Crack!

Breathe.

Crack!

Breathe.

Crack!

Breathe. Breathe.

Precious life escaped through my lips. Air whooshed faster through my nose, down my throat, into my chest, down to my diaphragm, then back up the same path until it reaches my mouth. Dry, hot air. If only the world was white, then you would be able to see breaths steaming like during the winter time – except mine would be blood red, proudly displaying the Georgia earth that I toil in everyday.

Crack!

Breaaaaaaathe. Self-control. I don’t have the luxury of taking too many breaths.

Of course, the world did nothing to hide my breaths and my pain. It was white, just not in the most literal sense. The startling silence was pure as snow, tainted by cracks and reddish-orange life. The white folk looked out of place in the fields, the ladies’ pastel dresses already stained with dirt and the men wiping dirty sweat off their faces with their sparkling handkerchiefs. I always wondered why they made those kerchiefs white. Wouldn’t black make more sense? After all, white folk stained their clothes yellow with sweat too. Mama’s laundry duties taught me that a long time ago.

Crack!

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

The air was coming out shorter now. The burn of my lungs was starting to mimic the burn on my back, except my lungs were dry, and my back was wet like a dripping Georgia peach. It dripped with the juices that fed the Master’s family every night. This was the first time I made the sacrifice, but I’d seen it happen to so many others. Not only did they need us growing their crops, they had to literally squeeze us dry like a sponge to be happy, then throw us back into the water to be used again. Some got it for stealing scraps of beef from the cook’s pile. Others did much worse, eyeing those abandoned canoes in the Master’s shed as if they could escape the plantation under the Master’s watch. I never thought of that. I just wanted to help the young miss, Adelaide “Addie” O’Hara, with building her invention.

Crack. Crack. Crack!

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

I knew Master’s slave man was annoyed with how little noise I made. I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. The sun’s harshness felt like warm wash-cloths on my arms and legs. I focused on that. Just like always, working in the fields, feeling the beautiful Southern sun beating down on my dark, dark back, reminding me that I’ll never be white; I’ll never escape the sunshine long enough to pass for a halfie.

The fields close by ruffled, signaling the arrival of more audience members. My cracked, bleeding lips lifted in a small mocking smile even while I kept my head to the ground. They didn’t need to see my humor. However, as I looked up, my straight face spasmed. Miss Adelaide had her hand on some white chap’s arms, smiling demurely the way she did to potential suitors. She covered her face with her hand for a moment, laughing at some no doubt stupid comment the white boy made. He looked full of himself.

Crack!

Breath. “Hmph.” I let out a small grunt. I felt the slave man’s satisfaction through his gaze on my back. Crack. Crack. “Ugh.” Craaaaack. He let this one drag a little. Evidently, he’d put some stickers on that damn whip. It hurt like hell over my wounded back.

Crack!

I raised my head in pain, grunting a little bit more. In my heart, I knew hell was worse, but in that moment I couldn’t imagine anything worse than this. Bowing down to their color supremacy, weakening in the face of my small mistake, all in front of Miss Adelaide too.

I felt my resolve strengthening again as I thought about the cause of my punishment. Miss Adelaide always treated me well, like a real person, so being able to do something for her was worth it. Her overprotective dad needs to see that women like her wanted to be free. If she ain’t a slave, then she should be free.

As I thought this, I looked up in time to see Miss Adelaide hand my gift over her companion. The man toyed around with it and laughed a little. “Oh Addie, you don’t need to worry about this. I’ll do the work. You just stick to what women are best at. Speaking of which, you want to show me some of those peaches that belong in your famous peach cobbler? I’m looking forward to trying it tonight at dinner.” With this, he threw it on the ground and led Miss Adelaide away. Her smile didn’t change the way it usually did with these suitors. Instead, she followed dutifully, like her Mama always told her. She didn’t give another glance to the ground and the abandoned gift.

Crack!

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. I couldn’t think of anything else in that moment. The physical pain was easier to bear, so I focused on that. But then my mind began to go black, like my skin. I didn’t notice before just how crippling the whip was. Now I did.

CRACK!

The slave man gave an especially good one. I tried to inhale deeply, my breath shaking and shuddering. Instead, I felt my lungs collapse against me, not allowing room but for one shallow bit of life.

Crack.

Brea-.