Thanksgiving Day is the next big Holiday on the scene, then comes Black Friday. The day shoppers, world-wide go crazy. We won’t be caught in the harrowing experience because my mom and I are broke.
We live in poverty.
Poor folks on the run don’t celebrate holidays.
I know, I know, no one wants to hear about a little broke black girl. According to the world, we don’t exist.
Our cute little yearning faces look too much like “Les Misérables” or “Oliver Twist.” Our faces force others to look within their stingy hearts and eat their hypocrisy.
To me, it’s all just another day of trying to stay alive.
To me, Bea Wyett, a little girl whom no one loves but her mother and of course my family loves me, but the outside world doesn’t. They preach phony double-talk about loving the kids, but I know they are lying. They don’t give a diddly-squat about those like me.
To me, the world is nothing but a big stinking festering tomb. A graveyard filled of broken dreams and promises.
In the Mather’s household, Bea’s in for a different kind of Thanksgiving than their normal routine.