noun: someone; a person (more so woman) who puts forth the less fortuitous before themselves in compassions of nurturing and honoring the distinct.
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BEYONCÉ KNOWLES
Dreaming...
"Onika?" I'd waved my hand in her face, blocking the television she seemed to be so into. I've been calling her for two minutes straight and I know she hears and sees me all in her face.
Anthony folded his arms and looked at me with a mean frown. I had made the assumption he was hungry as he came to tell Onika but since she's all eyes for Law & Order in front of her, she ignored us both.
His stare was scaring me as nothing I did was working to grab her attention, upsetting him even more because I couldn't make anything for him.
"Why can't you just teach me how to do it? She's not paying attention to us, Bee." He signs, stomping his feet over to the opposite side of me next to Onika. He poked her cheek once and again and she reluctantly shifted her gaze to his surprised look when she grabbed him playfully, tackling him on his back onto the sofa.
"¡Ella nos engañó!" She tricked us!
Nika laughed, giving him a chance to sit up and recover from the intense tickling session she'd then prodded onto his happy self. "What do y'all want, Papa?" Looking between us both, she acknowledged our presence coincidentally as the broadcast landed on a commercial break.
"To eat. Bee and I quiero a comer."
I smiled as he included me in his plea and nodded.
"Ahh. How come you didn't ask Bee to make you something to eat then?"
"Ella no puede cocinar." She can't cook.
I knew what that meant that much. It was no sense in trying to speak the language I didn't completely understand, which they always did when they were sh!t talking in private.
It was only the first time he told me himself that and I was hurt but if a child said it, I knew it had to be true. I'd just questioned how all this time my friends and Onika too, acted as if I was decent, but he went into detail with no remorse on how bad my cooking truly was. Since that day, I haven't even thought about picking up a frying pan or spatula.
Onika looked at me stifling a laugh before scorning Anthony. "Eso no es amable, decir siento."
His eyes shifted back towards mine with a guilty look before he faced her again. "Pero ella no puedo."
"No me importa, di lo siento o no videojuegos."
"Sorry." He motions to me, now with sad eyes as he signed. I chuckled, "It's okay. Thank you for being honest."
"Babe, really?"
"At least he is. You and everyone else who's had my food ain't nothing for acting like it was the best thing on Earth. I'm never cooking for y'all again. Ever."
