Contrahentes - Connections, a relationship in which a person or thing is linked or associated with something else
Time - the indefinite continued progress of existence and events in the past, present, and future regarded as a whole
" Everything coul...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Racism in the open
××××××
DOLORES WAS ECSTATIC AS SHE SAT AT HER vanity brushing through her curls attempting to make herself look presentable. Tonight they were taking Dovie out for dinner.
Of course nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary for the African American came to feast often with the Hargreeves family but tonight they got to eat at a restaurant, only the finest in all of Texas as her father claimed it to be.
From time to time Reginald would have these days to where he insisted on acting as proper and affluent as he could. Which meant going all out to please no one but himself or his family.
"Doll, are you ready?" The blonde woman's southern accent came from the doorway of the youths room, startling the girl.
"Yep!" Dolores bounced her way -as she did- to where her mother was situated.
"Put on a coat now, wouldn't want you to get sick." Her mother states as she grabbed the elegant black jacket the girl was to wear, one that showed she was from a rich family. Now the child hated the jacket, it was dreadful and the idea of rubbing her wealth in the faces of those less fortunate than she, was nauseating to her, however her father had bought her the clothing and the thought of disrespecting or displeasing him made her feel ill in the stomach. So of course out of high respect for the opinionated man and the fact she was eight years of age and couldn't really make these decisions, she wore it without fuss.
"Don't you worry now, you don't have to wear it for long." Grace reassured her internally distraught daughter.
"How did you-" the ankle biter was cut off from the inquisition she was about to make.
"Moms always know, doll." The woman smiled warmly at her eight year old. "Now let's go." And with that her mother took her by the hand and led her out the door.
On the walk to the restaurant the sensation that lingered in the star littered air was strange and unfamiliar in comparison to the peaceful atmosphere it often held. Although none of the family members addressed it.
Once they had approached the doors of the place they were to dine that evening they saw the lady they were to meet.
"Dovie!" Dolores squealed excitedly running over to one of her favourite people.
"Why, aren't you looking as pretty as a pickle!" The southern accent Dovie had picked up was strong showing her slight nervousness although she made an effort to hide it.
