Mayella's Moment: Poem Analysis

Mayella’s Moment

Pa came stormin’ through the front room, cussin’ a’me, madder than a wet hen, an’ his face more ruddy than my legs after yesterday’s beatin’. I knowed I was done for; Pa’d seen me kissin’ Tom through the window. I cowered to the corner of the room, hopin’ that Pa’s beatin’ on me ain’t gonna be so bad, though Pa was drunker than Cooter Brown. He showed his teeth, “You damned girl. Watcha doin’ cuddlin’ to that nigger-boy? You was tryin’ to kiss that nigger!” Pa slurred. His eyes was as wild as an angry bull. I plead’d, “He come here to bust up the chifferobe, is all. He done nothin’ wrong!” An’ it ain’t his fault he a nigger as well, I thought as I lowered my eyes. Tom was a fine nigger who’d help even a white girl, unlike
Pa who’d leave me to the children. Like in all my dreams, I’d kissed Tom, an’ it sure was different to being kissed by a stubble-faced hog. Pa’s rough work-hands turned into dirty fists at my pleadin’. He spat, “You whore, mixin’ with those niggers! Now you bring us Ewells down to their level with your mixin’. Do you know what you’ve done to us?”

Like my red Geraniums in the cold winds, I shook as his words hit me like the usual punches.
Was it too much to want more than my Geraniums? To love – to be loved by – someone else. Now, I ain’t allowed to leave home, an’ I ain’t got no hope for a future, all ‘cause of my damned sin. All of a sudden, Pa’s voice boomed louder than all the
children, “You listening to me, nigger-lover? That’s what whole of Maycomb’s gonna know you as. That nigger ain’t want you, now whole of Maycomb ain’t gonna want you. You gonna be cast-out ‘n I ain’t gonna be there to help you.”

Pa’s words caged me like the barbed wire fence he’d made ’round the home.
I ain’t got nowhere to go. What was I gonna do, what was I doin’? Tom ain’t gonna take me to First Purchase, as if I was a nigger-lady. Even if he did, what would I do in church, with all those Negroes watchin’ and wishin’ me dead? Pa continued, his mouth foamin’ like a mad dog, as he raved, takin’ a step closer, “Funny how your nigger-boy came off runnin’ like a scalded haint! Just wanted to save his own Negro skin. He don’t give a damn ’bout you. You ain’t worth the effort, ain’t worth protecting. You’re just a bitch-dog that follows its master.”

By then, Pa’d reached me an’ he’d ripped my dress at the seam when he seized me by the shoulders that were still bruised from before. Lookin’ at Pa was like lookin’ straight at the devil, an’ his belchin’ mouth passed on the stink of moon-shine. My innards curled like the wiltin’ leaves of my Geraniums come the cold as I thought, Pa’s gonna sock me a good one agin, like all the times before. With a grunt, his left fist came up an’ knocked my block off, clean to the floor. But a beatin’ was always better than a ruttin’. I could see nothin’ but I could hear, with each punch, Pa
cussin’, “You ain’t gonna dishonour me. You ain’t gonna dishonour the Ewells. You gonna tell Heck that nigger-boy came an’ jumped onto you an’ attacked you. That he get his way with you an’ ruttin’ on you yonder! You gonna put that nigger trash in the clink for makin’ all this trouble, for makin’ my ass itch!”

I dunno if it was Pa’s beatin’ on me or Tom runnin’ away, too cowardly to stand up to Pa, but Pa was right. Tom was the weed that was suffocatin’ me – killin’ my Geraniums. That nigger ought to be gone, that nigger who didn’t protect me, that nigger who’s gonna tell Maycomb that I kissed him. Mr Tate’s gonna hear it from a white girl, an’ I’m gonna tell him that Tom had me by the neck an’ he rutted me. That nigger’s gonna be gone, gone like he was never here.