Fritos, Lays, Hershey… I scan the aisles unimpressed with the overpriced goods at this convenience store.
Man, I swear…
I’m not going to look up at the cashier that followed us to the back of the store. She’s hawking me, but I won’t look at her face. It hurts too much.
I already know it by heart. She’s looking at me the same way I imagine my mother’s side of the family looked at my grandmother’s half-Black baby.
A look you are use to when you grow up like me.
And I could give a damn that now, somehow the whole staff has appeared in this part of the store. If I don’t acknowledge their ignorance then it doesn’t exist. Right?
Ignoring them. Like if our eyes met I would turn to stone or somehow my worth diminished, just off pure coldness. I wanted to ignore it.
As if I won’t have to explain these coping skills to my six-year old cousin that’s yanking me through the store. One day I will.
Today, my grandmother hasn’t returned any of my calls. With family roots vested in the Ku Klux Klan, I understand why she gave my mother up at birth. But my dad tells me I have the same eyes as Sue.