Dear Diary,
Things are picking up around the plantation. As the leaves grow back on the trees, so does the cotton to the fields. Elliott hardly spends any time in the house, which I cannot complain about, and even when he is home, he is tired from his days. Dawn to dusk.
Without him around, I have time for things like reading and writing, but those can only entertain to an extent. I feel trapped in this life, and I am beginning to feel bored in it as well. I'm young, but age is a temporary facet in life. I won't be 19 forever. I want to experience the life I was blessed with before it ends.
My friends from home write of their happy lives with their happy marriages and happy children, and although those things I may not desire, I still find myself jealous. Perhaps it is of their happiness of which I have none. I am alone in this town, the only people I know are Elliott and Emily, neither of which I am comfortable around.
The girl gets too close to me. When serving me tea, or sweeping the floor, she brushes against me. It is a strange feeling, and with all of the chaos in my life right now, I can not handle any strange emotions. Are they emotions though? I would say sensations is a more accurate word. Whenever her dark skin touches mine of white, I get chills and pull away.
I suppose it is because she is less than me. I am not fully accustomed to having someone of dark skin be this close and intimate in my life. I never had slaves before I moved to the plantation with Elliott. He treats them like animals and calls them ugly, but although they make me feel strange, I think they are beautiful.
They are so full of unique culture; from the way they speak to the things they speak of. Once when walking in the fields, I heard a man talking of the spirits of the homeland blessing the child his wife had just delivered.
Physically, they are more dramatic than I. The cure of the body, the muscle tone, the color of their skin. I feel almost bland next to Emily sometimes.
I also get the urge to ask her about where she came from, if she even remembers it. I haven't ever been out of Virginia, and think it would be fascinating to hear about somewhere across an ocean. Although I know I could ask, I feel that I shouldn't. I feel that she does not want to talk about what happened to her. I know I could make her, but I want it to be genuine, and full of that passion and spirit they possess. I want to be taken there in her words.
She saw me writing yesterday and asked what it said. I was appalled at her abruptness at first, but soon realized that she was honestly curious. I asked her if she could read, to which she said no, and I began to wonder what that life would be like. To not know how to read or write, or do the basic things I do to keep me company.
I feel empathy for them. I have told Elliott from the start that I don't approve of the way he treats those working for him. I am above them, but they are still people, and should be given basic dignities. So I did something that I was specifically told not to do. I told Emily I would teach her to read and write.