Bittersweet

“Sis, get the fuck up.” My eyes opened. My two older brothers, Darrell and Raymond stood over me, dressed in their usual uniform of baggy baseball jersey’s and sweatpants sagging so low you could see their overly patterned boxers.

“It’s too early.” I muttered, my South African accent sounding awkward. Now that we live in the states, my brothers have developed a more American way of speaking, mostly to fit in, but also to sound more intimidating. I’ve done my best to preserve the half British, half African accent which belongs to the country that I loved.

“Don’t make me pour ice water on you.” Darrell threatened.

“At least go away for a min so I can put some clothing on...I never get any fucking privacy.” I muttered. The brothers left, walking awkwardly out in their obnoxious clothing. I got out of bed, in only my underwear, which was pale pink.

I opened my closet and saw that it was practically empty. I took a second glance at my room and saw all the clothes on the floor. I really needed to clean but who really cares. I took a look at myself in the full length mirror leaning up against my wall. I was getting grossly skinny seeing as my brothers’ and all their friends were eating all the food in the house.

The other thing I always noticed when I looked in the mirror was my skin. I just, wished it fit better. My mum was married to this man named Dominic. They grew up in the same area in South Africa, the part where everyone was black, and separated from the other areas in South Africa where everyone was white. They met, fell in love, had two children (my brothers), and then things started changing in South Africa. They moved into a nicer city, where black and white people were much better integrated, and my mom started working for a magazine and that was where she met James. James was a beauty of a man, that’s what my mum said. Blonde, fair skinned, big blue eyes, and this elegant skinny body. She fell in love with his appearance too quickly, left Dominic, and went and had me. James thought he was too young for children, at the age of 23, and kissed my mum goodbye. He moved to Canada or something. I don’t blame him and neither did my mum. She was used to kids, having her first child at 17. He was not.

I was mixed race, so to speak. Big blue eyes and a small frame from my dad. Golden brown ringlets and bigger than average lips from my mum. My skin was the medium. Darell and Raymond used to call me milk chocolate until I got so mad and threw a plate at the wall. There is still a dent in the wall from that.

And of course, in the shitty, sketchy, dirty part of New Jersey where I lived now, there was a huge divide between white people and black people. There were gangs and fights and of course, the most degrading and blatant racism. I stayed mostly with people of the color of my family, my brothers, but even with them, when they made offensive comments about how shitty white people were, I felt out of place and uncomfortable, like they were talking about my dad, James, or even me.

I slid a knitted sweater over my bra and felt it’s warm embrace. I was cold. I was freezing cold and I needed food. I pulled on striped shorts over my legs and walked into the kitchen, my bare feet scratched from the crappy carpet. There were four people in my living/dining room watching some car show on TV. Darrell sat on the small sofa with his best friend, and the sweetest and scariest guy I’ve ever met, Jordan. He’s about 6’7 and is completely covered in tattoos, which represent some shit that happened while he was in prison. He was protective over me, and saw me as a little sister, and would literally kill someone if they hurt me.

Then there was Raymond sat at the table with his girlfriend, Joelle. She was tough as nails and looked it; tall, muscular, and big butt. She wore leather jackets and spikes and had black makeup covering her beady eyes, but Raymond loved her. I mean he wasn’t the “i love you” type but you could tell he loved her...you could just tell.

“Hallo.” I said, awkwardly waving at everyone. Joelle didn’t like me and that was obvious but she shot me a small smile, to show that she wasn’t mad at me, but I was just stupid and of no interest to her. I’d like it to stay that way. I don’t want anything that’s of interest to Joelle.

“Is there any food in the fridge?” I asked. Joelle and Raymond shrugged their shoulders, Darrell muttered something about not knowing and Jordan said he ate everything before I woke up. Which lead to my next question.

“What time is it?” I asked again.

“6:30 P.M.” Jordan told me, checking his watch. “You slept all day. I think you might be getting sick, kid. You look fucking skinny.” Jordan reached into his pockets and threw me a $20 bill and two $1 bills. “The twenty’s for you to get some fucking food. The dollars are for you to get on and off the bus. We’re all too stoned to drive you. Get something good, do not go to fucking McDonalds.” He lectured me. I smiled at him. Like I said, sweetest guy but he had tattoos on his face...

“Thanks Jordan. See you when I get back. Any plans for tonight?” I asked.

“Raymond and Joelle are gonna be here. I’m gonna go pick up some weed downstairs in a few hours, and then I’ll smoke up and go to sleep on this fucking sofa. Darrell might go clubbing with Lise and all those skanks you hang out with sometimes.” I rolled my eyes. Lise was only a bit older than me and will literally shag anything with a pulse. She came to the apartment drunk, looking for Darrell. He was out, of course, but I was here, and a little drunk myself. Apparently I was good enough, and we ended up hooking up, I guess having sex, I’m not quite sure. Jordan walked in and we were lying to the sofa together naked.

We became friends, I suppose, after that. I think she was a closeted lesbian, and she wanted to be outed with someone else, not to have to do it alone. Unfortunately, I was not a lesbian, so our friendship, to me at least, was completely awkward.

“Okay have fun, I’m gonna get some food now. Bye.”

I grabbed an iPhone from the counters, not sure whether it was mine or it was someone else’s, and a pair of black earbuds, shoving them in my ears and hitting shuffle. Hearing the amazing voice of Morrissey, I knew I’d grabbed my iPod. No one I knew would listen to The Smiths. They were all into rap and hip hop.

I slipped on some black leather oxfords of mine that were on the floor before heading out the door, my stomach growling.

Notes

Author's Note

So, what do you think?

Please don't be offended.

Gerard is coming. Soon.