speaks.
âWhat do you think about what Miz Esther said this morning?â
Although Ansel and Willie are the same age, Willie is as old as a cotton field. He knows his survival depends on how well he is able to perceive what a white person wants to hear and then says it before the white person knows that is what he or she wants to hear.
Until Ansel had almost called him that word this morning, he had just about forgotten that Ansel was white.
That could be dangerous. If he forgot that Ansel was, Ansel might remember that he was. And then what?
But his parents had assured him that Ansel and Mister Bert were not like a lot of other white people. They were more like Miz Davis than Capân Zeph. ButWillie isnât sure anymore.
âI didnât think nothing about what she said,â Willie answers.
âYou figure on staying in Davis the rest of your life?â Ansel wants to know.
âWhere else Iâm gonâ go? And what would I do when I got there, if there was a there to get to.â
Ansel ponders this for a minute. âI donât think I knew there was a there until Miz Esther said I didnât have to take over the store.â He stops and gazes into the distance as if he is seeing something for the first time.
âI donât have to do what my papa does if I donât want to. I had never thought about that before this morning. I donât even have to stay here in Davis.â
âGood for you,â Willie says. There is resentment in his voice.
âGood for me what?â
âGood for you that you donât have to do what anybody says. Good for you that you can go somewhere else.â Willie does not disguise the contempt he now feels for Ansel.
Ansel opens his mouth to say something, then closes it slowly. He looks at Willie, and he is ashamed.He had forgotten what Willie cannot forget.
It is only at this moment that he understands the difference in their lives, the difference between one who could imagine that his life could be different, and one who knew that his life would not be, regardless of how much he dreamed.
Ansel wants to apologize, wants to say something that will take away the look of resentment on Willieâs face, wants to say something that will take back what he almost called him that morning. But when he speaks, he is surprised at the words that come out, surprised at how fervently they come out.
âWeâve got to start dreaming, Willie. Weâve just got to!â
This is the last thing Willie expected Ansel to say. His use of âweâ startles Willie. He resents Ansel for thinking that he is in the same position as Willie, but when he looks at Ansel, when he sees the look of anguish on his face, he remembers something his father told him, something that didnât make sense until now.
âDonât never let yourself be angry with white folks. Us niggers, we know things are in a bad way. But the white folks? They donât know that by keepingus down in a ditch, they got to be right here in the ditch with us. And because they donât know that, they worse off than we are.â
Willieâs face relaxes. He wants to dream; he wants to believe there is a there for him.
âHow do we dream?â he wants to know.
He doesnât know that by asking the question, he has already begun.
Thursday Afternoon
Ansel likes to sit on a stool in the kitchen when his mother is cooking.
The worried, distracted look she wears like an old sweater that should have been thrown away a long time ago vanishes, and she becomes like a cup of hot chocolate on a cold morning.
He and his mother seldom talk when they are in the kitchen together. At such times it is as if all the questions have been asked and answered, so there is no need for either of them to speak.
But on this afternoon, the day after Esther Davis talked to him and Willie, a day when he went to work but early in the afternoon told his father he wasnât