Another day, another witnessing of pure, unadulterated ignorance.
I hate when Granddad takes Riley's side over mine. And I hate when Granddad lectures me about things I was already aware of. For instance, if I just came out of the kitchen, what makes you think I didn't see that it was a mess? Do I look blind to you? Am I walking around the house bumping in into walls and knocking over vases? No. And Riley does it purposely. Does he get in trouble? Hell no! Because every time I point out a single flaw in a plan, a personality, or even a slight fopaux, Riley is always there, spewing his ignorance on "Homos" and "Haters". And Robert Freeman being as narrow minded as he is, agrees with his grandson's untainted dumbness. I'm sick of it. I was never appreciated. And even though most of the advice I give is palatable, both of them refuse it and shove it back in my face. However, I cannot, ever, on any circumstances, voice these opinions. All Hell would break loose within my household and Granddad would never put down his belt… Not that I'm scared of him or anything. I'm not afraid of anything, but even though he is highly immature, he is still the guardian in the house. I gotta put up with him. In any other case I would simply say: You ain't my daddy! That's right, he isn't. He's my daddy's daddy. He once had authority to beat my Dad's ass, and now he has authority to beat mine. It's preposterous.
My usual frown and distinctive, furrowed eyebrows pass over my face. All my homework is done. All projects are taken care of and planned. Granddad is on a date with another floozy. Riley is over at his friend's house- a black dude that's new to the neighborhood and carries a whole hearted smile on his face. Riley is probably ruining his innocents at this very moment, raiding about guns, niggas and a bunch of other dumb shit. I can't call anyone because according to other kids I'm weird and boring (and black). But I shrug off all the nonsense and come to an easy conclusion. I wouldn't call anyone anyway, because they are all too wrapped up in their naïve nature to comprehend my tone in speech. I sigh as I silently think to myself. I stare wistfully out of my bedroom window. Maybe I am a bit boring. Even my own family begins to yawn and complain whenever I try to explain the simplicity of a "complicated" situation.
Yes, from time to time I do happen to get a slight pain in my chest from the minor hurt they cause, but everything else going on around me is considered much more important. I intend to focus on that instead of my constantly tortured soul. Even if the pain gets to a point where it's just unbearable, I will refuse to show any emotion except anger and maybe a touch of confusion. At that moment a flashback resurfaces the interface of my mind. "You just want everyone else to be miserable because you're miserable!" Those were Jazmine's words. She probably hadn't meant it, but when she yelled it, I swore I could hear my heart sink into my chest. The harsh statement was true on countless occasions, but not that one. I was trying to help her; get her to see that Ed Wuncler never planned on giving her any type of hoarse-much less a sweet, innocent, trained pony. She was blinded by infatuation. I'd hate to call it that since she was only ten at the time, but that's really what it was. No other word can describe it.
You know, I actually used to take pride and joy in shooting down Jazmine's aspirations. Among other things it was just fun to do. Of course, I would never physically show the amusement I was receiving from the straight-forward and depressing sermons I would throw her way. I think she was under the impression that I was trying to protect her from the outside world and that's why she kept coming back. That's what I assumed. It was either that or she was an insane masochist. Call me a loner, or even a pessimist, but any way you look at it, one needs alone time. Whether it be for even a second or a week. If I was around people all the time, I would probably explode from the rash and impaling opinions flying everywhere. When you're by yourself, the only opinion that remotely matters is yours. Everyone needs alone time. And so what if I do partake in a little more alone time than others? At many of those times on the hill, Jazmine was just untimely and always caught me while I was in my most vulnerable state. And when false security sneaks up behind you, what do you do? You put up a face. Basically, I was defending my ego, but for the most part I was enjoying pulling someone as far down as I was, even if only for a minute.
She always cried and it was annoying. It caused me to push her away even more…
But I know what your next question is. "What do you think of Jazmine now?" Well, it all depends. Are we talking about as a friend, as a best friend, or… more? Be specific. Ha, it doesn't matter anyway. I would never go for a girl like Jazmine, even if there was a slight, minuscule, tiny chance that I did have any type of loving feelings toward her. It just wouldn't work. We're too different.
First of all, she's too peppy for her own good. Sometimes her nonstop happiness gives me a sickly feeling in my stomach and a scowl glows from my person. She gets everything… Everything! Spoiled rotten and showered with unnecessary gifts from head to toe. She is a pure prissy princess. I could never date that.
Her hair is beautiful and it shows that she is of African descent, but she hates it. And if she hates her hair she must hate mine. Sometimes I think she would be happier if she were born flat out white but it wouldn't be the Jazmine I've grown to… associate with.
There are countless things about that girl that rub me the wrong way, but what flusters me is the crying. It pretty much faded into obscurity along with all other childish views like "Santa Clause" and "The Tooth Fairy" but it hadn't vanished completely. Back then usually I would be the cause of her crying, causing her halo of her own ignorance to come crashing down around her. But these days, she's learned to deal with my constant ramblings about the world and all its problems. Instead of weeping over my fearsome facts, she thinks. I wonder what she's thinking about.
Every now and then she still sheds a few tears. And I comfort her with teachings on how to just get over whatever she was crying about. And if she embraces me, I refuse the instinct to do the same. I try with all my might to act as if I am void with pity but, with time, my arms are wrapped around her as tightly as humanly possible. And when she finally lets go and leaves I am left with salty water stains on my shirt and unshakable hatred for letting my guard down.
From a distance, I saw two strawberry blond puffballs floating on top of the hill. Knowing who it was I kept on walking up the hill until I got to the tree and sat down. I let out I sigh when I heard quiet sniffles from the girl standing with her back turned to me. Her shoulders trembled as she cried. She slightly turned her head my way before whispering her shaky words.
"M-mom and Dad had an-nother fight… They might even get." She sobbed loudly in her hands. "A divorce!"
My eyes widened as I saw her charging towards me, her face deep in my shirt and her arms clinging tightly to my torso. I patted her awkwardly on the back. I wanted so badly to just wrap my arms around her but no matter what I had to defy my desires. I felt a pang of compassion and another pang of guilt for what I was about to say.
"Jazmine, many marriages fail every year and statistically speaking, it would have failed anyway. If not sooner, later. You have to learn to deal with these types of situations."
She ignored me."P-please Huey. Could you please hug me back? Just this once? Please?" She begged. She was looking up at me with those big sparkling green eyes. Another tear slid down her cheek. I sighed as I hesitantly began to lay both arms across her back. As time passed I began to lay my head upon hers.
That was the first time it happened. From then on every time she came crying to me, that is the way I would comforted her. And I still do.
But the girl definitely deserves some credit. She has grown into very intelligent young lady. When I talk she is actually hearing and comprehending what I have to say. And I know she does because she then tells her fixation on the ordeal. She listens. That's something Granddad and Riley could never do. They don't care about what I have to say, but Jazmine does. She believes that one day I will do great things, and I plan to, and if I had to choose anyone to be my wingwoman in my operations, I would choose Jazmine without even a second thought. Because I'm not saying I love her, but I'm not saying I don't.
I would really appreciate it if you would review. This is my very first Boondocks story and I want to know what you think. Since you are reading this story, your opinion does matter. Tell me what you thought could have been better, tell me if you liked it and if you hated it. Tell me what I should have included. And also, tell me if you thought anyone was slightly out of character. Because I want to know. A writer is only as good as her work.