Black Boy

by Richard Wright

I saw a plate of thick, black molasses and a hunk of white bread on the table. Would I get no more than this? They had had eggs, bacon, coffee…I picked up the bread and tried to break it; it was stale and hard. Well, I would drink the molasses. I lifted the plate and brought it to my lips and saw floating on the surface of the black liquid green and white bits of mold. Goddamn…I can’t eat this, I told myself. The food was not even clean. The woman came into the kitchen as I was putting on my coat. “You didn’t eat,” she said. “No, ma’am,” I said. “I’m not hungry.” “You’ll eat at home?” she asked hopefully. “Well, I just wasn’t hungry this morning, ma’am,” I lied. “You don’t like molasses and bread,” she said dramatically. “Oh, yes, ma’am, I do,” I defended myself quickly, not wanting her to think that I dared criticize what she had given me. “I don’t know what’s happening to you niggers nowadays,” she sighed, wagging her head. She looked closely at the molasses. “It’s a sin to throw out molasses like that. I’ll put it up for you this evening.”