“Are you willing to risk everything to help them?” Toby asked. I stared at him, looking at the outline of his face. His jaw was set and it made him look older. He was no longer that 12 year old boy that I played tag with. Now he was 17, looking at me with those deep green eyes that got darker around the rims. I looked at the children in the corner. A brother and sister no older than 10. They were skinny, too skinny to be healthy, scared and beaten. They no longer had a family because on their runaway here, their mother and baby sister ended up dying. They held onto each other and shook violently from starvation and the cold.
I looked down at my feet, the dust covering my black shoes making them look grey. My dress was shredded and muddy, and my hair in knots. I didn’t know what it felt like to be beaten senseless or forced to labor in the fields all day, but I did know what it felt like to be a slave. I was a slave in my own society. I was a girl and I wasn’t allowed to go to school or have a say in anything. I was expected to stand behind my husband and be a house wife with no complaint. I wasn’t allowed to have an opinion.
I looked at the quivering children in the corner and I realized I wasn’t going to just sit back and let things like this happen. I was determined to change things. I wanted to help the runaway slaves get to Canada, even if it did put my reputation in danger. Compared to what those kids have been through, me risking my life was nothing. I put my eyes back on Toby. He’s been my best friend ever since I could remember. He gave me a sense of comfort and I knew that he would be there through it all. I was going to do something I wanted-needed- to do. I refused to sit back like my parents and do absolutely nothing.
I looked at Toby with a newly lit fire in my eyes. “You bet I am.”