She's A Rainbow

4. and i saw your eyes, & i saw your smile

Kiara's Diary
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journal entry #1~
Dear Heaven, hi, this is my entry. My name is Kiara Davis, I'm 16 years old. I do theatre at our school. Nothing much happened to me besides getting rejected twice in a row by both my crush and the school play, and me doing my vocal lesson. (The song I'm working on is "Doll On A Music Box" from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang!)|

I retract my hands from the keyboard. Is that really all that's happening in my life? I can't be this fucking boring.

I whip out my phone to scroll through Instagram, and my thumb lands on a new post from Mia Sioux. The post was a high res photo of her posing with a Pace University banner. Inspired, I decide to type again.

Mia Sioux was a senior in my freshman year She managed to get into not one, but TWO main stage productions. Maybe seniority helped her out a bit, but she was a POC and a girl. Our theatre community is notorious for its competitive girls because they never choose plays with more female characters. So seeing her succeed meant something to me.

With most plays that I've seen at this school, the POC is usually the comedic relief with two lines max. But she played a full-fledged character with an actual story arc. They recognized her worth as a person/actor and knew she wasn't just there to give endless, unconditional support from the sidelines, or to make funny jokes.

I genuinely feel like that's all people see us as. All people see ME as. Even if it doesn't appear that way at first, even when people say they love me, I can't help but think it's conditional because once I say or do something "out of character", they're quick to turn w/o seeing it from my perspective.

We grew up with constantly being bombarded with the message that black women are strong. Like, strong enough to handle anything—including society's abuse. My mom's favorite movie, The Color Purple, taught her that the most. But, there HAS to be more to being a black woman than just being emotionally and mentally strong, right? Or just being a caretaker for others, too. That's all I have for now, I'll keep you posted.|

❤️🧡💛💚💙

I pull my foot off the gas pedal as I roll up to the entrance gate. There, two identical buff men in uniform greet me with a smile. I roll down my window.

"Hi!" I say, stretching my arm to show my driver's license.

He squints at the plastic card before giving me confirmation. Like he annoyingly does every time. "Hello, Ms. Davis! Who are you here to see?"

"The Riley's," I tell him, trying not to appear bothered that he retcons my existence every week.

"Alrighty, I'll letcha in." He says before strolling to the white-bricked security booth, arms bent in a ninety degree angle as he crisply walks. He pushes a button, and I hear the loud, startling beep that makes me jolt almost every time. I let the gate doors open wide enough before I drive in.

Now, the Riley's aren't that rich to the point where they have their own personal security. But, they do live in a pretty expensive neighborhood which is the definition of a gated community. No outsiders are allowed in unless it's for business or connections.

As I roll my car over the gray, pothole free streets, I admire the fact that every house on the block looks like a mini castle. Clusters of towers topped by wide, sloping roofs. Marble statues guard the gravel paths, letting their cars rest freely in the stone garages. Flowering bushes are plotted over freshly trimmed lawns, showcasing the most vibrant splashes of color I've ever seen. Shrieking kids jump into their heated pools, clear glass shielding them from the bitter, cold air.