Jigsaw

5. Zeki

"Look, sir,"

The man sighed.

"Your son is trouble. You need to put him in check. This is the last time I want to see him in my station"

I scoffed at the old man's comment. It's not like I wanted to be in his station. I preferred the one closer to the slums where I was more comfortable, though my parents didn't really care for my preferences in police stations when they were called to come get me. It was just like he said. I was trouble.

My parents knew it.

The neighborhood knew it.

I knew it.

It wasn't my fault, though. As the saying goes, bathe and powder a pig and it'll still be a pig. I was a pig. I was from the lowest of the low. But somehow that nice couple had found me and loved me as I was. I never understood why. I don't think I ever will.

Because of the miserable family I'd been unfortunately born to, I had to do really questionable things to get by. My father was long gone--though not dead, just gone from my life--and my biological mother was a hopeless drunk. Any money she got, it went to a bottle of beer so I was left to fend for myself.

Like I said, I've done questionable things. Things that landed me in jail one too many times. This time was no different, I saw a wallet in a pocket and I grabbed it. Again, as the saying goes; old habits die hard.

"I'm sorry, officer. This will not happen again"

"That's what you said the last time"

~~~~~

The car ride back home was hot. The windows were wound down and it was chilly as hell outside but I felt hot. The kind of heat I felt when I was about to get yelled at. I fumbled with my shirt that was a size too big for my small frame. I wasn't tall. Not even close. And though my Mom said I was tall enough, 5'5 at seventeen wasn't really my idea of tall enough.

I stared at my nearly white skin in the mirror and sighed. I was an albino, luckily not the type that needed to stay out of the sun. I was just really, really light skinned. I often drew more attention to myself than necessary since 'people like me' weren't really common on the mainland, or any part of Lagos really. It didn't help that I had pitch black hair. Now that, was the rarest. Albinos usually had hair as white as their skin. Mom always said I was beautiful. I wasn't a fan of her choice of adjectives, but I agreed with her.

I liked it. Being different.

"Why?"

My head whirled around so quickly I heard a crack.

"What?"

My father kept his eyes on the road, eyes stern. His face held an unfamiliar expression. He wasn't mad, I realized, he was tired.

Of me.

"Why did you steal that money? Don't we provide enough at home?"

A lump formed in my throat as I struggled to bring my words out.

"Yes, I...I don't know"

He sighed, his hand gripping the steering wheel a little too tight for comfort.

"You know you don't have to do that anymore. You have people you can lean on now. We love you, Zee, but this can not continue"

He paused just as the traffic lights turned red. He looked at me then, a hand on my shoulder.

"Please. Promise me you'll try"

I looked down at my hands and nodded. All I did was cause trouble everywhere I went. I didn't deserve them. I didn't deserve their care or anything good life had to offer. My real mother had made that clear enough.