How I started to dream under the Old Angel Oak Tree

February 20, 2012
I was running; running through the sugarcane fields, running from the blazing fire that used to be my home. What had I done? I had trusted him. He told me he’d keep us safe. And now my family was either dead or running like me. If there was any one left to meet me, I’d meet them at the Johnson’s plantation. I heard the sugarcane snapping, someone was behind me, and they were gaining; fast. I couldn’t move any faster. I could hardly breathe with my corset on, just a little further, only another quarter of a mile or so.

“Annabelle!” My pursuer screamed my name in desperation. It was him. The man I had loved so deeply, the man who captivated me, the man who had betrayed me so completely it tore at my soul just to hear his strong deep southern voice. “Annie just listen to me!” I looked back; he was only a mere fifteen feet behind me. I started to trip down the hill that was next to the Johnson’s plantation. My slips got caught between my feet and I was rolling on the steep hill. I saw the tree a few feet in front of me, the tree I knew I was going to die under. The tree I had just hit my head on. An excruciating pain exploded on the back of my head. My pursuer was close, I heard his agonizing screams; I was too far gone to understand just what he was saying. My blonde hair felt damp and I smelled blood.

The last thing I saw before I started to dream of how this had started, how it had all started under this very tree... was his face; his beautiful face, with the silky blackness of his hair that reminded me of the night sky with no stars, the straight nose, the strong jaw and chin, those lips, the color that girls envied, their feather softness, the ones that tasted like sugar and honey on a rainy day, those lips were like no other, but his dark eyes were the thing I couldn’t ever look away from, they were the color that you couldn’t describe, that you would never be able to describe, his tall frame, muscles built from his volunteered work with the slaves. He grabbed my shoulders with huge hands that had long fingers. He was saying something, I couldn’t hear him. He started crying, his warm tears splattered on my face as he held me rocking back and forth, his head tilted back as he screamed at the moon-less night sky showing the strain of his muscles on his neck. I wanted so deeply to comfort him. I tried to put my hand on his cheek, but my body was heavy and weak from the loss of blood. I looked at him trying to tell him how I felt about him, how I would always feel about him, but I couldn’t help it, the memories had come, my eyes were closed and I was lost.

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