Small Death
They say when you were a kid, you were the freest you’ll ever be in life. That you purely and solely existed in your subconscious. You didn’t question your cuteness. Didn’t think twice when you wanted to approach a potential friend—you just fucking did it. You didn’t mull over whether the person was cool enough for you. You had no criteria. And when you did do it, and Mom would pick you up at the end of the day, you didn’t rack your fucking brain ‘bout whether you said the right shit or not. You were simply happy that you made a new friend. You did not blow hot air into a cupped palm to do a quick breath check. You didn’t suck your belly in so it wouldn’t jiggle on the walk over—you just did it. Uncertainty and self-doubt did not rule the moment. You did.
I miss this me. The version of me that took pride in herself. I miss the me that smiled all the time and didn’t cow in the face of others. I often ponder the time of her death, how she died and who pulled the trigger. It’s still unclear to me when it happened. I suspect it occurred during a wanton ambush.
I remember the ambush. My assailants—Tiffany and Bianca—sat across from me in class. I was just looking around and my eyes happened to land on Bianca’s cheetah print shirt. I liked it. Perhaps I may have been looking for too long, so Bianca yelled:
“You got a problem?”
“No, do you?” I said.
Tiffany hopped up and shouted, “Who the fuck you talking to?”
Bianca stood in front of her and pushed my head to the side. I slumped down in my seat, confused.
“HUH, I CAN’T HEAR YOU!” demanded Tiffany.
“Leave me alone” I mumbled.
Bianca screamed: “KEEP YOUR EYES TO YOURSELF, THEN, YOU UGLY BLACK PIECE OF SHIT!”
“YEA, YOU BLACK DUSTY ROACH!” said Tiffany.
“SHE ALAYS STARING AT SOMEBODY WIT HER BUG-EYED ASS,” Leanna chortled.
The class erupted in laughter.
“Get back to work everybody,” Mrs. Barnes mumbled.
The next day, John whispered something to Benny. Benny roared with laughter. They went on like this for a while. Eventually, they tired of whispering and began to do what I never considered.
“Tiffany pretty,” said Benny.
“Maxine aigght,” said John.
“Tiffany look way better though,” retorted Benny
When they got to me, Tiffany said, “Y’all know she ugly, y’all can skip her!”
Everyone laughed.
“No, I’m not,” I said confidently. “Look.”
I smiled the most proud, toothy smile a 6th grader could muster.
“Yes, you are ugly,” said Benny.
“Yea, you too black, you need to get lighter!” John laughed.
Mrs. Burns was buried in her cell phone the whole entire time.
That afternoon when mom picked me up, I told her what happened, but she said nothing. So that night, I looked in the mirror and smiled. I didn’t like it this time. The largeness and crookedness of my teeth appalled me. My darkness disturbed me. I opened the tap, grabbed my washcloth and struggled to wipe my skin away. It was too dark. Darker than my mom’s and sisters’ skin—darker than my classmates’. I kept rubbing and rubbing but the wash cloth remained a vibrant pink within my black palm. I guess this is when she died.