This has to be a dream for sure.
Fog and a ding! Baton hits petique stepper (in some show).
“Oops,” stout girl says picking up the stick and continuing her routine.
Oh, for sure, the baton is twirled and it heads in my direction. I duck and run into a mean girl who appears in the scene.
“You gonna make my boys happy or you won’t be too happy,” she says.
I profoundly do not know how I got here. Oh, PJ, there’s my PJ. Q dog mighty superb potential performs his steps in the distance.
It appears I am in the ladies’ room. Oh, my stomach is doing a wallop of area turns. I discharge that wallop size up in a toilet. What a lay-up. Ugh! Then everything repeats including the stout girl with the baton.
My eyes become clear from those tedious reveries, I look up from a vest of a sky blue uniform with a cinching smell of orange stuff to a seriously not so happy side of Mildred. I rub my mouth on her plain white button almost to the collar shirt. Now not so white. The front of it at least. “There.”
Yes, it was a dream for sure.
“Danielle! This has to stop. You chased her down for this last time just to ruin a very good uniform! If I did not know for certain that you have a condition, one would think that you seek this one student out on purpose,” Principal explains to me. “Do you hear what I am saying to you, young lady?”
“Huh,” I doubt looking towards the door wondering if my mother would show up. “Um, yes, I did not mean too. The doctor said I would grow out of it.”
“Danielle, you left Mrs. Margerett’s room, entered Boulder’s room, kneeled down, and vomited profusely all over this young lady, who is, by the way, devastated.”
“Sorry,” I say.
“This is your third time, Danielle, that you have slept walked. It seems though that you are seeking this poor girl out for such a disgusting act.”
“I know, Principal Satchell. I will not forget to take my medication tomorrow.”
“Let’s hope not. Matter of fact, we will see that a supply is in the nurse’s station.”
“Very well, now. You may go.”
In class the following day…
“Cervantes,” I peruse the information Semillions of times over in my head in sentences. I am learning a new word a day from the dictionary.
Mrs. Margerett, my English 4 teacher pointing at the chalkboard at some unique theme that looks strange to me. Parces que je dire française très bien comme diaules. Although, I did speak such language. Ummm... Okay, maybe not as thorough as others. However, at this point I am a space cadet on planet Pluto.
“Oh, Cervantes Miguel de 1547-1616. He is a Spanish novelist,” I say out loud. I did not want to be discourteous with my language.
“That’s nice Danielle. Now tell me the poet, one who writes poetry, this poem, a constitution in poetry in particular,” she says still pointing at the words on the chalkboard with a bit of disappointment on her face. “Please do not fall asleep in my class again. That poor girl has been through enough.”
Some of my fellow classmates laugh and some seem not too thrilled with me.
Luckily, the bell rings just in time to keep me from humiliating myself even more.
“Well you’re required to know this along with the others I went over for your final grade,” teach says to the class as the other girls jeered me exiting from the classroom.
“Brain plumage” says Hillary McCoy, brunette with hazel eyes and the most popular girl in school next to Stevie McDowell, blond with blue eyes and one who called me “dweeb” just now and more often than I can recall.
I am such a buffoon and a klutz.
But that’s a good thing at least I’m not ‘doo-doo breath’ anymore. Well let me explain. There’s a mitten to the ball served. My eighth grade year I had been eating my mother’s smelly eggplant stew all weekend with you know onions and drinking coffee. Staying up late studied for a test I had procrastinated on. Normally I’m no procrastinator. Things of importance usually is in precedence of, but they had a Cheryl Crowe marathon going on MTV 1 the day I picked to study and that took priority over others and I could not knock my schedule back any longer though.
School Monday morning I was pretty zonked from the weekend. When my mom dropped me off in Betsy, our family station wagon to Smithzonia High Academy an all girl private school, a school I got a pleasure of presenting my existence in. I was running late. Running up the steps, I bumped into Stevie McDowell, who didn’t immediately frown her face when she saw me, but was in a rush too, but, subsequently, that day in social studies I heard, “doo-doo breath.” I was not quite sure who she was referring to in particular until the end of class when she tried to move around me going out of the door.
“Move, doo-doo breath,” she demanded.
That is how I got that abusive epithet then even though I had brushed my hard bodies several times prior to then. I guess the smell lingered with me. Well that ain’t the case anymore. I am ‘dweeb’ to her now, which is much better.
Today. After school, oh, my driver’s license and Playtex swooning out of my purse onto the concrete besides Betsy. Yes, I am able to drive. So I got into Betsy and turned her on. Give her heart an ol’ heave ho and I am off to Smithzonia Middle to pick up my little brother and sister, which is like six jumps.
“Pie face, didn’t I say pick me up around the corner,” Melissa, my little sister says as her and Burt, my little brother got in the car. They immediately duck down until we are out of sight of the little kids.
I stop at the stoplight and chastise them looking over the seat at them. “You should be proud that you do have a way home.”
“Sarah’s big sister picks her up in a Malibu convertible and Natasha’s big brother picks her up in an Escalade,” Melissa says as she crosses over to the passenger seat, “everyone of my friends’ limo driver picks them up.”
“Well ’Lissa we’re not that fortunate now a days,” I comment glancing over into the car next to me. I see the most handsome breath taken sight. My family doesn’t believe in mix race, but, I met Paul Jr. a.k.a. Paul McKinsey Jr. or PJ my kindergarten year and this afro American male in this roaming machine looks familiar and is the most handsome boy I’ve ever seen next to Paul Jr. That is.
I lived on the island of Aurora Court up until my eighth grade year. In addition, I always loved Paul Jr. since we first met well in my dreams rather. I dreamed of him the day prior to kindergarten. Paul was attending second grade. I never met him prior to then, but I dreamed of him. I didn’t meet him until my first day of Kindergarten. My mother was walking me to class holding my hand and all of a sudden out of nowhere, my love machine appears down the hallway. The man of my dreams. He entered the second grade classroom. I vividly dream of him up until I departed Aurora Court.
Well Handsome is sitting in this SUV with rap music evading the airwaves. “What’s up? Can a player keep in touch,” it spat a song by Trillville.
I wave greeting him. He gave me the same attention and nods like he knows he’s my eye candy. Then he gives me this strange look Paul Jr. use to give me with his eyes broadening gawking at me right before he took off the other way.
He squeals tires in the process. I look after him.
Bonk! Bonk! Somebody behind us is blowing the horn. I head off to the Jefferson’s home, my home.
Danielle Jefferson, my name. It’s nice to meet you. I’m a Caucasian 17 year old, high school senior. Red hair, freckle face girl with glasses.
I arrive home, but, somebody is in our driveway. I evaluate the vehicle, but didn’t take on any recognition right away, but it is soon to come to me.
I ooze my way out of Betsy with sister and brother in tow.
“Melanie,” I call to my mother, who no longer has to transport us back and forth since I got license last year.
In addition, today the store I work in is closed and has been for a week now for renovations, but I’ll be back to work on Saturday.
Since father died, it has been hard for mother to concentrate on anything like housework and yard work. The grass is pretty high making our home look vacant. A couple of people had queries approaching our home wanting to purchase. Well, so mother needs a helping hand.
I practically raised my brother and sister myself.
We enter the house. No Melanie in the parlor or the kitchen where the smell of something mouth watering tortured our taste buds cooks. Probably some cheddar stew.
“Here’s Melanie,” Burt calls to me heading out the gliding patio door. The door is already open.
I exit behind Melissa through the door and watches Burt and ’Lissa hug mother and Uncle Mike, my father’s brother.
“Danielle, come say hello to your Uncle Mike,” Melanie says.
“Hello, Uncle Mike,” I say trying to smile, but, a little weakly.
He kisses my cheek. I immediately pull away from him.
“Nice to see you again,” I say politely.
Tonight after I fall asleep watching America’s Got Talent, my mind spread of dolly-girl wishes. Wishes that are too impossible. Oh, how I wish I could be on the show, but with my audacity to be a klutzo, I would probably ruin my chance right at the entrance.
I am wakening by sounds coming from my mother’s bedroom. It sounds like from that rap song that handsome black boy was playing from his SUV. Sounds I only hear when Uncle Mike comes around and when father was living. I hear mother call out as if she is hurting, but I know she isn’t.
“My god, Melanie,” Uncle Mike calls out moaning.
She cheated on father with Uncle Mike the whole time they dated and when they were married and she still have not shown any respect to the late Morris Jefferson, my blood father.
They are going to wake Melissa and Burt in which are believed to be Uncle Mike’s children. Melissa and Burt have his blond hair and his eyes. They don’t look like me.
I swing my feet onto the floor and into my fluffy pink slippers and out into the hallway to two doors down. I knock lightly one time the door opens revealing and volumnizing the commotion coming from my mother’s domains. There she is domineeringly straddle over my uncle as if he was a bull or that horse I wanted to get when I was a little girl. He was a little wild.
“Shut the damn noise,” I demand startling both of them and close the door back softly.
I quietly go back to my room. Put a compact disk on, one by Stevie Nicks in my c.d. player and let Stevie sing me to sleep.
Okay, my precious father was not perfect and he had divorced Mildred’s mother to marry Melanie. Yea, Mildred whom I’m mistakenly hurl on simultaneously. Yea, mistake like Mildred and his first wife was. I am the only real daughter Morris really had. Mildred and her mother are too biggidy and uppity. Whenever there is a family function, they would invite all the upper-class family and they never acknowledge my family. Well, swell…
We left the island after my father’s passing. Mother, my sister, brother, and I moved back to Greenville, S.C., but, in the home where grandmother left mother when she died right amongst mother’s other family members.
My life here is pretty much secluded and I try to be different from the rest of my racist family.
My cousin, Martha in which is my neighbor and is the same age as I had new neighbors on the other side of them who happens to be African Americans. She said her parents who are brother and sister; Bob and Janice demanded that they leave. “My pa don’t told them there niggers to move you know when he and ma wore they robe and hood. Ma and pa done burnt one cross in them there yard and they still won’t high tail it out of here,” she exposed to me one day she graced me with her presence. She’s kinda mentally lost and rides the short bus. You have to look over her.
“Maybe ya’ll should leave them alone. Have you thought about that? Donika and her family seem like friendly people.”
“People? Blacks aren’t people that’s what my paw said. Said der just anmals and crimals that makes that there rap music ‘n’ play ball. They do ’em so well that’s how use know they ain’t human.”
“Well your paw told you a lie. He’s just plain ignorant anyway. You cut them they bleed the same color blood we bleed.”
“They bleed that their aids ecademic stuff. That’s why they do. They need to be shot right on sight like them zombies on that zombie picsure.”
“Then explain why you get on the short bus. This is the 2000s. You and your parents need to grow whole new brains and throw the ones you suppose to have away because your brains only function in ignorance and racism.”
“Whateva. I know what I’m talkin’ ’bout.”
“You need to stay from under them white sheets and stop messing up my mother’s quality ones.”
Donika and I have been accepted at CSU, California State University, a predominantly black University in the land of California. I’ve applied far away, so I can get away from the likes of my family.