" As I said these words, I clung to my master's legs, and I could see my tears glistening where they had fallen onto his boots.I became more hysterical as I waited for my master's reply, and when he finally spoke, his words were directed to the gardener as he said, "Was it you or was it the cook who hid the food in the laundry basket so that I would flog this innocent woman?"Since I was lying face down on the floor, I couldn't see the expression on the gardener's face, but when he replied, I could hear fear in his voice as he said, "It wasn't me, Master. It was the cook who did it." But you knew about what he had done?" Yes, Master." Alright then. I shall cane you both when the cook returns, but I may show you some small measure of mercy since you only withheld information about what the cook did. If you warn him about my plans, however, I promise to flog you just as severely as I flog him."Shortly after the gardener confessed that he knew about the plot to have me beaten, the cook. My mother didn’t give a damn whether I lived or died. My father was still in distant Haiti. My uncle was still a meek guy who thought his nasty wife was a saint. My cousins, my aunt’s children were still the arrogant little monsters they had always been. My kid sister, now an adult, was becoming a psychotic freak with manipulative tendencies. They messed me up every chance they got. There were nights when I slept in my room, cold, because the heat had gone out and they were too cheap to buy some oil for the basement boiler. Once, my aunt did a nasty trick and cut the phone to prevent me from talking to my friends for a whole week. During that week, everybody in the house had a cell phone. Except me. Isn’t life sweet? It’s Spring 2006 now. The days are starting to get warmer. I look around and everything is looking better. Around campus, people are dressing hotter. The guys are looking good. I’ve seen muscular black-skinned Adonis-types walking around and Greek gods who are tall and.
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