Separate But Not Equal

Chapter IV

Awkwardness surrounds us, as we stare, breathlessly into each other's eyes, holding the uncomfortably confusing position for a few minutes.

Three minutes.

Maybe three seconds.

I stopped counting.

"Are you ok?" He questions stupidly, waving his hand in front of my face, searching for a clear response.

"Of course," I scoff, snapping out of my trance and rolling my eyes.

The teacher doesn't seem to mind, or care, that the whole class, is buried in conversation. Occupied with the bottle of beer in his hand, kicking his chair, while swaying back and forth on his chair, drunkenly.

Turning around, to continue the conversation, Christopher looks at me, again,  curiosity in his eyes, as though remembering some sort of significant information.

"You- you were the waiter... at the restaurant," he points out, the side of his lip twitching upwards into a smile, running his hand through his hair.

Say no.

Lie.

No.

Dammit, say no.

"Ye..." I breathe heavily, going back to my restless efforts to finish my writing.

"The one who couldn't serve, right?" he says, his chest rising, while grinning from ear to ear, chuckling, deep but loudly.. Loud enough to attract attention of people, who are obviously pondering the idea of why someone like Christopher is talking to some one like me.

"No... I'm the one who was trying to serve - the one that you were busy being rude and disrespectful to," I snap back, irritably.

His smile drops, and his face turns cold, icy and heartless as he whispers,
"No, I came in wanting food, and you started stuttering as if you couldn't even control your own mouth."

Maybe because you didn't give me a chance to control my own mouth.

He tilts his head, and looks at me for a while, before opening his mouth, closing it again and then opening it to foolishly say, "It's understandable, you're kind, aren't normally used to having to communicate with us."

What?

My kind?

Filled with annoyance, I ignore the warnings of society about the way black people are supposed to approach white people, I raise my eyebrow and take a deep breath.

"My kind? Really? That's what you're calling us?" I demand, determinedly, heat rushing through my body.

"Look at you, and look at them," he tilts his head indicating towards the direction of Lauren, Laura, Leah and Lottie. "It's obvious, they're superior, their fair skin, thin lips straight hair, stick-slim bodies. Look at them compared to you," he laughs, half-heartedly. An unknown feeling of jealousy and pain rising inside of me.

Ow.

I realise what he's saying, thinking about my dark ebony, brown skin, thick, plump lips, wild hair and my body, which is fairly skinny yet larger in certain areas.

Features that I used to be content with, but features that are not widely considered attractive by my 'peers,' I suppose.

Yet Before I even have the time to let his comments offend me in anyway he starts again.

"Regardless of just your looks, your intelligence and the lack of common sense you have. It doesn't take a genius to know what I mean," he laughs at me. "But, I suppose, when it comes to you, it may take you longer than others to catch on to the idea."