Black as you wanna be

Black as you wanna be or…
Tar baby gone global

         Skinny White Girl had problems she felt she couldn’t share with too many people.  How do you tell someone you don’t want to be white, don’t want to be skinny, and being a girl, well, what was that about?

         She looked about the gym class in horror.  You would have thought somewhere amongst all that flesh there would be someone who liked themselves, even remotely, even if just on Sundays when you got ice cream for dessert and felt the soothing coolness of the cream as it flowed out of your nose a few minutes later.  She felt so alone.

         It seemed all the other girls had more than she did.  As she looked in the godforsaken mirror some horribly evil person chose to torment her with, she only saw a flat chest where breasts should have been and boy bones where hips should be.  It just wasn’t fair.  And where once she could at least note her blemish-free skin, she saw the beginnings of what would later be the tip of an iceberg of zits, all creamy and red, aching to cover the mirror so she wouldn’t have to see.  If only her parents could tell her the truth and confirm her future as a zit-ridden, flat chested, nun ensconsed in a bricked up tower that time forgot to build stairs for, repeatedly pawed over by some equally pathetic lame priest traveling between her and adolescent boy toys in the choir.

         Just as she got ready to truly descend into darkest misery, she felt a rough tap on her way-too-pointed shoulder.  Terrified, but bold nonetheless, she turned around to face the girl who dared pull her out of her revelry.  She even threw some hair; the little bit that wasn’t tied in a thingy.

         She smiled, “Oh hi, Tar-baby.”

         “What’s up, skinny white bitch?”

         “Not much; just kicking it with my internal tormentors. Giving the girls something to play with, something to chew on.  You?”

“Same shit.  Different day.  Dealing with that anorexic vomit-queen I got caged in my way-too-bodacious booty vault.  Bitch ain’t seen light yet and the gas is killing her.  Silly slut’s about to light a match.  How you doin?”

“Same.  I got the fat, gelatinous ho pinned to the mat and making her eat me out.  She ain’t getting no air either, drowning her.  Matches would end it for her and get me off at the same time.”

They both laughed.  Across from her was her friend, her only friend, Taisha Crampwell.  Taisha was gorgeous, five foot one inch, and two hundred pounds of the meanest blackest ghetto queen living on borrowed time.  She loved her.  She adored her.  Hell, she wanted to be her.  Why they were friends, neither could figure.  They just were.  Something each saw in the other made them both feel good.  They had even managed to go to one another’s house.  Somehow, their parents were even friends, or at least, tolerated one another in the presence of their daughters.  Who cared what they said out of earshot?

         “We may as well get going.  That lesbo coach will be chewing on somebody’s rag soon.  I’d prefer it not be mine.”

         “It’s that time?”

         “Yeah!”

         “You’re so lucky.”

         “Yeah.  Tell me about it when you get the cramps waking you up in the middle of the night.  And all day walking around trying to figure out a discreet way of readjusting that coffin-sized pad as it tries to snake down your leg.”

         “Bitch, you crazy.”

         “No.  I’m just horny and trying to beat the odds and make it out of the house before Uncle Jethro with no teeth and the wanger of all wangers tries to impregnate me as I lay defenseless and moaning on the kitchen table trying to choke down a whole turkey leg.”

         “Well.  I don’t have that problem.  And I can’t quite visualize it.  No one, not even a distant relative, has seen these creamy white thighs.  They’ll probably be hanging around my ankles by the time I have my first friendly visit.”

         “Like I said.  Watch out for Jethro when it does happen.  Fool always trying to wreck a girl’s figure or ruin her day.  Let’s go.”

         As they entered the gymnasium, there stood their coach yelling out attendance.  They arrived just in time to hear their names called as well as the laughter it elicited.  Even the coach was snickering.

         “You know coach.  You got way too much hair on your chinny chin chin to be laughing at anybody.  Think Gillette, honey.  That’s all I’m saying,” said Taisha.  She waved her off.

         “And you need to learn to tuck your dick and your balls if you’re going to be wearing those really short shorts.  Don’t nobody want to be looking at your ball sack flopping about while we’re trying to play volleyball.  That oughtta get us out of today’s festivities,” Skinny White Girl whispered.  She took off her thingy.  She tossed her hair.  Only the black girls with weaves could do that.  If she’d had breasts or pouty lips she would have stuck them out.  As it was, her nubs wouldn’t have added quite the punch she needed and her paper thin lips were just big enough to cover her teeth.

         Nobody knew what to say.  Skinny White Girl had never spoken up.  Truly, a new day had arrived, a genius had been revealed.  Even Taisha gave her that “Oh no that bitch didn’t” look.  She was proud.  She also knew, for once in her life, her back was covered; all of it.
         
         They didn’t get kicked out of class.  The coach had actually smiled, blushed, then guffawed, and chosen the two as team captains for that day.  A new respect for the two oddballs had been gained.  Now they were known for brains and brawn.  They fought to a tie before the bell rang and they were dismissed to the showers, not that anybody actually took a shower in junior high.

         As Skinny White Girl pondered her day, she figured it had been a good one.  And when her friend arrived later that night, well, aside from making a mess and making her dizzy, she felt really good.  Some girls looked forward to awkward moments, especially those girls well versed in the ritual.  It was time to shine.