Jude Vignes Character Analysis

“Don’t you have something brown?” her mother had asked, lingering in the doorway, but Desiree ignored her, tying pink ribbons around Jude’s braids. Bright colors looked vulgar against dark skin, everyone said, but she refused to hide her daughter in drab olive greens or grays. Now, as they paraded past the other children, she felt foolish. Maybe pink was too showy. Maybe she’d already ruined her daughter’s chances of fitting in by dressing her up like a department store doll.

Now, as he watched the photo, she watched him, trying to picture Therese. But she couldn’t. She only saw Reese, scruffy face, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, that loop of hair always falling onto his forehead. […] She’d always known that it was possible to be two different people in one lifetime […].

“You should take that thing off,” she said. “If it hurts you. You don’t have to wear it here. I don’t care what you look like.”

She thought he might be relieved, but instead, a dark and unfamiliar look passed across his face.

“It’s not about you,” he said, then he slammed the bathroom door shut.

“You know I don’t mean anything by it. I’m just saying. Your men usually like the light girls, don’t they?”

Years later, she would always wonder what exactly pushed her. That sly smile, or the way she’d said your men so casually, as if it didn’t include her. Or maybe it was because Kennedy was right. She knew how lucky Jude felt to be loved. She knew, even though Jude tried to hide it, exactly how to hurt her.

“You shouldn’t tell people the truth because you want to hurt them. You should tell me because they want to know it. And I think you want to know now.”

“Don’t you have something brown?” her mother had asked, lingering in the doorway, but Desiree ignored her, tying pink ribbons around Jude’s braids. Bright colors looked vulgar against dark skin, everyone said, but she refused to hide her daughter in drab olive greens or grays. Now, as they paraded past the other children, she felt foolish. Maybe pink was too showy. Maybe she’d already ruined her daughter’s chances of fitting in by dressing her up like a department store doll.

Now, as he watched the photo, she watched him, trying to picture Therese. But she couldn’t. She only saw Reese, scruffy face, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, that loop of hair always falling onto his forehead. […] She’d always known that it was possible to be two different people in one lifetime […].

“You should take that thing off,” she said. “If it hurts you. You don’t have to wear it here. I don’t care what you look like.”

She thought he might be relieved, but instead, a dark and unfamiliar look passed across his face.

“It’s not about you,” he said, then he slammed the bathroom door shut.

“You know I don’t mean anything by it. I’m just saying. Your men usually like the light girls, don’t they?”

Years later, she would always wonder what exactly pushed her. That sly smile, or the way she’d said your men so casually, as if it didn’t include her. Or maybe it was because Kennedy was right. She knew how lucky Jude felt to be loved. She knew, even though Jude tried to hide it, exactly how to hurt her.

“You shouldn’t tell people the truth because you want to hurt them. You should tell me because they want to know it. And I think you want to know now.”