Friday, July 6, 2007

The Angels of Morgan Hill

“It was raining real hard the day we buried my daddy. Mama said it was because the angels were crying; but after hours of drenching downpour I doubted the angels were crying tears of joy about seeing Daddy in Heaven, but instead were just downright upset about having him there.

The day we buried him was the same day I first saw a black face up close. East Tennessee didn’t have slaves during the Civil War so there was never a large population of black people that settled there. Many lived in Greeneville but in nine years of living I’d never set foot anywhere else but Morgan Hill. My brother John and I were riding in the car with Aunt Dora when we got behind an old pick-up. Aunt Dora was looking for a way to pass when a tiny head popped up from inside the truck bed. He was a little boy, no older than John, and the color of pure milk chocolate. His head was round and bald and his eyes were as big and black as shiny marbles. He hung onto the tailgate and stared at us. I remembered hearing Mama talk about some coloreds who had moved to town but I’d never seen them and in that brief moment I found myself gawking at him. He almost lost his footing when the truck lunged over a rut in the road and as suddenly as he appeared, the little boy smiled real big, the biggest, whitest smile I’d ever seen, and ducked down into the truck before it pulled onto the drive that led to the Cannon Farm.”

Quyển sách đầu tiên của Donna VanLiere mà tôi đọc. Kể từ khi “na” nó từ thư viện về tuần trước, đi cũng đọc, đứng cũng đọc, nấu ăn cũng đọc, đi *ahem* cũng đọc. Phải công nhận là phải mất một lúc lâu mới làm quen được với cách viết theo lối nói của người miền nam cũ. Có nhiều đoạn trong truyện cảm động thiệt đó. More than ever, send me more angels, please!!!!!

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