Jason once told me that if I ever spoke to a ‘nigger’ again, he would abandon our relationship. Years before that, a stranger threw his drink in my face because he did not find me to be ‘white enough’ for his liking.
I wonder if that is all I am to many people. A brown girl who does not belong in this country. Made inferior, with unattractive features. Hands stitched together with invisible thread, in order to do the work others loathe. Lips to stay closed, to hide the different accents that mark every word I will ever say.
Jeannine responded to my e-mail, exactly as expected, both in the time it took to receive her reply, and in the contents of the message. She doesn’t think much of me at all, but wishes me well. I am sure she wishes many things, but that isn’t one of them.
To help remove the edge off, after reading her words, I paid Matt a visit at his apartment. Feeling nothing when he touched me, I kissed his friend. Everyone has come to expect this behavior from me, and I do not know whether it is best to cry, or laugh at the senselessness of my actions. It is why Matt has not pushed for exclusivity.