Here's an excerpt to the next installment of the Charm Offensive.
Thanks for taking a look!
When I arrived I was a sight. The ride from the Freemont Academy for Wayward Negro Girls was a rough one. Of course, this was not the institution’s proper name, but considering my purpose for being lodged there for the previous three years, it might as well have been.
We drove straight through from New Brunswick to Baltimore. Setting off before dawn. Not even a mumbled “safe travels,” or a wish good luck from the apple sour lot of ‘em. The only display of human warmth was demonstrated by the Academy headmistress, Miss Hattie Rangale, who though bundled against the cold in only a gingham dressing gown and double crocheted shawl, was red-faced splotchy and misty with perspiration.
“Well Mayella, Dear,” she said, stamping one muled foot and then the next against the cold, “Please do what you can to remember all Freemont attempted to teach you—we don’t give up often, but only God knows ones truest path. It’s neither our place, nor duty to salvage souls who do not want to be saved.”
“I always do what I can, Miss Rangale,” I said, rubbing sleep from my eyes. “Yes, ma’am, the Academy taught me the time spent puttin’ y’all foot in another’s back, could be spent lendin ‘em a hand.” I said this, and then quickly ducked my head back inside the car window, but not before yawning in a bored and all too exaggerated manner. I did this so she wouldn’t mistake my words as a show of genuine contrition, one last ditch effort to soften her heart in order to allow me to stay.
To read more, or previous chapters go to: