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It was a big day for the plantation. Rob Gellert, the big shot magnate from Atlanta, had selected our little corner of cotton paradise for his clothing business, with chains the length and breadth of the United States. Why he wanted our cotton was anyone's guess; I supposed it had to do with the fact that the land was perfect for cotton farming. It had all the right ingredients to make our cotton quite literally better than anyone else's.
Multiple offers had been made to buy our plantation, but my big sister, Bess (short for Elizabeth,) had stoutly refused every one. Disgruntled owners eventally gave up and sold up, and we now had a plantation that rivalled the big shots further north.
Okay, so our little plantation wasn't so little after now.
Enter Rob Gellert from Atlanta.
He came one late August afternoon, dressed all in black and driving a big black Ford Ranger that looked like it would cook anyone who sat in it for more than thirty seconds. It was a blisteringly hot day, and when Mr Gellert stepped out of his gas guzzling sauna, he immediately began sweating. The iced tea on the porch drew his attention, and after the pleasantries were exhanged, he made a beeline for the refreshments, downing half a jug in record time. The contract was soon drawn up, a firm handshake was exhanged to seal the deal, and then off Mr Gellert was, back to Atlanta, and the airconditioned paradise of his big mansion. Oh, and he left behind a massive sapphire and diamond engagement ring. The thing was obscenely huge, weighed a ton, and it was fucking ugly. Plus it was an unmistakeable brand of ownership that made you feel as if you ought to have had a slave collar around your neck instead.
And just who was the lucky recipient of such a tacky and shoddy bit of jewellery? Not my sister.
Nope, the (un)lucky recipient was myself.
But I'd betaken myself to the lake at the bottom of the west pasture at sunrise, and while Mr Gellert and my backstabbing weasel of a sister signed the deal that bound us and me irrevocably to him, I passed the time exploring the muddy bottom, hunting for crabs. The lake was mostly dried up, cracked red-brown mud baking in the hot sun, but there was one patch deep enough to dive in, and that was where I hid, using my hands to search the bottom, feeling for the distinctive little lumps that told me crabs were nearby. There wouldn't be many, not at this time of year, but honestly, I was happy just being underwater, away from the big deals being made up at the house.
Eventually, though, the airlessness and pressure in my lungs forced me to the surface, and I took deep breaths as I trod water, the sun warm on my head. When I'd sufficiently gotten my breath back, I went under again, this time swimming just for the hell of it, mud puffing up with every stroke as I swam along the bottom, the sun golden brown down here, filtering through the mud kicked up by my passage. Down here I could forget about the big deal that had changed my life, and I swam until I needed air again. This time, though, I took my time, enjoying the discomfort as my diaphragm spasmed repeatedly and at increasingly painful intervals, watching the bubbles speed up to the surface in silvery clouds as my air ran out, until I finally broke the surface, breathing hard.
A whinny caught my attention as I got my feet under me - having reached a part of the lake where I could now stand - and I smiled as I started splashing my way to shore. Potato had stood guard, ears pricked in the direction of the house, tail swishing to brush away flies, and as I clambered back to the bank, he cocked an ear towards me and flicked his tail once. "The bastard's gone, then," I said, gently rubbing his back. "Okay, stand down."
Potato flicked his tail again and I frowned. "He's still there? Ohhhh. I get it. Bessie Jane's in a bad mood because I preferred hunting for crabs."
A whuff of air confirmed my suspicions, and I sighed as I rubbed his back again. "Time to go face the music, then. She's gonna be real mad, isn't she?"
This time I didn't need the irritated buck to tell me I was right, and I laughed as I hastily dried myself with the bath towel I'd pinched from the bathroom earlier that morning. "Alright, Mr Grumpy. I get it. You want oats too, Your Highness?"
Potato neighed in response, and I grinned. "Just as soon as my sister's finished tanning me and staking me out to dry, I'll see you get an extra helping."
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