then took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
That was my past. But now was now. I would keep those pages as a reminder of that life. Not a good life, but a life that had made me who I was, and even a life I could be a little proud of in a different kind of way. I guess it wasn’t only happiness that went into making you who you were. Maybe sadness made better things inside you than being happy all the time. I didn’t know. I felt good about who I was anyhow. But I didn’t know if I’d read the pages again.
Just looking at my old writing made me realize how much I’d already learned just in this short time. I could read a lot better. I wondered if that meant I could write better too.
I would try. I would get some new paper and start writing again about now, about what me and Katie were doing, and about who this new me was who was changing from the little girl I used to be.
In fact, I thought, I would try it right now!
I got up and went to find Katie and told her what I wanted to do and asked if she had some paper and a pencil I could use.
“I have something better than that,” she said. “I have a journal you can have.”
“I don’t want to take your journal, Miss Katie,” I said.
“It’s an extra one my mama gave me.”
“But don’t you need it?”
“Not yet. I have two others already. I use one for my poems.”
“What’s the other one for?”
“Thoughts and things I want to write down and remember. But there’s not much in it. Here, I want to give you this one,” she said. She took a brown book down from a shelf and handed it to me. It looked just like a regular book, but when I opened it I saw that all the pages were blank.
I held it a minute, thinking how beautiful it was.
“I want you to have it, Mayme,” Katie repeated. “It will make me happy for you to write in it.”
“Thank you, Miss Katie,” I said, smiling and trying to keep from crying. “You’re too nice to me.”
“You’ll need a pen too,” said Katie, turning and looking over the desk. “Here’s one … and a bottle of ink.”
“I’ve never used a pen like that before,” I said.
“I’ll show you,” she said. “It’s a little hard to get used to. Practice on another piece of paper first before you write anything in your journal.”
She made me sit down, then showed me how to hold the pen and how to dip it in the ink. I made a mess at first, spilling a big splotch of black over the paper.
Katie and I laughed. But she kept showing me and I moved it around on the paper, pretending to make some words. And slowly I got the hang of it.
That night I sat down at the desk in the room I was using and opened to the first page of my new journal. I sat there a long time thinking what I should say. Finally I dipped the pen into the jar of ink and started writing.
This is what I wrote.
My name is Mary Ann Jukes. People call me Mayme. Im fiften yeers old an I grew up as a slave on a plantashun. But to munths ago all my fambly was killd by some bad men ridn on horses wif guns. I hid an then ran away an came to anoder plantashun calld roswood. I been here about to munths. I met a white girl calld Katie Klarborn. She let me stay an were friens now. I been tryin to read the Bible cuz wen we went back to where I lived before we foun my mamas an grandmamas Bible an Katies been helpin me lern to read. I also ben tryin to pray an Gods ben answerin some to an that makes me know hes takin care of us. Anoder black girl came here to whos in trouble. We helpt her have her baby an theyr stayin wif us. Katie an mes tryin to preten to run the plantashun so nobodyll know were jus three girls an a baby all alone here .
I set down the pen and looked at what I’d written. It wasn’t a whole lot better than what I’d written when I was younger. But it was a good start. And right then and there I said to myself that I’d keep writing, and would make this book Katie’d given me the story of my life, whatever came of it.
P UTTING
That was my past. But now was now. I would keep those pages as a reminder of that life. Not a good life, but a life that had made me who I was, and even a life I could be a little proud of in a different kind of way. I guess it wasn’t only happiness that went into making you who you were. Maybe sadness made better things inside you than being happy all the time. I didn’t know. I felt good about who I was anyhow. But I didn’t know if I’d read the pages again.
Just looking at my old writing made me realize how much I’d already learned just in this short time. I could read a lot better. I wondered if that meant I could write better too.
I would try. I would get some new paper and start writing again about now, about what me and Katie were doing, and about who this new me was who was changing from the little girl I used to be.
In fact, I thought, I would try it right now!
I got up and went to find Katie and told her what I wanted to do and asked if she had some paper and a pencil I could use.
“I have something better than that,” she said. “I have a journal you can have.”
“I don’t want to take your journal, Miss Katie,” I said.
“It’s an extra one my mama gave me.”
“But don’t you need it?”
“Not yet. I have two others already. I use one for my poems.”
“What’s the other one for?”
“Thoughts and things I want to write down and remember. But there’s not much in it. Here, I want to give you this one,” she said. She took a brown book down from a shelf and handed it to me. It looked just like a regular book, but when I opened it I saw that all the pages were blank.
I held it a minute, thinking how beautiful it was.
“I want you to have it, Mayme,” Katie repeated. “It will make me happy for you to write in it.”
“Thank you, Miss Katie,” I said, smiling and trying to keep from crying. “You’re too nice to me.”
“You’ll need a pen too,” said Katie, turning and looking over the desk. “Here’s one … and a bottle of ink.”
“I’ve never used a pen like that before,” I said.
“I’ll show you,” she said. “It’s a little hard to get used to. Practice on another piece of paper first before you write anything in your journal.”
She made me sit down, then showed me how to hold the pen and how to dip it in the ink. I made a mess at first, spilling a big splotch of black over the paper.
Katie and I laughed. But she kept showing me and I moved it around on the paper, pretending to make some words. And slowly I got the hang of it.
That night I sat down at the desk in the room I was using and opened to the first page of my new journal. I sat there a long time thinking what I should say. Finally I dipped the pen into the jar of ink and started writing.
This is what I wrote.
My name is Mary Ann Jukes. People call me Mayme. Im fiften yeers old an I grew up as a slave on a plantashun. But to munths ago all my fambly was killd by some bad men ridn on horses wif guns. I hid an then ran away an came to anoder plantashun calld roswood. I been here about to munths. I met a white girl calld Katie Klarborn. She let me stay an were friens now. I been tryin to read the Bible cuz wen we went back to where I lived before we foun my mamas an grandmamas Bible an Katies been helpin me lern to read. I also ben tryin to pray an Gods ben answerin some to an that makes me know hes takin care of us. Anoder black girl came here to whos in trouble. We helpt her have her baby an theyr stayin wif us. Katie an mes tryin to preten to run the plantashun so nobodyll know were jus three girls an a baby all alone here .
I set down the pen and looked at what I’d written. It wasn’t a whole lot better than what I’d written when I was younger. But it was a good start. And right then and there I said to myself that I’d keep writing, and would make this book Katie’d given me the story of my life, whatever came of it.
P UTTING
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