by Styles, T.
“I hear you, but I told you before that you gotta watch who you hang around. Now you finally seeing what happens when you don’t listen to me. Shit goes wrong.”
Ashur, Brownie, Dinette, and Tommy were very close, when all of a sudden things changed. Farah wasn’t allowed to play with Theo, and Dinette stopped accepting Brownie’s calls, and that hurt her because she was her best friend. What she didn’t know was that the real reason Dinette isolated Brownie was because last month, Dinette came home early. When she walked down the hallway she heard a lot of panting and moaning. Opening the bathroom door, her heart sank when she saw her husband, Tommy, bent over on the bathroom sink as Ashur put dick to ass. Although Dinette never said a word, for fear of what Ashur might do, she also never forgot.
“Ashur, that shit will never happen again. Trust me, I learned my lesson.” She paused, thinking about all the nights she and Dinette talked about life, only for her to cut her off.
“Good, because none of them bitches in that building are our friends.” He looked into her eyes before focusing back on the road. “You hear what I’m saying? In this car right here is where it’s at. I’m the only friend you need.”
As Farah’s parents spoke among themselves, she thought about her mother’s recollection of the events behind the school. Although Mia and Brownie held his arms, it was she who had kicked him between the legs. To some it may have been irrelevant, but Farah needed all of the credit she could get since she was already an outsider. “Daddy ...” she said in a low voice. Mia was on her left and Shadow was on her right. “Daddy ...” she said again. At first Ashur didn’t hear her. So she spoke louder. “Daddy!”
Ashur turned the music down and said, “Is that my red baby calling me?” He looked at her face in the rearview mirror.
“Yes, Daddy.” She smiled, circling the top of her soda can with her finger.
“What’s up, baby?”
“Mamma got it wrong.” She swallowed. “About what happened behind the school. I’m the one who kicked Theo in the dick.”
Brownie turned around, reached into the back, and slapped her in the face. All five of her fingers immediately showed upon her red skin. “Fuck you lie on me like that for?” She pointed. “That’s your problem, you’re too fucking grown!”
The moment she drew her hand back, Ashur grabbed Brownie’s throat so hard, she thought her windpipe was going to flatten. With one hand on the steering wheel and the other on her neck, he pulled over to the side of the road and parked his old Lincoln.
With her throat still in his grasp, he pointed the finger on his other hand in her face. “Listen here, bitch, you may be tough out there in them streets, and I don’t doubt it one bit, but I better never see you hit one of my kids like that again.” He squeezed tighter, and a tear rolled down her face. “You hear me, black bitch?” She nodded and he released his hold.
Brownie rubbed her neck and sat angrily in the seat with her arms folded over her breasts. It was bad enough that she was cursed with a child the same complexion of the people she hated most. To make matters worse, her own husband wouldn’t allow her to discipline her kids like she saw fit. No worries though, she would simply wait until he was out on one of his drunken binges with his friends. And when that happened, she’d give Farah exactly what she deserved.
Chapter 2
“You gotta learn that you are blessed because of your complexion, Farah. And you gotta know some folks might resent you for it, too.
—Grandma Elise
The sun was brighter than ever when Farah woke up to the smells of her grandmother’s fried chicken. She knew without asking that they were having some kind of party later on that day and she couldn’t wait to entertain company. Today was a better day because she wasn’t as sick as she normally was, and the weather wasn’t as hot. If her mother wasn’t still angry, she hoped she’d allow her outside so that she could scratch a hopscotch board on the ground, in the hopes of luring new playmates. Friendless and lonely, Farah looked for small ways to entertain herself. Her siblings, who were not as sickly, had friends and lives of their own, so Farah was normally confined to the bed at home.
When she tried to move out of the full-sized bed, it angered her that she could barely budge. She was pinned down due to Mia’s sweaty, wet thigh being draped over her body. “Move, Mia!” she said, hitting her leg. She knew it would never work, because Mia slept harder than a bear hibernating for the winter. “Get off me!”
Mia didn’t budge, so with one hard shove, Mia’s leg fell off of her body. Since she was sleeping in the middle, she hopped over her baby sister, Chloe, who was fast asleep on her right. Sharing a bed with her sisters was uncomfortable, but the fact that Mia was getting bigger each family meal made her sleeping arrangement unbearable.
Out of the bed, Farah grabbed her pink robe off of the chair, and stepped over Shadow, who was sleeping on the floor next to the bed. Since they all shared an apartment with their grandmother, Elise Gill, in Southeast Washington DC, they had to get in where they fit in. Elise’s tiny projects apartment had three bedrooms that could easily be mistaken for walk-in closets because they were so small. But Elise didn’t care. She came from the age where family did what they could for one another, even if it meant putting themselves out. So when her daughter said her family needed help two months back, she accommodated them. Her grandchildren shared one room, Brownie and Ashur shared the other, and she had the master bedroom. The living arrangements worked fine for the kids on the nights they didn’t hear Shadow jerking off to the Janet Jackson swimsuit poster on the wall.
With the robe wrapped around her body, Farah eased out of the bedroom so she wouldn’t wake up her siblings. She didn’t know how much cereal was left and wanted to pour as much as she wanted into her bowl.
Right before Farah cut the corner into the kitchen she heard her grandmother talking to her mother, and she stopped dead in her tracks. “Brownie, you know she don’t mean nothing to that man,” Elise said. “But you gotta give mens enough rope to wiggle. You can’t hold ’em hostage. Otherwise, they’ll just leave you.”
Brownie smacked her tongue. “So I’m just supposed to let him fuck who he wants to in front of me?” Brownie was so disrespectful, she didn’t care about cursing in front of her mother, and Elise was so hood, she was used to it. “I’m his wife, Mamma. That shit ain’t gonna fly no more.”
“Did you see him fucking Dinette?” Elise asked. “With your own eyes?”
“No, Mamma! But he was always at her house, and whenever I call over there, mysteriously nobody answers the phone. We were best friends and now she’s closing me out of her life.”
“So that’s what this is about. You miss her.” She shook her head. “Just go apologize, child.”
“I didn’t do nothing wrong!”
“Brownie, y’all beat her child where he can’t play football no more? You better be careful about the message you showing your children, especially Farah, because she is taking notes. That girl don’t wanna do nothing but be like you.”
“Mamma, that ain’t what I’m talking about! I’m talking about my husband!”
“Listen here, child, don’t lose your man on account of something stupid. Now, you got the man. He belongs to you, else he wouldn’t have made you his wife. Be happy for that and leave the rest alone.”
“It’s not that easy!”
“You sure you don’t still love that other man? I heard you been running around town with Jay every now and again. You better be careful ... If your secret gets out, it will destroy your marriage.”
Brownie remained silent and Elise knew she struck a nerve. “Mamma, you think Jay left me because I’m dark? It just seemed like we were so good when we were alone.”
“Who knows? ... Anyway, you married now.” She shrugged. “Could’ve been a lot of reasons it didn’t work, if you know what I mean. As far as your complexion, I been told you all your life, you black. You that blue black like my mamma, and her mamma before that. Everybody not
blessed with pretty skin like Farah. You ugly but you not dumb, Brownie. It ain’t nothing to be ashamed of neither.” She continued, “You gonna spend your whole life chasing away mens if you get mad they like a little something different from time to time.” Farah heard the sound of a spoon stirring in a pot. “Focus on Ashur and leave Jay alone,” Elise said sternly. “Most men don’t make a woman as black as you they wife. Be glad for that.”
“But I wish I was different. Seems like Ashur is into red bitches too!”
“Why are you so obsessed with being something you not? Embrace your blackness, baby. It’s the color of our ancestors.”
“I don’t wanna be like our ancestors!” Brownie yelled. “I wanna be different.”
“Brownie—”
“And why would you name me that, Mamma?” Brownie sobbed, interrupting her mother. “Do you know how many bitches I had to fight because of that name? I’m already black; did you have to give me a name that brings attention to it?”
“I named you that because I loves it. And I wanted you to also. But you black, baby. Some people gotta be black and fight harder for what they want, while others don’t. Be glad one of your children don’t have to be cursed like we are.”
“See what I’m saying, Mamma? You think we’re cursed.”
“I’m just up on the world, Brownie. And I’m gonna always shoot you straight. Life ain’t easy for people with skin like ours, but we can learn to make it better.”
Somewhere in Brownie’s heart of hearts she knew what her mother was saying was wrong. She would look into the mirror and see a cute nose, wide, beautiful eyes, and pink pouty lips. Yet when she’d go out into the world, she’d feel ugly by her own people.
“So, you really think I’m ugly, Mamma?”
“I think you’s black. And to some folks, that’s one in the same.”
Overcome with sorrow, Brownie stormed out of kitchen and bumped into her daughter, who was on all fours ear hustling on the floor. “Fuck you doing right there? And how long you been listening to my conversation?” Brownie stared down at Farah. When she didn’t respond she yelled, “How long, girl?”
“Brownie, is that RedBone?” Elise asked from the kitchen.
“Yes, Mamma.” Brownie rolled her eyes. She was trying to think if she should beat her ass, and deal with Ashur later.
“Well, send her in. It’s time for her to eat.” Brownie didn’t say anything. Instead she thought about inflicting all of the pain she had in her heart at the moment on her child. “Brownie Cotton ... did you hear what I said? Tell her to come in here and eat, now!”
She swallowed hard. “Okay, Mamma.” She frowned and said, “Go see what your grandmother wants.” Brownie stormed off toward her room.
Farah stood up, wiped her hands on her robe, and walked into the kitchen. Elise, without saying a word, grabbed a bowl out of the cabinet and the milk out of the fridge. Then she set the box of Cap’n Crunch along with a spoon on the table in front of her. Elise believed in silence and wouldn’t speak until someone sparked a conversation. She learned a long time ago that the best advice one could give was dressed in quietude.
“Sit down.”
Farah could smell the stench of her grandmother’s musty underarms as she tended to the food. Elise didn’t use deodorants, hair sprays, or detergents. She washed her clothes and dishes with scalding hot water and they always appeared clean. Her hands had scars because of it, and the tops had lost most of their sensitivity. Since she also had what she believed to be allergies, which were exacerbated by various household products, she avoided them at all costs, soap included.
When Elise pulled a sheet of aluminum foil from the container, she noticed her grandchild was not eating. “Eat up, RedBone,” Elise said, taking her fried chicken out of the pan before stirring her gravy. “We got a long day ahead of us.”
“We having a party?” Farah poured milk onto her cereal. Her eyes lit up at the prospect of having company. Outside of going to school, Farah felt as if she were living in a bubble.
“We not having a party,” Elise corrected her. “This one for grown folks. You got to wait until the family celebration to party with the adults.”
Farah pouted and Elise walked over to her and placed her fists on to her hips. “Why you frowning, pretty girl?”
’Cause I wanna go to the party too,“ Farah whined, knowing she could always get her way with Elise. “I don’t never get to do nothing.”
“That ain’t no reason for you to be pouting,” Elise responded. “Hell, they’ll be plenty of parties for you to go to.” She patted her back softly. “You just don’t forget to practice for The Jackson Five performance routine you doing with your brother and sisters. I’m tired of my sister Irma’s grandkids winning the family competition each year.”
“She not gonna be in no performance,” Brownie said, walking back into the kitchen with her purse over her shoulder. She grabbed a yellow cup and poured water inside of it from the faucet.
“And why is that? This my grandchild.”
’Cause ain’t no red bitches in The Jackson Five, that’s why.” She smirked, looking at Farah. “She ain’t brown enough.”
“What is wrong with you, Brownie?” Elise asked, angered by her daughter’s harsh words. “I know them streets got you beat, but this child belongs to you. And you ain’t got to treat her that way!”
“You can’t never stand up for me, can you?” Brownie glared at her mother. “Not even when I need you most.”
“What do you want me to do?” Elise threw her arms in the air, sending her strong body odor through the small kitchen.
“Love me! For who I am.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do,” Elise pleaded, slapping the back of her hand into her palm. “By showing you how to love your daughter. The way she should be loved. This child is watching everything you do, and all you showing her is pure evil.”
“If you love her so much more than me, then let her be your daughter!” Brownie threw the plastic cup into the sink. ’Cause like you said earlier, she sho’ is the right color now, ain’t she?”
Brownie stormed out of the apartment and Farah cried over her cereal until her grandmother lifted her chin. “She don’t mean to be mean, baby.” Elise choked back her own tears. She truly didn’t understand what she said wrong. Elise came from a family full of women who were made to feel inadequate because of their dark pigmentation. So how could she teach her something different when she didn’t know any better? “Don’t be sad, baby. When we get these scars off of your skin, you are going to be striking.”
“But I wanna look like Mamma. And you.”
Elise smiled. “You gotta learn that you are blessed because of your complexion, Farah. And you gotta know some folks might resent you for it, too. In the long run it’ll pay off. Mark my words, RedBone. Mark my words.”
Chapter 3
“I wanna show her that I can make her happy too.”
—Farah
Nighttime fell on the projects and everybody in the house was trying to find Farah. They were in the middle of the worst heat wave DC had ever seen, and she was a sickly child who never went out without telling her parents. As everyone hung in the living room waiting for word, they all felt that Farah’s disappearance may have been stimulated by the way Brownie had treated her earlier that day.
“If my baby ran away I’m gonna hurt you, Brownie! Ashur said, sitting on the sofa and drinking his seventh beer, while a cigarette dangled from his other hand. “You hear me, woman!” Brownie was struck with fear, knowing full well what her husband was capable of.
“Don’t threaten my fuckin’ child, Ashur. Not in my house and not in front of me, anyway,” Elise said, setting places at the dining room table for her card party later that night. “Fussing and threatening never helped nobody. Trust me. I know.”
“Well, I’m tired of her treating her bad,” Ashur continued, giving his wife evil looks. “If my kid don’t show up in the next fifteen minutes I don�
�t know what I’m gonna do.” He looked at his wife and mother-in-law with a creased brow.
“She gonna be fine. Herbert out there looking for her too,” she said, referring to the maintenance man. Mia, Chloe, and Shadow sat quietly in their room, waiting for the verdict. They knew better than to get into their parentsbusiness. In fact, the last time Chloe gave her two cents on a matter, while Brownie was washing her hair, Brownie screamed in her face so long her hair dried.
After fifteen long, antagonizing minutes, Farah walked slowly into the house with the dopehead Herbert, the project’s maintenance man. She was wearing nothing but her white cotton panties. A strange odor that resembled burned meat seemed to follow her as she stood in front of her parents for judgment. Her skin was red and blistered, and she could barely put her arms down. The abscesses on her body were filled with puss, and she looked like a monster. Farah had spent the entire time outside, trying to be brown like her family. Trying to look like them, in the hopes that Brownie would love her more. “I found her on the roof,” Herbert said. His grey uniform was ashy. “She awfully beaten up but she alive.”
“We got it from here, Herbert,” Elise said. She was so rattled by the sight of her granddaughter that she dropped the plate of chicken on the floor. “Go on now.”
“You got a few bucks?” he asked, scratching his arms. “I’m hurting really bad.”
“Nigga, get the fuck out of here!” Brownie screamed, pointing at the door.
When he left, Elise asked, “Did somebody rape you, child?” When Farah didn’t answer her quick enough she said, “Did anybody touch you, child?”
Farah shook her head. “No, Grandma. Nobody touched me.”
