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Servant

I’m a servant in a large household – there are many of us.

All us servants are under the jurisdiction of the head maid, who seems to run the household. She’s old and dresses like a nun, but her clothing is a deep green color. She doesn’t like me.

My life consists of cleaning. I am clothed in a simple working dress with an apron and a white head wrap. I sleep in a barren room on a little green mat in the corner, possibly with others. At one point I get up in the morning and become aware that the “Mistress and children” are here today, so I must eat in the kitchen. Normally we would all eat in the dining room together with the Master of the household. I get that the “Mistress” is not his wife, but a woman he is having an affair with, and she likes to see the servants separate from the Master, as befits his class.

The main event is me consorting with a friend outside the household. We don’t get to see each other often, and I love her dearly. I start getting reckless in my attempts to connect with her. I stop working to open my laptop1 and chat online with her, until the Head Maid notices and commands me to close it and get back to work. I sneak outside during breaks and return late. Once I leave for an entire day.

The entire household knows about my shirking. The Head Maid scowls whenever she sees me, and the other servants look away and don’t speak much. No one talks directly about it, but there is an air of expectancy that I will be dismissed soon.

I too am anticipating this, so I wear heavy work boots2 and never take them off, even to sleep. Once a person is dismissed she is immediately escorted off the property with nothing but the clothes she is wearing. The soft shoes of a servant are not meant for the outdoors, and would quickly wear out. I would be (or remember I time when I was) a shoeless beggar huddled in the corner of a street.

One morning we’re all gathered around the dining room table at breakfast. The Head Maid is sitting at the head of the table, talking to someone, possibly the Master of the house. The subject between them comes up about my friend.

“Oh yes, I know all about her” the maid says, as if she had done a thorough investigation. She never looks at me, but she intentionally talks loud enough for me to hear, while calmly cutting up her food. “Her name is Gwen Allister3.”

This shocks me. It was not the name I knew her by. It was the sort of name a servant would have.

“…She works at the ____ household. She is a known troublemaker, disruptor, and general nuisance around the house. I imagine she’ll be dismissed soon, assuming she hasn’t already been….”

Now I’m angry and hurt. She’s insinuating that my friend is of no better standing than myself, a wretched woman who delights in deceiving me into thinking she is something she isn’t, who would only standby and watch as I was kicked out of my position for her sake. Everything I knew her not to be4.

“That is not true!” I yell across the table, interrupting her. “You are lying!”

-

Observing now, I watch from a distance as the servant who I had been crosses a busy street and up some stone steps, where a woman about the same age is waiting. This is the dear friend. With tears in “my” eyes, clutching my friend’s arms in my own, I recount everything the old maid had said. The friend looks shocked, then concerned and she tries to reassure me, shaking her head vigorously at every accusation. “No, no, she was lying, none of that is true, of course it isn’t….”

Then we embrace.
--------------------------------

1-Yes, a laptop. An old Compaq from the early 2000s or late 90s that I had used my first year of college.

2-These boots I wore throughout high school.

3-When I woke up with the name in mind, it changed to McAllister.

4-It's never clear what I thought this friend was, but it wasn't a servant. I had felt that, should I be dismissed, she would have means to support me. I had been negligent about my job, and the thought that I really would be thrown out into the street without any help was frightening.

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