that.
Finally, Samona came out and she had changed into some old raggedy long skirt and a shirt with holes in the arms. She had a handkerchief wrapped around her head and was carrying a big basket on one arm. I thought, Oh, no. Here it comes! Now Samona would make a fool of herself. But nothing happened. She just stood there, not moving, and staring at the stage. After a long minute, the audience started whispering. Samona looked more scared then she had during her introduction.
Come on, Samona, I said to myself, leaning forward. I was waiting for her pride to kick in. She’d led the way up those stairs to Mrs. Fabiyi’s apartment even though I knew she was just as scared as I was. Any minute nowshe would get that hard look in her eyes and then it would be, “Watch out!”
“Come on, Samona,” I whispered out loud this time. But Samona didn’t do anything and a couple of kids in the audience started calling out, “Get off the stage!”
It was like she was trapped up there. Samona couldn’t do anything because she was trying to be somebody normal. Only this somebody normal didn’t have Samona’s guts or her attitude.
Before I could think about it, I’d jumped out of my chair and into the aisle. Maybe if I yelled at her and called her a bo-bo head she’d snap back to herself. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do until I got to the first row and saw Samona still frozen on the stage. She didn’t even know I was there. Some people in the audience were looking at me so I did the first thing that came into my head.
I flapped my arms.
Then I wobbled my legs and stuck my head out back and forth.
I was doing Samona’s funky chicken dance and people in the audience were starting to point at me.
I wobbled down the aisle, flapping harder. I could hear some giggling coming from behind me.
“Oooohhh yeeeaaah!” I sang loudly, like I’d seen Samona do, and then I started shaking my legs in the air one at a time. By now the whole audience was laughing and watching me. I didn’t mind. It felt good to just jump around and just act any way I wanted to.This was what Samona must feel like all the time, I thought.
“Stop that!”
The skinny lady from the stage was coming down the aisle after me, and she was mad. I started wobbling faster, until I was running around the auditorium with the skinny lady chasing after me. I passed Mrs. Whitmore once and saw that she was laughing as hard as the rest of the audience.
When I came back around to the stage, I saw that Samona was laughing too. She had her hand over her mouth to hide it but I could tell. She didn’t look scared anymore. I ran back to my seat, where Papi, Manmi, Jean-Claude, Granmè and Chantal were staring at me like they didn’t know me. The skinny lady didn’t know where I’d sat down. She walked up and down the aisle for a few minutes muttering things like “pageant integrity” before huffing back to the stage.
After everyone quieted down, Samona looked straight into the audience without smiling again and started talking in a loud, serious voice that sounded like an old woman.
Dat man ober dar say dat woman needs to be lifted ober ditches and to have de best place every whar. Nobody eber helped me into carriages, or ober mud puddles, or gives me any best place—and ar’n’t I a woman? Look at me! Look at my arm! I have plowed, and planted,and gathered into barns, and no man could head me—and ar’n’t I a woman? I could work as much and eat as much as a man (when I could get it), and bear de lash as well—and ar’n’t I a woman? I have borne thirteen chilern and seen em mos’ all sold off into slavery, and when I cried out with a mother’s grief, none but Jesus heard—and ar’n’t I a woman?
Samona was doing that speech by Sojourner Truth that Mrs. Whitmore had read to us one day in history class. Samona made every word ring out and put so much feeling into the speech that I forgot she wasn’t Sojourner Truth for a while. So
Finally, Samona came out and she had changed into some old raggedy long skirt and a shirt with holes in the arms. She had a handkerchief wrapped around her head and was carrying a big basket on one arm. I thought, Oh, no. Here it comes! Now Samona would make a fool of herself. But nothing happened. She just stood there, not moving, and staring at the stage. After a long minute, the audience started whispering. Samona looked more scared then she had during her introduction.
Come on, Samona, I said to myself, leaning forward. I was waiting for her pride to kick in. She’d led the way up those stairs to Mrs. Fabiyi’s apartment even though I knew she was just as scared as I was. Any minute nowshe would get that hard look in her eyes and then it would be, “Watch out!”
“Come on, Samona,” I whispered out loud this time. But Samona didn’t do anything and a couple of kids in the audience started calling out, “Get off the stage!”
It was like she was trapped up there. Samona couldn’t do anything because she was trying to be somebody normal. Only this somebody normal didn’t have Samona’s guts or her attitude.
Before I could think about it, I’d jumped out of my chair and into the aisle. Maybe if I yelled at her and called her a bo-bo head she’d snap back to herself. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do until I got to the first row and saw Samona still frozen on the stage. She didn’t even know I was there. Some people in the audience were looking at me so I did the first thing that came into my head.
I flapped my arms.
Then I wobbled my legs and stuck my head out back and forth.
I was doing Samona’s funky chicken dance and people in the audience were starting to point at me.
I wobbled down the aisle, flapping harder. I could hear some giggling coming from behind me.
“Oooohhh yeeeaaah!” I sang loudly, like I’d seen Samona do, and then I started shaking my legs in the air one at a time. By now the whole audience was laughing and watching me. I didn’t mind. It felt good to just jump around and just act any way I wanted to.This was what Samona must feel like all the time, I thought.
“Stop that!”
The skinny lady from the stage was coming down the aisle after me, and she was mad. I started wobbling faster, until I was running around the auditorium with the skinny lady chasing after me. I passed Mrs. Whitmore once and saw that she was laughing as hard as the rest of the audience.
When I came back around to the stage, I saw that Samona was laughing too. She had her hand over her mouth to hide it but I could tell. She didn’t look scared anymore. I ran back to my seat, where Papi, Manmi, Jean-Claude, Granmè and Chantal were staring at me like they didn’t know me. The skinny lady didn’t know where I’d sat down. She walked up and down the aisle for a few minutes muttering things like “pageant integrity” before huffing back to the stage.
After everyone quieted down, Samona looked straight into the audience without smiling again and started talking in a loud, serious voice that sounded like an old woman.
Dat man ober dar say dat woman needs to be lifted ober ditches and to have de best place every whar. Nobody eber helped me into carriages, or ober mud puddles, or gives me any best place—and ar’n’t I a woman? Look at me! Look at my arm! I have plowed, and planted,and gathered into barns, and no man could head me—and ar’n’t I a woman? I could work as much and eat as much as a man (when I could get it), and bear de lash as well—and ar’n’t I a woman? I have borne thirteen chilern and seen em mos’ all sold off into slavery, and when I cried out with a mother’s grief, none but Jesus heard—and ar’n’t I a woman?
Samona was doing that speech by Sojourner Truth that Mrs. Whitmore had read to us one day in history class. Samona made every word ring out and put so much feeling into the speech that I forgot she wasn’t Sojourner Truth for a while. So
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