Khalil, I Fight For You

1.The first time

The first time I met Khalil was at his father's home or what was going to become my new home . I was just the Ugandan girl whose mother was now Khalil's new mom. And to say we got off on the right footing would be wrong.

Khalil hated me in those first days. He would leave the house to go play with his friends and leave me by myself despite being told not to by our parents. He had refused to accept the fact that he was not going to be the only child, and I knew that feeling. Just like him , I was an orphan. My biological dad had just succumbed to lung cancer leaving my mother and I alone. For Khalil, it was a whole other story having lost his mother in Iran.

I never really minded Khalil though I couldn't say that I liked him that much. I just had that indefinable hatred for him. But one night was enough to change my hatred towards Khalil. One act of "bravery" was all it took. At just twelve years of age, Khalil had fought off some white kids who had called him names. Names that he told me I shouldn't even know as they would hurt me. And I had agreed to listen to him. I had agreed because unlike Khalil I hadn't yet faced the cruelty of being black. I was just new to America. I was about to learn what it meant to be me.

Black.