Bleached to Beautiful....the story of Unique S. Jenkins chapter 1 part 1

They say that I’m dark as charcoal and my hair is too nappy. They say that I’m too black…they say they should write on me instead of the blackboard …They say it’s too obvious that I’m ashy… I hate being black. I don’t get how the kids at my school can embrace their “blackness”. I guess it’s because most of the school are 100% brown or caramel and not doo-doo black like me. Man I’m not even dark brown. I’m just a piece of crap…My lips look like sausages smacked together and crusty while my head could be as big as my aunts booty. My eyes are just plain dark brown like moose droppings and have no twinkle.

And my legs are too fat. I mean my calves look like they weigh a dozen pounds. I best believe that my body is just screaming for Weight Watchers, but Mama argues that I have a cute shape for my age. She’d say it’s better to keep my shape rather than when I’m older and try to get it back. While those words come out of her mouth like a train going on and on, my mind drifts off. I think of losing a lot of weight –at least around the 70’s. I think of all the goodies to eat out of the jar, gobbling them down my throat without even taking one breath. Yet, I think of the end result of my eating habits. Let’s just say that my body is F-A-T. Period. My butt just adds onto the weight of my body—along with my double D’s. Everyone calls them milkshakes while I call them a shame.

Don’t get me started on my hair. I mean it’s to my shoulders, but it’s all crippled and burnt looking. When it’s straightened I find more and more bald spots. One time a lot of people had mistaken me as a cancer kid. Mama says that it’s long enough. I always think that it should be as long as the WHITE Barbie dolls because they aren’t nappy and brown. I just HATE the color brown and black. I wished to always have that Rapunzle hair—so my prince can save me. But the thing that doesn’t really save me is the gum that people stick in my hair. The scissors are the first things I see as I approach the house. I yell and scream until Xavier brings out my Coke and Mama’s asprin.

However, some people at my school have it better than me. But this one popular girl group at Middle Bay High called the Blancos I admire. They are all white girls who think worthy of themselves and blah say blah –you know the story of the one group that terrorizes people…like me. Though, the odd thing is that they are the only whites at my school, so everyone treats highly of them. They are gorgeous. They have that non-nappy hair with all kind of cute highlights that go past their shoulders. I swear all of them are life sized Barbie. They’d always wear makeup and shine brighter than the sun when they strut down the hallways. Them short shorts they be wearing definitely turns on the boys, while the other chicks just think of them as slut bags. Just because they slept with EVERY boy in the school doesn’t mean they are sluts –to me. I always wanted to know what it felt like to be touched. I wanted to kiss a boy. I mean I kissed only one person in my life. It was a girl named Hailey and I was just experimenting. I wanted to be that girl that had her baby in day care while I’m in high school. I wanted a boy to tell me that I was sexy. I wanted to feel that uprising sensation when two people make love. That’s what The Blancos experienced everyday on a regular basis. It was because they were white and half better looking than them black chicks roaming around in the school with their wide hips and big lips and crusty weaves. I wanted to be white so badly…

But the whole point that I’m trying to make is that I hate my skin. I loathe, despise—HATE it. When I observe myself in the critical mirror, I see nothing beautiful. Nothing…only a beast…no beauty, just an ugly thing looking back at me with its teeny tiny eyes that brings no life whatsoever. Its nose is too big and wide enough for the squirrels to store their acorns in. Its hair is a wreck. It might as well go bald. Its nails are too long to even dig up its nose in—not that it does. Its breath is always stinky and hot. It makes skunks smell good. And just one look may turn you to stone might as well say that it’s ugly as Medusa. It never feels highly of itself. Its negatives beat its positives. Nothing can be described positively about this creature. ‘Cause the creature is me. Nothing pretty about this beast…no beauty…

All I see when I look at my reflection are my tears streaming down my face. Crying out all the pain it takes me to get naked. I see a big belly trying to be sucked in. Saggy breasts flap over my chest and are big as watermelons. My big boned arms flap and jiggles like Jell-O. I see my wide hips that a coke bottle can sit on.  They stretch to the East and West hemispheres while my booty just sticks out to the South Pole. And my stubby knees make sad faces while my thighs already have stretch marks and dimples. I feel like grandmamma Joyce back down south with granddaddy Travis.   

All I see when I look in the mirror is my grandmamma Joyce’s cotton pickin’ knife in my hand. I see the phenomenal designs on my arms covered in deep red blood. I see it oozing and gushing out of the words: fugly, fat, and black on my arms and legs. The pain feels so good along with the stinging sensation of the alcohol. But I cry when the band-aid is placed on the spots. Whenever Mama takes my knife away, I just head fo’ the lighter on her counter top and let my problems drift away from me again.

I just hate myself. I don’t understand why God made me like this. Why so black I ask. I just don’t understand why did I have to come into the world as, Unique Shuneek Jenkins? I mean it’s so ghetto. Too black—that’s what Ms. Solomon always says when she calls my name for a test. I agree. Why so complicated? Why couldn’t it be names like the Blancos? Why not Tiffany (Tiffy) Sanders? Anna-May Thomas or Lybi Thomas?

Tiffy is really hot and she’s the leader of the group. Her skin is as white as snow and her skin is clear of any acne or freckles. No scars nothing…no wrinkles nothing. Her platinum blonde hair is a little bit past her shoulders, but some days it’d look extra long. I always wondered if there was a button or string on her back to make her hair grow so fast. Tiffy’s nose is perfect. It’s not like mine—all wide but just narrow. Her cheeks are really rosy in the winter while in the summer her skin is as tanned as butter pecan. Unfortunately obviously I just become darker. Her eyes are grey like a foggy night and rounded like almonds.

However, the real central attention is Tiffy’s breasts. They are perkier and smaller than mine. They’re half the size of mine. And her butt is perfect too—although there was a rumor about her using Booty Pop or getting plastic surgery. But I still believe it’s perfect and better looking than mine.

Although Tiffy is the leader of The Blancos, it  mean that she’s the only pretty one. Anna –May and Libi are fraternal twins. Anna-May has freckles and long, long curly orange hair. It’s as orange as the sunset. She’s super skinny. She and Libi are the tallest out of the group. Her eyes are green like emerald and her nose is small. And her chest is flat even though she stuffs her bra with pads. And she’s the girliest out of the group too. She’s super smart but she acts dumb. And to keep her from gaining weight she smokes pot and cigarettes. And her outfits are usually preppy and she speaks in valley girl.

Libi, on the other hand, is tanner than Anna-May and is more of the “slutty” type in the group. She’s not that smart and just is a party animal. She has jet black hair with pink highlights and short hair up to her neck. She wears short shorts a lot with her flip flops and always shows her legs—even in the snow. Her eyes are emerald green. Her style is more skimpy punk clothes. On Fridays she wears just her bikini top and her booty shorts with her Chanel heels. And Libi has a drinking problem and is bisexual right along with Anna-May.

While The Blancos wear their top designer outfits in a more civilized manor, all the Blacks and Hispanics go urban. But while they be rockin’ urban –I’d be wishin’ to be rockin’ mama’s table cloth and my Xavier’s worn out shoes right along with his played out sweatshirts.