The 1st of several first person exercises I'm doing to strengthen my writing in 1st person narrative. Critique and comments are appreciated!
~ Bridget Aine
*
The floorboards whine in protest; I remind myself that I have nothing to fear. John and Dr. Franklin will be honest with me...
But that's what I'm afraid of.
I can hear the rustling of the parchment, the soft sounds of their breathing, the singing of birds outside the open window. The coffee sits on the desk, growing cold; from here, I can see a light film beginning atop the black surface. My throat goes dry. They've been quiet for far too long now. Just tell me how horrible it is, so that I can flee back to Monticello and never return to Philidelphia.
"This is something altogether unexpected." Oh no....
I stop my pacing and look up; John glances quickly at me before turning back to the page before him. "Not only a declaration of our independence, but... of the rights of all men. This is... this is... this is well said, sir, very, very well said."
What? Did.... did John just say... did John just say that he.... liked it? He... he complimented me, right? That was a compliment, right? Right?
Suddenly, it feels as though my legs can't hold me up. I lift up the tails of my coat and take a seat on the chair across from them, crossing my legs and resting my arm on the back as John continues to read.
"'The Christian King of Great Britain has waged cruel war against human nature itself... in the persons of a distant people who never offended him, captivating and carrying them into slavery in another hemisphere.'"
The smooth material of my coat is soft beneath my chin, and I listen, internally cringing with every word. Did I really, truly write that? What was I thinking?
"Yes, see, you... you lay the evils of slavery at the... the feet of the king, but you say nothing of slavery itself, sir." Dr. Franklin says, pointing out the phrase in the paper in John's hand. I cringe, hearing the negativity in his voice, and reach down, pulling gently at the long underwear exposed beneath my knickers- a nervous habit I've had since childhood. He doesn't like it. "Now surely, if the trade is outlawed, but ownership is not, then those unfortunate Negroes still in servitude will become a more... ah, lucrative commodity."
He clears his throat, as though displeased. At me. Don't just sit there, say something!
"Well, that's not what I intended, Dr. Franklin." Go on, say it. They'll find out what you think eventually, just tell them now! "Slavery is an abomination and must be loudly proclaimed as such. But I own that neither I, nor any man has any yet immediate solution to the problem."
There, I said it, it's out in the open. I abhor slavery, yet I myself have slaves. I'm a hypocrite. A hypocrite, a hypocrite, a hypocrite. Tar and feather me, and ride me out of town on a rail. I deserve it. It's only by sheer force of will that I keep eye contact with him.
"Oh, well... ti... tis no matter. The issue before us is independence and not emancipation." THAT'S IT? That's all you're going to say? 'Tis no matter? TIS NO MATTER?!
"Dr. Franklin, this document is-" John starts. Horrible, an abomination to the written word, the worst thing since Chaucer's Canturbery Tales.
"Is something- something our friends in the Congress will debate, but I would be very surprised if they will countenance an attack on slavery. Now," He clears his throat again, and I try to swallow the lump in my throat. "'we hold these truths to be sacred and undeniable, that all men are... created equal, etc.'" He clears his throat again; either he's coming down with a cold, or he's exceedingly displeased. I hope it's the former. "Sacred and undeniable. Smacks of the pulpit."
John's eyes snap up from his reading, and I can feel his sidelong glance being cast my way. I shuffle my feet nervously, and tug at the underwear again. My throat clogs.
What? It does? "Does it? Hm." I can see him looking over the paper out of the corner of my eye. John keeps quiet, letting Dr. Franklin talk. Then again, you are a Quaker, Dr. Franklin....
"These truths, are self-evident, are they not?" He asks, more a stern father-figure than a Congressman. Um...
"Perhaps." He gives me a stern look, as though unhappy with my answer. Eventually,
"Self-evident then." He reaches for one of the many quill pens scattered about the desk. After dipping it in the ink, he turns back to me. "Self-evident?" He asks loudly, as though I were in Richmond and not four feet from him.
"Self-evident." I whisper, turning my gaze to the floor. He hates it.
"Self-evident." John agrees in a quiet tone. Thanks for the vote of confidence, John. Not that I need it. I have no gift for oratory, after all, why should a gift for writing be any different?
"Do not mistake me, sir, I..." He starts as he turns to fix the phrase. "share your sentiment."
"Every single word was precisely chosen. I assure you of that, Dr. Franklin." I reply, licking my lips quickly. So precisely, that I spent three nights locked in my study working on it, wasted copious amounts of parchment and ink, gone through four quills and six inkwells, and still, it hasn't come out right.
"Yes, but yours will not be the only hand in this document. It cannot be. They will try to mangle it, and they may succeed." Dr. Franklin says, gesturing towards the door, as though the other members of Congress were in the room with us.
"They may be expressions which I would not have inserted if I had drawn it up, but I will defend every word of it." John says, finally making full eye contact with me. I shrug. Wonderful, John, just wonderful that you like it, but it's horrible, if you want my honest opinion. But then again, no one does.
I turn my full attention to the floor at my feet and shrug. I don't even want my opinion.
"Well, it's what I believe."
