughing, loudly at that, but quickly shushed our selves after remembering our scenery. I wasn't too sure why, all I knew is that it felt nice to laugh like this.