‹ Prequel: Blowing Off Smoke
Status: Revamped and active again :)
Gray
Wondering
-Dicari Reed-
Most people think I'm black and white from my complexion, but I'm not. My ma is Puerto Rican and my dad is black and white. Or was. He bailed on us right after I was born and Carson says he's not worth remembering, but I'd like to know. I want to know where I inherited these gray eyes, the one's Ma can't even look into without flinching, and this dark caramel skin that's oh so different from mi madre's and my brother's. I want to know. Not enough to look for him, but enough to think about it sometimes.
I mean, I got half of who I am from this guy. I have a right to know how I could turn out, right?
Apparently not in this house. Every time I ask Carson he half-asses an answer and escapes before I can demand something better. I don't bother trying to talk to Ma about it for fear that she'll burst into tears.
So how do I find out?
I could just search for him. I mean I know his name and the internet makes it a little easier these days, but do I want to? Is it worth opening doors that maybe should just be kept shut?
I don't know. But I hate being different and never having seen why.
“Cari, come wash the dishes!” Ma yells from the kitchen. I sigh and get up.
“Why can't Carson do it?” She turns around and gives me a stern look that clearly asks if I've lost my mind, then swats me on the back of the head with the newspaper in her hand.
I wash up the dishes and Ma asks me to run to the store and pick up some milk. Before I can ask why Carson doesn't do it, and inevitably get slapped in the back of the head, I realize he's probably hanging out with his girlfriend Monae somewhere.
I hop on my bike and head down to the corner store, laying my bike on the ground outside the store when I get there.
The doorway is blocked by my boy Victor who's on his way out. I step aside and he seems so distracted that he barely sees me.
“Oh, hey, Dicari. Man, you was a real homie, brah. I'mma miss you, man.”
My eyebrows crease with his statement. “What's going on? You alright, Vic?”
Vic nods. “Trey got locked up last night. I'm bouta head outta here.”
Oh, shit. Years ago, Trey was the guy I looked up to. He was a straight-A student and musician, accepted into ten different universities, with at least five full scholarships on his way out of this place. But then his dad's death from cancer caused his mom to relapse, and Trey had to give up his college dreams for a quick-money street job. Dealing drugs.
Everybody knew about Trey's failure story. He'd given the community so much hope, hope that maybe their kids could be as smart as Trey and get out of here one day. But when the story ended in unexpected tragedy, a lot of people lost that hope.
Maybe I can be the one to give it back.
I nod, grabbing Vic's hand to dap him up. “Damn. You need anything? Food? You got a ride?”
Victor smiles at me, bright almost like his life didn't just get ruined unexpectedly the same way Trey's had. Vic will probably never graduate from high school. He'll be on the run from one city to the next until he's eighteen and by then all of his positive opportunities will likely be gone. Eventually, Vic will suffer the same fate as his big brother. Or worse.
“Yea, Car. I'm good. But thank you. It means a lot, man. I'll catch you on the flip,” he says, walking across the street. He turns back and points at me. “Watch out for Bree for me. Keep my girl safe until I get back.”
“Your girl?” I question. I knew Victor and Breelle were best friends, but I didn't think it was anything more than that.
He smirks at me and shrugs. “I never got to tell her how I feel. Unfinished business, that's how you know I'll be back.”
Before I can utter another word, Vic has turned around and is running down the block.
Shaking my head, I laugh a little to myself. I think they'd be kinda good together, but I doubt that he'll ever get the chance to be with her. He very well might not even make it to eighteen. I hope he does though.
I head into the store and buy the milk Ma told me to get.
On my way back to the house, I see a couple punks beating up a younger boy.
“Aye! Stop!” I yell as I ride over. They scatter from the alley. The boy sits up and groans, lip bloody and eye black.
“Fuck, man. This looks pretty bad. Let me help you get home.”
He nods barely and assures me that he's conscious enough to ride on my handlebars.
When we get to his house, I drop my bike and help him up to the front door.
“My sister's gonna be pissed,” he mumbles. I glance at him, noticing his light-brown skin and his deep brown eyes were familiar.
He rings the bell.
“Who's your sister?”
There's clanking on the other side of the door before it slides open.
“Oh my God, Raquan, what happened?!”
Breelle Hakeem stood on the other side of the door staring at her little brother.
Then her deep hazel-brown eyes met mine.
Most people think I'm black and white from my complexion, but I'm not. My ma is Puerto Rican and my dad is black and white. Or was. He bailed on us right after I was born and Carson says he's not worth remembering, but I'd like to know. I want to know where I inherited these gray eyes, the one's Ma can't even look into without flinching, and this dark caramel skin that's oh so different from mi madre's and my brother's. I want to know. Not enough to look for him, but enough to think about it sometimes.
I mean, I got half of who I am from this guy. I have a right to know how I could turn out, right?
Apparently not in this house. Every time I ask Carson he half-asses an answer and escapes before I can demand something better. I don't bother trying to talk to Ma about it for fear that she'll burst into tears.
So how do I find out?
I could just search for him. I mean I know his name and the internet makes it a little easier these days, but do I want to? Is it worth opening doors that maybe should just be kept shut?
I don't know. But I hate being different and never having seen why.
“Cari, come wash the dishes!” Ma yells from the kitchen. I sigh and get up.
“Why can't Carson do it?” She turns around and gives me a stern look that clearly asks if I've lost my mind, then swats me on the back of the head with the newspaper in her hand.
I wash up the dishes and Ma asks me to run to the store and pick up some milk. Before I can ask why Carson doesn't do it, and inevitably get slapped in the back of the head, I realize he's probably hanging out with his girlfriend Monae somewhere.
I hop on my bike and head down to the corner store, laying my bike on the ground outside the store when I get there.
The doorway is blocked by my boy Victor who's on his way out. I step aside and he seems so distracted that he barely sees me.
“Oh, hey, Dicari. Man, you was a real homie, brah. I'mma miss you, man.”
My eyebrows crease with his statement. “What's going on? You alright, Vic?”
Vic nods. “Trey got locked up last night. I'm bouta head outta here.”
Oh, shit. Years ago, Trey was the guy I looked up to. He was a straight-A student and musician, accepted into ten different universities, with at least five full scholarships on his way out of this place. But then his dad's death from cancer caused his mom to relapse, and Trey had to give up his college dreams for a quick-money street job. Dealing drugs.
Everybody knew about Trey's failure story. He'd given the community so much hope, hope that maybe their kids could be as smart as Trey and get out of here one day. But when the story ended in unexpected tragedy, a lot of people lost that hope.
Maybe I can be the one to give it back.
I nod, grabbing Vic's hand to dap him up. “Damn. You need anything? Food? You got a ride?”
Victor smiles at me, bright almost like his life didn't just get ruined unexpectedly the same way Trey's had. Vic will probably never graduate from high school. He'll be on the run from one city to the next until he's eighteen and by then all of his positive opportunities will likely be gone. Eventually, Vic will suffer the same fate as his big brother. Or worse.
“Yea, Car. I'm good. But thank you. It means a lot, man. I'll catch you on the flip,” he says, walking across the street. He turns back and points at me. “Watch out for Bree for me. Keep my girl safe until I get back.”
“Your girl?” I question. I knew Victor and Breelle were best friends, but I didn't think it was anything more than that.
He smirks at me and shrugs. “I never got to tell her how I feel. Unfinished business, that's how you know I'll be back.”
Before I can utter another word, Vic has turned around and is running down the block.
Shaking my head, I laugh a little to myself. I think they'd be kinda good together, but I doubt that he'll ever get the chance to be with her. He very well might not even make it to eighteen. I hope he does though.
I head into the store and buy the milk Ma told me to get.
On my way back to the house, I see a couple punks beating up a younger boy.
“Aye! Stop!” I yell as I ride over. They scatter from the alley. The boy sits up and groans, lip bloody and eye black.
“Fuck, man. This looks pretty bad. Let me help you get home.”
He nods barely and assures me that he's conscious enough to ride on my handlebars.
When we get to his house, I drop my bike and help him up to the front door.
“My sister's gonna be pissed,” he mumbles. I glance at him, noticing his light-brown skin and his deep brown eyes were familiar.
He rings the bell.
“Who's your sister?”
There's clanking on the other side of the door before it slides open.
“Oh my God, Raquan, what happened?!”
Breelle Hakeem stood on the other side of the door staring at her little brother.
Then her deep hazel-brown eyes met mine.
♠ ♠ ♠
:)