They told her she should keep her head down, even as she walked, to keep her eyes trained on the ground or on the heels of her superiors because she would eat the dust their feet had tread upon, she would eat their dust, and she was worth nothing but what she scrubbed from the floor each night. They told her never to look them in the eyes, that doing so was challenging their authority, that if she so much as glanced at their faces- unless given the barking command "LOOK AT ME"- she would be beaten. They pushed her into the wall and spit tobacco at her pale feet. She did not look up.

They undressed her- stripped her naked- rid her of the colorful and extravagantly patterned clothes she had worn for all of her life, they clothed her in European dress, all that was considered proper and presentable where they had taken her. They told her to suck in her breath, hold in her breasts, tuck in her backside, they taught her to fold her lips inward so her mouth appeared a thin, curving line instead of the cherry-shaped kisser with which she was born. They clamped a clothespin onto her nose, claiming hers was not delicate and becoming of a young woman, they told her not to smile because her cheekbones were too bold, too high, and none of them were able to facially reconstruct her. They told her she would not be given meat, dairy, or starch, that vegetables and fruits would suffice until her hips flattened out, and she was less curves and more parallel lines. They put a perm in her hair and told her that, now, she was beautiful.

Flat hips, flat lips, no figure, no shape, straightened hair, the ability to look invisible and still be there, they told her that these were the wonders of a white woman. The wonders of a white woman, but they told her she would never be like them, never be treated as an equal human being, that though her skin was the color of cream, her soul was still black as currants or Kalamata olives, that light skin gave her the opportunity to be exposed to true culture and real beauty, but she would never be worth anything. They told her to consider herself lucky, that they would give her sons and daughters whose skin would be white like thoroughbred heifers, that they would grow up and be accepted as humans in civilization, that they would grow up in a country that knew there was only one God, and that God was white. That her daughters would have thin lips, delicate noses, and straight hair, that they would be given a better life than any of their ancestors, that they would be accepted as purely white as long as they did not have the shape of their mother, that they would grow up and despise her, their mother, because she was black.

She released her breath, untucked her behind, unfolded her lips, and looked up. They reached for her. They knocked her to the floor, but again she stood. They reached for their belts, but she held a hand to her bruising cheek and spoke. "My head will remain high," she said, "Because I am proud of my culture, my country, my heritage. I am worth more than precious gems in the eyes of my Creator. In the eyes of my Creator, I am priceless." She ripped the collar from her dress and spoke again, "My bosoms were made large in order to feed my young so they can grow healthy and strong, to rock them to sleep so they can feel my heartbeat and know their mother is carrying them. My backside is just the right size to support the broadness of my back, enabling me to work hard and support my family. My lips are the case for my prized instrument, my voice, with which I am now speaking. My lips were never meant to be folded in, blocking my voice from being heard."

She reached up and took the clothespin from her nose. She threw it to the floor, and continued, "My nose is important to keep me breathing, keep me living, you have no right to cut off my air supply." She smiled at each of them in turn, "I will smile because I am happy; I will smile because my cheekbones are beautiful. My hips will never flatten out because they are not meat, they are bones, they are there to help me bear strong, healthy children to carry on my husband's name. I am made of curves, and I am beautiful." She grabbed her hair in her hand, and laughed. "My locks will grow back rough and tangled as they were before. My locks are roots that tell me there is yet life in my country; my locks are the roots to my tree, the tree that is me. Big hips, big lips, curved figure, wavy shape, thick, curly hair, no desire to be invisible as long as I am here." She told them, "A woman does not need to be white to be wonderful, just as a woman does not need to be black to be brilliant. I will never be like you, but I've no desire to be. My skin is light, but my soul is whatever color I determine it will be. My soul is whiter than your skin. My sons and daughters," she corrected, "will know their heritage. No matter the color of their skin, they will know their culture. They will know that they are beautiful. They will know that they came from a country that believes in a God who sees all human beings as equals, regardless of their skin tone. My daughters will love themselves whether their hair is straight or not. I will teach them that it is no shame to be black." She walked to the door, and they made no move to stop her. "I will teach them that white women are brilliant, just as black women are wonderful."