I glance at my watch; it's almost time for class, and my canvas has virtually nothing on it. I look through my modest collection of unregistered paintings in the art gallery around me; I am currently in my studio.
Some of my older paintings are there. I start to recollect the art class and wonder whether he gave us a topic. I merely choose to stick with an old painting of mine that is worthy of showcasing to people when nothing else comes to mind.
I wrap the painting in a sheet, and begin walking out of my room, looking back at the pieces of paper that decorates my floor I let out a smile and continue my journey. The smell of pancakes wafts in the air, causing my belly to churn in hunger.
“Mom!” I yell even though she is standing just right in front of me. She almost let the pan drop on the tile.
“I’m sending you off to the hostel if you keep on causing accidents in this house young lady” I look at her and smile sadly, as I recall one of the reasons she and dad chose not to send me off to school.
It’s because of the bully, they are ever scared that I will continue to be a victim, and being alone just doesn’t work out for them.
As I begin to fuel my head with memories of dad my mood becomes sour. I hear my mom’s sob every now and then and each time I can tell she misses her husband.
Mama places the delicious-looking pancakes atop the table and begins to draw the table cloth around the table.
“I will be meeting with one of our enemies today”
I look at her quizzically.
“Dean Fernandez” she wipes her lips with her towel and begins humming a song. One thing with Ma is the fact that she has always been a table ethics freak. She always sticks to a lot of table rules, except the no-talking one.
She uses her table napkin, uses her fork, and knife, and places her jam, beside her, her water is not too far away too.
She makes sure to wipe her lips each time something drops.
She looks at me and smiles, her eyes squinting as she does that.
“He asked me out on a date” mom says spotting a sad smile on her face; my fork falls on the plate.
“Has he no respect for a widow!” I ask.
“And how does he even reason with that mashed-up brain of his?” my mom smiles when she asks this.
“I know right?” I respond.
“He sends my daughter off to court, with a borrowed smirk on his face, and now expects me to smile at him while giving him a yes to dinner".
For God’s sake, dad just died not even up to a month ago. But in my mind, I am wishing her a fresh start. And I wish it would be to a man who would accept me just like dad did, although I wouldn’t like the idea of her moving on so soon, it would seem like disrespect, but then again the heart waits for no one.
“Let’s just say I intend to use whatever messed up feelings he has for me to our advantage”
I look at mom, in a questionable way.
“So my mom is a baddie then?” I ask. She bursts out in laughter. Her dining etiquette is disturbed in the process, and crumbs of pancakes fly to my face.
Losing my appetite, I stand up, looking at her in an irritated manner.
“Eww, mom” I rush out the door leaving her in her state of madness. I put my hand in my bag only for me to find out that my assignment has been forgotten. I rush back in as I remember where I had dropped my assignment earlier on, both the history and fine arts.
***
I walk slowly to the class when I recall, Miranda Holt is the course rep for this class. I walk into the class looking dejected.
All artisans begin making space for me to sit. Surprisingly Miranda seats beside me her nails making nervous cracks on the table.
She looks at me, her bangs covering her slightly large forehead.
“I am so sorry for whatever I have done to you”
Is she talking to me or what? I sneakily bring out my assignment and pass it to her with pleading eyes for her to oblige my request. To my surprise again she takes it out of my grip, and places it beside her, keeping it beside others. Normally Miranda collects assignments and whatever project work as the course rep of the class, then after the lecturer is done with his class she follows him to his office and drops it on his desk.
“Can we be friends?” She asks her eyes surprisingly showing real emotions. It would be beautiful to have a fellow artist as a friend, but one thing I know is I can’t be foolish enough. I look her square in the eyes and knowing how not too long ago she had joined hands with a bunch of other students to call me names, and now she claims to want to be my friend?, “yeah right” I mutter under my breath, I stretch my hands towards the pile of assignments that she has kept beside her and take mine from it.
I take my fine arts assignment and walk to the art department to submit mine. I don’t care if I break protocols by submitting directly, I just can’t be indebted to someone, At least not at the expense of my freedom.
**
Luckily for me, Mr. Bowe was the one who accepted my assignment, so no questions were asked; instead with a smirk on his face and a nod of acknowledgment he collects my assignment.
I walk back to the class only for me to be ambushed by Miranda. Her face looks every shade of blue.
She throws herself at me saying sorry a couple of times.
“I wasn’t aware of anything” she closes her eyes and then lets me go.
“Strange” I mouth as I follow her into the class.
The bell rings signaling it’s time for either a meeting or a general class. Knowing this “general class” isn’t in my timetable I deduce that it is a meeting, or better still an announcement.
We all walk down to the multi-purpose hall almost everyone in cliques and pairs. But I, I am just a stigma moving in invisible waves.
Suddenly the whole room goes silent, and at the same time it does, someone decides to quack me, making me move slightly to the left. I look at him disgusted, but I am not more disgusted than the guy on my left is, his eyes shoot me lasers and he looks down at his shirt and wipes the imaginary dirt on it. The scene attracts a couple of students, making me quake in my heels. All of a sudden Miranda pushes the other right-hand guy to the floor. Such a shame though, that no one can even stand up to her, as she is the daughter of the best fashionista house we have in the country of Koura. Miranda doesn’t even look at me and decides it was her right to stand beside me.
All of a sudden the curtain in the multi-purpose hall is closed making the whole place dark. Then from within the shadows, I see a silhouette of a man. A man I can identify.
YOU ARE READING
HIS BROWN SKIN GIRL| (EDITED VERSION)✔
Romance"His dislike became his obsession" Set in a time and place where being black became a stigma. Katherine Mendel found herself in a dead category of brown skinned. Katherine's father was said to have committed suicide. But a murder planned wrong broug...
