Chapter 6: The Understanding

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(Charlie POV)

I dropped my stuff one morning and this kind biracial girl helped me out.  She wasn't that pretty, closer to average but that didn't stop me from noticing her warm smile and kind heart.  She stared at me for a little while then apologised.  She must of been trying to figure out what race I am as people have done that to me before.   They think I'm white from a distance then see my features when they're close to me and feel the need to just ask, "What are you?"  After she helped me, we parted and I didn't think much of it.  I was just mildly happy that someone actually had the decency to help me out.

My name is Charlie Cooper.  I'm 21 years old and this will be my final year at Uni.  I'm studying Psychology as I want to be able to tell when people lie,  know how people think by observing their body language, spot when people are trying manipulate me and others, see red flags and see bad people and those with mental illness and so on.  As a child, I wanted the power to read peoples minds but if you're really good at psychology, you already have that power.  My mother is Norwegian and put me up for adoption when I was 4 months old because she was shamed for having a half black child by her community, so she threw me away like garbage.  My bio fathers family took me in so I was raised around black people.  I remember being picked on for my blue eyes, fair skin and looser textured hair.  I was constantly accused of not being black enough which sucked as little mixed race girls didn't exactly get the same thing. 

 (Above, what Charlie Cooper looks like)

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 (Above, what Charlie Cooper looks like)

They were black by default because they were girls and the black boys wanted them so they claimed them.  My family would often force me to accept full blackness when I tried to claim biracial only for other black people to push me out because I wasn't "black enough."  As a teenager, I tried tanning but a tan didn't make me dark skinned, just high yellow.  It was just another day, I walked to my room and put my stuff away.  That's when my roommates called over to me.  

"Dude!  Come see this!  Quick!"  They called.

"Whats up?"  I ask after going over to them.

"As a mixed race person, how do you feel about this pseudo biracial?"  He asked.  What the hell is he talking about?

"Huh?"  I contort my face in confusion.

"Look!"  He passes me his phone.  I look to see a before and after picture of some black girl who looks to have bleached.  

"WAIT THAT!  SHE'S THE GIRL THAT HELPED ME YESTERDAY!"  I scream when my mind finally works to recognize her face.  That girl!  That same girl with the warm smile is this person?!

My friend needed his phone back so he told me her name so I could find the article on my own device.  Omolara Laurence her name is.  She's this self proclaimed pseudo biracial.  But why?  What the fucks so good about being biracial?

In class, I ignored the teacher and secretly used my phone without his knowledge.  I read the article then I went to Omolara's instagram.  Her.  Posts.  Are.  Crazy!  In one she says she's going to pretend her dad whom she's never met is a white man.  When I met her that brief time, she looked and seemed like a completely ordinary girl, now I'm seeing this, I remember why I've chosen to study psychology.  You just never know with people.  But the furthest I read down her posts the more and more I began to understand her.  I've seen how everyone shits on dark skinned girls but I never batted an eyelid because A, not my problem and B, they make it worst for themselves by turning around and saying shit like, "I only date dark skinned men" and exclude men like me, so why should I stand up for women who like being abused?  

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