The Help

by Kathryn Stockett

“Ugly live up on the inside. Ugly be a hurtful, mean person. Is you one a them peoples?”

“Ever morning, until you dead in the ground, you gone have to make this decision.” Constantine was so close, I could see the blackness of her gums. “You gone have to ask yourself, Am I gone believe what them fools say about me today?”

All my life I’d been told what to believe about politics, coloreds, being a girl. But with Constantine’s thumb pressed in my hand, I realized I actually had a choice in what I could believe.

“Mae Mobley,” I say cause I got a notion to try something. “You a smart girl?” She just look at me, like she don’t know. “You a smart girl,” I say again. She say, “Mae Mo smart.” I say, “You a kind little girl?” She just look at me. She two years old. She don’t know what she is yet.

On my other side is damn Leslie Fullerbean and her cloud of hairspray. She must risk her life every time she lights a cigarette. I wonder, if I pushed the top of her head, would aerosol spray out of her mouth.

“Nobody would believe something you wrote, Nigra.” “I don’t know. I been told I’m a pretty good writer.”

And then she say it, just like I need her to. “You is kind,” she say, “you is smart. You is important.”

That woman gone spend the rest a her life trying to convince people she didn’t eat that pie. I think about Yule May setting in jail. Cause Miss Hilly, she in her own jail, but with a lifelong term.