Thomas

(mental letter, since Evans was not literate)
Thomas

We’ve been together since we were children. We were friends. We were companions. And yes, while I knew I was your slave, there was a part of that believed, I was more than that to you. Now, as you’ve shunted me aside the way of the stables, so that a mere child could become your  new travel mate and confidante, I know that I was never meant that much to you.

That’s the way it goes. Favor quickly passes from one to another. It is so hard this life. You find a rhythm, a way of thinking that makes this life bearable, that makes it feel as if you have something. But while I’m here crafting this view of my life and place in this world, in your life, you are there, always with the most power, ready to take away on a whim. Yeah, you did it for blood, for “family” and maybe that counts for something. But is that loyalty to your wife’s blood really worth more than the loyalty I’ve showed you for 30 years? Worth more than the trust I’ve earned? The value I’ve proven myself to have?
Some days, as I run these stables, I think that maybe I’m better off here. Tossed to the curb, yeah, but at least I am not eternally surrounded by your friends, going on about the benefit to the blacks for being in your care. Here, at least I have some peace of mind and need not watch my every action lest I offend the whites’ sensibilities by touching something. On those days, this other life, is not so bad.

But then news of you taking the boy to New York or Philadelphia comes, and I remember traveling and seeing others blacks of different worlds and what I could be. There was hope to knowing that was there and being close to it. You took hope away, Tommy.

-J. Evans

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