And now she was ashamed to be white because her father was so weak. He was lying before this strong, virile Black man and he was crying like a little ...irl and pleading not to get hit.When she heard her father submissively admit that Dazhawn owned Tricia her humiliation deepened. Her father was a wimp; he was a pussy; he was a boi. Tricia had already explained that the best way that white girls like them could pay reparations to the Black race was to get fucked by Black Daddies. She had planned. She was looking out the window, squinting against the bright light. There was a tree across the street, with a bent trunk. A willow tree? Had it always been there? She had never noticed it before."I have to go," she said."Now?" he looked down at his wrist for the watch he no longer ever wore, like he always did.Christine stood, went for the door, remembered her purse, found it, then went for the door again. "It's this headache. I really have to go David, I'm sorry." It's okay," he stood as if. More

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