Mr. Blue Eyes

There were five hundred men, women and children slaves on the boat, as we sailed the deep blue waters on the sea. The room is dark and hot; we were stacked in the style of storage boxes. Our brown bodies side-by-side, one on top of the other, merely having the space of a coffin. There we were lying on our backs. There is sweat and vomit all around me and not to mention the two weeks of my urine and fecal discharge beneath me. Our heavy chains are knocking against the damp wood.

A man walks in with a very sharp object, similar to that of the tip of my arrows at home. Passing by he noticesme and stops. His deep blue eyes stare at me with coldness. He raises the wooden part of his object, missing my head and hitting my bosom, he then correctly aims for my head. I wake up to the color of blue above me. Tied down to the upper wooden deck and bare, three tall pale men stand above me now blocking the blue sky. Speaking in their own language as they point and stare at me I now picture the thoughts of killing myself in order to be free. Struggling to get out of the ropes my wrists start to blister and bleed. They kick me, spit on me and touch me in places that only the man that I vowed to has touched. I struggle even more while tears role down my eyes and I scream. The pale men laugh at me humoring each other. I stare back with
pain-filled dark brown eyes of anger.

They drag me back down to the dark room with screams of death and the stench beyond the grave. Endeavoring to get away clutched by arms of steel I am placed in my spot once again. Beside me lay a woman moaning in agony, pushing out a baby. Three more weeks pass until she sees her baby curled up, stiff and breathless. The ship finally stops. The pale men, numbering about one hundred , entered the "dark" room. They force us to get in a line; some are whipped with rubber cords while others are thrown in order. I look in the eyes of many survivors and look at the corpses still lying in their designated places; some eyes still open. I see the three pale men that violated my body, and my anger bring both eyebrows together. The silver chains are so heavy. The men walk pass me as they look up and down at my bare skin. We are brought to the upper deck and rinsed off with cold salt water. Our cuts and bruises burn as the salt enters our wounds; there are loud cries and throbbing once again.

Placed for sale; they now call me Negro. I am sold to a pale man.Sweating now over a stove, no longer a stench but the smell of brown sugar, a glaze to go over the yams. Here in the big house I see myself in the mirror when the Mista' is not looking. My bonnet over my hair and my apron matching, I role [roll] up mysleeve to see my Mista's branded marking across my arm. A knock at the door compels me to run to my appointed space… the kitchen. Greeting the Mista's guests with fine dishes prepared, I am now startled. A
familiar voice crushes the life out of me as I look over spotting the deep blue eyes. Going about my work yet shaken, I hear him laugh and joke about the torture. The Misses excuses herself and rises. Together now in the kitchen with the Misses she questions the tears.

The soft-spoken British accent unlike any other around enables me to speak. Hours to days to months the Misses learns my story. It is now autumn, the golden leaves are falling from the trees on the plantation grounds. The Misses plans a banquet, inviting guest to our plantation. She dips the pin into the inkwell addressing "our special guest". Place settings with nametags of which I can now read are on the table. The guests arrive sitting in their appointed places. Peaking through the door I witness our very special guest laughing. He and the Misses chuckle about his improper name tag titled "Mr. Blue Eyes." Carrying the dishes out and placing them in front of our guest the Misses winks at me. I then place our "very special" dish that the Misses and I concocted for our "very special" guest…Mr. Blue Eyes.