Bitter

Novelty

The world is such a cruel and evil place. And unfair. But what do I know? Those are such big words for someone so young as I am.  At least according to puberty, it hasn't even graced me with its presence. I mean it has, just not in the way that I was rooting for. Most girl in my school were blessed with big boobs, hips, big bums and something about glowing up. And then there is me. The definition of "I am not like other girls," but I didn't choose to be one. I want to be like other girls, that is the truth but I don't have what it takes to be one. Puberty slapped me in the face with zits and acne. I have a chubby face; baby fat and down to earth (height wise). On top of that, I am black. An untameable afro. An interracial couple for parents. 

Disaster. 

Once upon a time, someone told me that if I was white, maybe I would have something desirable aside all my flaws. It hurt so much, not because they said it about me but this insult double crossed to the people who blessed me with such a beautiful skin colour. 

My biological mother who passed away a few days after I was born, may her soul rest in peace, and my father who followed my mother two years ago. What they said was cold and low but it didn't affect me because my father educated me enough on the topic racism and told me to shine as bright as my melanin in the sun. My skin is my history, my identity and my pride. Something that they can never take away from me. 

Allow me to introduce my stepmother. When I was around 8 years old, father met a girl and introduced her to me as a friend. She was such a pretty lady who had the hair of a mermaid and the eyes of an Angel. Her hair was so long and shiny and gold. Her beauty was both inside as much as it was outside. She would pick me from school when dad would be busy at work. Sometimes she would also babysit me and I would ask to play with her golden hair, she would allow me. It was so long. 

At 9 years old, they asked me to seat down for a talk. They told me that they loved each other, they were boyfriend and girlfriend now. I asked them what that meant but they both laughed it off and said that I would understand what it meant when I grew up. They lied because even though I am 18, I have no idea what it means to have a boyfriend. I have never had one, that's a story for another time. At 9, all I cared about was what Daniel (a guy in my primary school) told me. I quote, "Your dad's girlfriend is peng, proper sexy." Every time she picked me from school, all I could hear were whispers about how she had "beautiful hair," "she is fit," "I want to be her when I grow up." 

Once I turned 12, people weren't entranced or focused on her beauty only. They began to question why such a beautiful woman would settle for such "low lives." By this time, she had gotten married to my father and I began to see things differently. The hair that I once sob as golden and pretty and long, the skin as white as milk and the pink lips that were proportional. They all put a division between us. My hair is kinky and short, my skin as dark as the night, my lips are huge and partially brown with a bit pink. We stood at different levels in society, she was deemed the attractive one and I was the opposite, Eventually, I began to ask, why? Why would she settle down for us, low lives?  

At 13 years old, I began to ask the big questions. Why did God make me black if he knew that I would be beaten down to this extent. Everyone else in my school was white and attractive. And the black girls that I watched on TV had long hair and they got boys. I wanted to be like them. I wanted the wigs they wore and the hair straighteners that they used. One day, I had enough of people calling me "nappy" or "beast" and decided to steal my stepmother's hair straightener. However, things didn't ended up turning the way that I expected. In the movie I watched, the girl's hair became straight, longer, silky and shiny but mine? No.

It burnt. A chunk of it was attached to the iron as smoke brewed in the gaps in between. My first instinct was to throw the electronic on the carpet and ram to the mirror to see the damage that I had done. It was real, bad, bad damage. A whole section of my her had been toasted. 

Speaking of toasting and burning, the hot iron was still on the carpet.

You can guess what happened. 

The next thing that I remember were the smoke detectors were blasting all around the house. I think my father had been in the lounge at the time, mother had gone to visit her sister. Dad came running upstairs to check if I was alright, he probably had heard the noise of the iron hitting the floor but had dismissed it. This was so much more though, the sound was more prominent that even the neighbours heard it. 

Apparently, the carpet had started catching on fire while I was busy mopping about the hair that I didn't want in the first place. To say that dad was infuriated would be the funniest joke I have ever told. If he were a cartoon, smoke would have been steaming out of his ears. Haha, get that? "Smoke out of his ears" while discussing the toping of fire. I know, I am funny. 

Back to the topic, my dad was livid and grounded me. To be honest, that wasn't a punishment because I was already isolated by the society from the beginning. However, he became a little bit less mad when he started investigating the story behind what went down that day. I was honest with him about not being happy with my image and that's when he began to teach me about my history about my hair, my skin and who I am.  Till this day, I thank him because all those lessons are the only thing keeping me alive right now. Aside from all the positivity, it was unavoidable that my hair had to be shaved. Once I didn't have any hair, some of the people began to ask me "how many years do you have left?," or they would be less polite, " Are you finally going to die?"

When I turned 14, two life changing events happened. I got my first freaking periods, Yayyy; please not my sarcasm. I never embraced my periods, from what I have been told, it was something to be celebrated but that doesn't go for me. My periods came with a bang, literally, it felt like a bomb was set off in my stomach and it still feels that way even years later. That day, I was in school, minding my own business while listening to what my teacher was blabbing about. And then, there it was, the bang. I groaned and moaned and scrunched my face but nothing helped until the teacher noticed all the fidgeting. All she said was "Can you step outside Novelty," as if she knew that mother nature had decided to do her work. As soon as I stood up, the whole class was filled with chuckles, gasps, whispers, fingers pointing at my back and "ew."  I looked to see what was behind me but there was nothing or anyone but I felt it. Something snacking down my thighs, to my calf, to my legs and then the floor. All I saw was a red substance. My period. 

Embarrassing. I hope that explained why I will never be able to embrace such thing. That became another reason for why people bully me, "they are so poor that they can't even afford to buy sanitary products."

This event was overpowered by what happened next.

Cancer happened. My father was diagnosed and everything started going down south. The lung tumour had been spreading for a month so he didn't have much time.

Vomiting, bald head, fatigue, persistent coughing, weight loss, chemotherapy, unemployed. It was all so much to take, the first two weeks, I couldn't get myself to do anything other than help my father get better. He was getting worse, the doctors and nurses were trying their best to do something but there was barely any time and his body was rejecting the treatments. One day,  the school had started sending letters that I had to come back to school before they started thinking about expulsion. I still didn't want to go because expulsion was the least of my worries, my father was my everything and I couldn't leave him at his worst. 

However, my father had another idea because he lectured me about how I should "make him proud" by flourishing and "finishing my studies." He promised that I will see when I come back.

In the name of making my father proud, I decided to listen to him and go to school. Everything was as I remembered, the bullying, the ignorant teachers and their pity looks about my father. I didn't care about any of that because all I could think about was my dad. After the bell signalled the end of the day, I ran out and went home. 

What I was something that I hadn't considered. It was chaotic, a body covered in a black bag being wheeled out of my house by paramedics, everyone in the neighbourhood standing in their little perfect statues starring at someone they never dared to give a second glance. It pissed me. They look sad as if they ever cared, they didn't know him. I would have been less offended if they threw a party for his funeral because I wouldn't expect anything else from them. Them mourning my father's death offended me more. My stepmother was wailing, running after my father's body which was being wheeled. I was frozen. 

He promised that I would see him when I came back.

He lied to me.

But yeah, that was the end of it. He was gone and there was nothing I could except keep him alive in my heart.

Fast forward to today. I'm 18 and out of the foster system. I forgot that part while I was trying to not relive all the pain. But I can't move on without offloading things so I will rewind a bit.

So, my father passed away and we buried him. The whole neighbourhood showed up. I don't understand why but that's past us now. The sad part is that none of his relatives could attend because they were all in Zimbabwe. My father had gotten sponsored to get a visa to England by a university that had gave him a scholarship, therefore, he left everyone else in Zimbabwe but he was planning to bring them over to this side. But that obviously didn't happen. 

Nothing worked the way that I expected.

A few weeks after my father's funeral, my stepmother just varnished. No, she wasn't kidnapped. She left a letter saying that she couldn't stay after losing "the love of her life." That is a lie because she would have never left me if that was the case. And she wouldn't have gotten married to a billionaire in New York if that was the case. She didn't lose "the love of her life", she lost her gateway pass to free money. I was only 14 so I couldn't stay on my own and was put in foster care. Not that anyone liked me there anywhere, it was degrading how they put us on "sell" for the potential parents. It was even more heart breaking when you didn't get picked. No one ever picked me, I would contaminate their idea of a picture perfect family. It took me two years to accept that I was going nowhere and I was okay with that. 

I don't think this is what my father had planned for my future to be like.  A child with no education, I failed him. 

The only thing I was looking forward to was getting the will that my father left me which I am on my way to get now.

I'm out of the system and I don't have a way to provide for myself. At least if I get the money, in a few weeks, I will be able to get out of this shitty town. I am so done with the people here and their racist arses. I speed walk to the bank when I see that the sun has almost sunk. 

When I get in the lobby, its warm and cosy, the pillars seemingly intimidating due to their height but the sparkly gold makes them mesmerising. 

"Good evening ma'am, how can I help you?" The girl behind a crystal looking register. She reminds me so much of my stepmother, blonde hair, pink lips and golden hair.

"Hi, I am here to collect my will." I explain getting the letter that was sent to me by the bank about when I can collect my will and how much I am entitled to. It states that I also inherit our old house but I am planning to sell it when I move out to a better city.

The assistant, Lydia as shown on the pin attached to her crispy white shirt, starts reading the letter.

"Let me call someone up for you." I nod my head and then I start wondering round the lobby just to get a feel of the environment that I am in. It's definitely as posh as any other place in this town. Everything is just too perfect that it's almost creepy. But we all know that nothing is ever as it seems. Poison on the middle of the rose. This city is beautiful but the people in it are poison and tarnishing it's reputation.

"Hi, are you Novelty." A middle aged man asks from behind me with his hand stretched out for a handshake. But I dismiss it and just nod my head which makes him give off an awkward laugh before putting his hand down.

"I'm James. Follow me please, this won't take too long. Is your lawyer here?" He asks me as he turns to walk to the elevator, where he probably came from. I walk behind him, glaring at anyone who dares looks at me. 

"I don't need a lawyer, I just came to collect the money." My voice comes out quiet. I mean who can blame me, I used to be labelled the black, loud girl until they silenced me. The foster care wasn't any better, no one wanted to be my friend, my reputation had surpassed being within the walls of school only. I couldn't escape the abuse.

Inside his office, is a humongous black table and two chairs opposite to each other. There is a couch in the far corner and a book shelf on the other side.

"You can sit down." He says and I oblige and stare at him as he opens a file. For the next hour or so, its all about reading documents and signing documents. Opening my bank account and then he transfers my money.

I head directly to the shops to buy an outfit that I can change into. There is nothing wrong with what I am wearing right now; a black skinny jean, combat boots, a white strapless crop top and an oversized leather jacket that I took from Ricky who I shagged on my 17th birthday. It was nothing special, no relationship or anything, he was interested in my body and I was interested in experiencing something new. He got picked afterwards and forgot his jacket.

I loitered in New Look until I found something fitting. A black pencil mini skirt, a sparkly top which plunged in front and sparkly silver high heels to match. When I pay, I go back to the changing rooms to change, starring at my now curvy body in the mirror. I couldn't be anymore proud to have this body, once I accepted my old self, that's when everything started to develop. It's almost like the universe was testing me to love myself first regardless of how I looked. And the amount of free time that I had in foster allowed me to fit physical activities. Once I am done, I go back to the till to leave everything I was wearing for donation except for the leather jacket that I still need.

I walk out the shop to go to the main road where I find a taxi. 

"Where to miss?"

"Vixen please." I utter the word of the popular bar where all the cool kids go. I am sure that most people I used to go to school with will be there. No one talks on the way to the bar, the cars moving around us and the radio are making enough to make it less awkward. When we get there, I tell the taxi to park while I withdraw money from a near by cash machine which is within a walking distance. I take a 100 and I give it to him; the way that he thanks like I just saved his world is heart warming. Being surrounded and covered by such toxicity blinded me from the beauty of other people. 

When I get to the entrance of Vixen, the guard doesn't say much but his gaze on my breasts speaks volumes. I just smirk at him.

"Cat got your tongue?" I ask when I stand in front of him.

"Uh...n...no...no, please come in." I just laugh as he opens the door for me without even checking my ID. My ears ring when I enter fro all the music and the smell of smoke, alcohol and s*x attacks my nostrils. As I pass, everyone's eye is following each and every step I take. Girls trying to get the undivided attention of their boyfriends. But truth is that I am a walking temptation and I know it and I am still as black as ever. 

Each step I take is accompanied by whistles and catcalls but I drown it all as I walk towards my destination. The bar. I need a drink. 

"Hi beautiful, what can I get you?" The bartender comes to me before I even call him. 

"Jack Daniels with ice, thank you." I reply without entertaining the flirting game, I am not capable of doing that while sober. Seeing that I am not interested, he turns back to make my drink.

"Nappy?" A voice comes from behind me. I turn around to come face to face with one of the guys that I went to high school with, only problem is I don't remember who he is but his face looks familiar. I would have found him attractive if he hadn't called me with such a derogatory name. 

"Doofus?" I retort, reciprocating his tone. His face brightens as he steps closer and hugs me before he pulls back.

"It's really you, I swear if it wasn't for you wild hair I wouldn't have recognised you. Look at your boobs, stand up, let me see that black booty. Did it gr_" I don't let him finish his sentence as my fist heads straight for his nose with so much force that I hear a crack. Serves him right.

"Please don't disturb my peace." People just stare at us, even the bartender but I don't care. "Could you do me a favour and pass me my drink." I say with my arm is stretched out. The bartender cautiously walks to me until he places the cup in my hand and goes to another customer.

I tip my head back as the all the liquid runs down my throat, it burns but that doesn't stop me. 

"A girl who is sexy and can hold liquor, I can't wait until you are mine." Someone whispers into my right ear, I even feel a slight breath on my neck. I turn  so quick that I almost get a whiplash but there is no one next to me, or behind me. 

Am I already getting drunk?

Summary point:

Novelty is a late bloomer and she is the only black person in her school.

Her biological mom died a few days after her birth.

Her father married a white woman.

Novelty suffers at the hands of other students who bully her and racially abuse her so its logical that her self esteem shoots down to the extent that she doesn't want to be black anymore. 

Her father passed away from cancer.

Her step mother abandoned her so she was put into foster care where no one chose her. 

At 18, she finally gets out and goes and get the will that her father left. 

She goes to the bar for a drink where almost everyone lusts over her.

She doesn't want anyone but something strange happens. Someone whispers but there is no one.

Is she drunk or is this something to be vigilant about?

See you next time lovelies.