Febuary 2020
Ahmaud Arbery.
The upper edge of the sun appears above the East horizon, casting a glare along my blinds.
My phone chimes at my bedside. The notifications were from Twitter, the trending hashtag is#AhmaudArbery, my heart damn near fell to the ground. As I scroll through the hashtags top tweets—in efforts to find answers. I was far from surprised by my findings. Ahmaud Arbery, a black man in Georgia was fatally shot by two white males while jogging.
The father and son duo, claimed they believed Arbery was a burglar.
A video had surfaced to the internet, exposing precisely what occurred on the twenty third of February.
I bit my lip, fighting the unbearable urge to cry for Arbery's family. How could someone be so blatantly evil to murder a man in cold blood?
An abrupt knock on my bedroom door interrupts my thoughts.
"Permission to enter?" Kirsten questions, I mumble the word yes, almost inaudibly.
"Good morning honey, breakfast is ready." She states, with a toothy smile, lingering for my response. Kirsten is of olive complexion, with a frail figure, standing at about five foot four.
"Alright." I huff, parting from the comfort of my bed to follow Kirsten to the kitchen for breakfast.
The most important meal of the day.
"Stop it!" Nathan wines, shoving King from the islands stool.
"You two can't be alone for 5 seconds without going at it with one another!" Kirsten hollers, over King's sobs. I shake my head, as I pour myself a glass of apple juice.
Nathan and Kingston appear almost identical, each of them exhibiting a high-yellow complexion and a loose 3b curl pattern. My twin brother Jeremiah, stumbles into the kitchen unaware of his surroundings as he scrolls through his Instagram feed.
The front door knob rattles, indicating my mother is returning home from work.
Kirsten rushes to the door, in efforts to assist my mother with her belongings. "No need for that honey, I got it." My mom states, kissing Kirsten's forehead.
My mother and Kirsten have been together since Nathan was three. Jeremiah and I are a product of my mothers previous marriage to our sperm donor, Malik. We refer to him by his first name, because he does not deserve the privilege to be addressed as our father.
Jeremiah believes the years of emotional and physical abuse from Malik converted mother to the LGBTQ+ community.
Mothers skin is a mid dark brown complexion, eyes the color of night, with broad shoulders, towering at about six foot. "Mom, have you seen this?" Jeremiah flashes his phone in our mother's face, revealing the footage of Ahmaud Arbery's fatal shooting.
"Turn it off Jeremiah, the boys don't need to hear nor see that!" Kirsten exclaims, snatching Jeremiah's phone from his grip.
"Oh Kirsten, get a grip. When will you realize your sons are black, this is their reality too." Jeremiah has no problem going at it with Kirsten regarding her parenting skills.
"Not now J." My mom whispers, while clenching her teeth. Jeremiah then exits the kitchen, while mumbling profanity under his breath.
There's always been tension between Kirsten and my mother about having the talk, with Nathan and King. Nathan is twelve, and King is nine, unlike me and Jeremiah, they are sheltered from the real life obstacles of being blacks in America.
My mother is the first black chief of police at our local police department, and still recognizes that she is just another statistic when out of uniform. Kirsten genuinely believes there is no racial inequality in this day and age, she refuses to acknowledge the suffering of people of color.
"We don't have to raise them black Marley." Kirsten expresses, my moms eyes widen and I can feel the tension in the room building.
"We will discuss this later." My mother utters, glaring in Kirsten's direction.
Kirsten then prepares plates for the six of us, and King sets the table. "Don't forget to say your—"
Mother is interrupted by Nathan, "Can I bless the food, please mommy?" My mother shrugs, indicating why not.
Nathan begins, "Thank you Lord for bringing mommy home from work, and allowing us to reunite as a family. Also bless the hands who prepared this meal..." Nathan pauses.
In unison we proclaim, "Amen."
"Quite the prayer there Nathan." Jeremiah muttered, with a mouth full of pancakes.
"I don't want anyone leaving this house until this virus clears up, you hear me?" My mother orders, Jeremiah sighs, likely picturing his days without his girlfriend Nadia.
We all nod in agreement to mothers orders, and continue eating our meals. "I want the breakfast dishes done before twelve." Kirsten then leaves the room accompanying my mom, and we listen as their footsteps fade up the wooden stairwell.
"Y'all know you're black right?" Jeremiah questions in between giggles.
"Of course, just not as black as you." Nathan replies.
"See, no. You are as black as us in the eyes of a fearful white police officer." I add, scrubbing the dishes and placing them in the rack.
"Being light skin doesn't make you any less black." Jeremiah states, specifically to King.
"Why'd they kill that man Z?" Nathan's face crumples, as tears welling in his eyes, threatening to spill.
"Because he was black."
YOU ARE READING
Token Black girl
Teen FictionThere's always that one-black girl whose cast in the movies for diversity, the one who doesn't quite fit in anywhere, the member of a friend group merely for the purpose of misusing the phrase, "I can't be racist, my friends black." She's the Token...
