Dark Like Me

1~Strangers

Throughout everything she'd been through beatings, torments, bullying, dark skin 28-year-old Ronna McCall finds love and friendship despite the way she looks, I end my short story with a hum of a melody.

Though all of my short stories are the same, a dark skin teenager or adult who is accepted by their friends, family, and finds love. I secretly wish the characters I write about were I. Being loved by all, respected, accepted.

Putting my pencil down and swiveling my desk chair to my bed, which is an organized chaos of a mix between college applications and homework.

I stroke the nape of my neck and climb onto my bed, just as I'm about to get back to the usual studying, my stomach grumbles with stubbornness. Surveying the mess; I know what I've got to get done before a certain amount of time.

On top of the homework and college applications, I also have a ton of advice articles to answer for the school's newspaper. My section of the paper is called Apex Evening, the love, family, and friendships advice column.

Along with the comic strip part, I keep my identity a secret in our school newspaper. My stomach growls loudly, I grunt while scooting to the edge of the bed, and walk down the first flight of stairs.

With my two younger brothers out, mom at work, and my sister out with her boyfriend, the house is silent. It's just me and my dad. He is sitting at the kitchen table with an old blue towel covering the table and small car parts on the towel. He works as a mechanic in the military and often brings his work home with him.

"Sirrah." Wiping his hands on a rag hanging from his front pocket. "you've emerged from your dungeon of darkness," he sings.

I giggle at his dramatic flair, "I got hungry."

"Well, what do you want to eat?" He goes into the kitchen.

I know mom would have a fit if she found out he is in her kitchen with his dirty, oily hands. I cover my mouth with my hands, "Dad, get out of the kitchen with your filthy hands before mom catches you."

He spins around in the kitchen, "She's not here, she won't know," he stops and faces me, "unless you tell her."

"No, I wouldn't. But, I do want to eat."

"Okay. McDonald's." He grabs the keys off the key hook by the door and we exit the house.

Getting into my dad's red Pontiac, he cranks it up and carefully backs out of the driveway.

We park in the McDonald's parking lot by the entrance.

"I'll be a minute," I assure my father. He nods and puts the car in park and begins to look for his cell phone charger. That's been missing for a few days now. I'd bet money my older sister stole it and never put it back.

I get out of the car and stare at the golden arch symbol. I know what awaits me when I go in there. I look at my father who is still frantically looking for his charger. I contemplate telling him I want to go home and wait until mom comes home to cook. However, the growling of my stomach forces me to enter McDonald's.

When I enter, the chatter comes to a screeching halt and I can feel everyone's eyes shift to me as I amble to the line and look at the menu. While I try to figure out what I want, I can feel the customer's eyes burning holes through my soul.

I begin to chew on my fingernails knowing I don't have anything on my face or clothes since I checked before I got out of the car. Which means they are staring at one thing: my charcoal sable skin complexion.

Heading towards the evening with seven of us left. We silently speak to each other, if were too loud we'd get spankings from the headmistress who is now tired of us and wants to go into retirement. Within five minutes, we dwindle to just three.