Belle's Need Love Too

Price We Pay

"Tolerance is the price we pay for living in a free pluralistic society."

                -Robert Casey

  I stood on the center of the cracked, warped light colored sidewalk of sorts. Though the sky was the threatening grey of rainstorms, and I stood beneath the secure shade of several magnolia and oak trees adorning the front of my school's campus - I still saw clear as day the hating eyes of many members of the student body. Their eyes were so tense, that it registered in the atmosphere as humidity. My feet were seemingly glued to the sidewalk of sorts, and their eyes were glued to me for a thousand eternities. Yes, the blue clad mob donned their school spirit in the form of darts, missiles, and drones - all of which were headed in my direction.

 In the words of Mawmaw I have become "Quite the celebrity."

   However, today was different from my usual walk of shame. For one, my feet were still planted on the ancient asphault. Also, I wasn't adorned by the usual high maintenance characteristics society has come to expect of me. Out of my norm, I wore a simple white eyelet lace, off-shoulder peasant top, bisque colored pants, and tawny flesh toned flats. As the glares and mugs continued to arise, I began to ponder in depth what my dilema was for today.

The moment it Godsmacked me a loud voice (with poor diction might I add) chirpped "Ugh what happened to her hair! That Shit look Rough! Got them kankelon naps flowin'!"

   The entire crowd erupted with laughter, and my face went cold. a half instant after my face went cold, my entire body got hot and my blood began to boil. Clusters of children usually seperated on any typical high school, merged into an enormous blob like dog shit. Hideous cackles, fit for hyennas, entranced my being. I tried to remind myself not to regard other's opinions, but in a world where 35 inescapable hours of every week consisted of this wretched fool's congregation - shit ike that began to matter. Not only were the hours consecutive, but each hour -in between switching classes- included much mental preparation for the next form of dehumanization to be bestowed upon me.

  With that the bell rang warning the delinquents to head to their next holding cell - I mean sudents to their class. I'm sure that the term "calm and orderly fashion" couldn't be applied to this bunch. Naw, they were more like Baebae's kids on crack kool-aid. They commenced to joke about my hair. In a different situation, I probably would've have laughed, if they were my uncle Marcus I would've guffawed histerically along.But, there was nothing familial or comforting within their  words. Those words stung, with each step i took towards the three story structure.

"She needa perm, she need a permanet (net not nent), she need a permnet marker."

"If that bitch so rich why, come she cain't afford no flat iron."

"Maine leave my old lady alone, nigga you already know I got that ass. The hair on her cochie's even nappier than the hair on her head."

"Jamarco, office now," shouted an authoritative male voice amongst the heathens.

   The crowd startled to a sort of domino effect halt. I was also in on this action. At the very latter statement my entire figure seized up. Thus, I can be found in the bathroom reduced to tears before school has even completely taken in.