Soul Food

Bernice took Elizabeth down to the ghetto, to a soul food restaurant.

"Can I take your order?" a tired, old, Black-as-night woman asked in a bored tone.

"I'll get the fried chicken," Elizabeth said tentatively.

"White meat or dark?" the waitress asked, hand on her waist.

"Whi --" Elizabeth started.

"She gonna have dark meat. With some oxtail stew. Some chitlins. Some collard greens. Some cornbread," Bernice said, her tone authoritative and brooking new dissent. Elizabeth tucked her hair behind her ear nervously.

"Yeah, that," she said.

When the meal was served, Elizabeth inspected the chicken, frowning slightly. Bernice arched her eyebrow, and Elizabeth took a bite. It was ... different. Wetter. Fatter. But under Bernice's gaze, she ate more of it, swallowing it, then eating everything, bite by bite. When she finished, Bernice smiled at her, her teeth a brilliant white compared to her dark skin.

"How was that?" Bernice asked. "Not at all like that white food you eat, I bet."

"It's an acquired taste," Elizabeth allowed. "But I'm game."

This one had promise, Bernice thought. No wonder Moses was balls deep in her.