Every week I said. Here we go.
Age 13
She didn't mean to yell at him or call him a racist pig. She certainly didn't mean it when she slapped him across the face after he grabbed her wrists. She knew he was only trying to get her to see the truth. Or maybe, he was trying to apologize for once. She doubted the latter, but all the while knew that he cared. She was just tired of getting her feelings hurt.
Sobbing into her beige hued pillow, Jazmine recalled the argument she'd had with Huey just hours earlier. She had gone over to the Freeman's house to play. Riley was engrossed in one of his violent video games, shooting random people in the streets. Huey was doing his verbatim hobby of reading. Jazmine was bored with the everyday conundrum the boys did, and decided to change it up. Ripping the book from Huey's fingers, she opened the floor for a new game of chase. The Afro clad boy's participation was solely due to the fact that she had so brashly and ignorantly destroyed his peace, but his participation was all she really craved.
Still, he could've gone without tackling her to the ground.
Riley laughed at her failed attempt to catch his brother's attention, but Jazmine, at the time, only saw the failure and resulting laughter of the younger sibling to her friend as a new challenge to be accepted. Tug of war ensued. The two age matched friends wrestled for the book, each tugging with all their might in the opposite direction. How was she to know that this particular book was Huey's favorite? How did he expect her to realize it carried more significance to him than any of the other leather bound stacks of paper he kept upstairs in his room, neatly organized on his mahogany shelf? It's not like he ever adamantly expressed favoritism for anything, let alone something as so silly as an old, dirty, dog-eared and outdated book. So when the book ripped clean down the middle, sending both teenagers flying into the corners of the living room, Jazmine hooted with laughter, and remained, for that moment, blissfully unaware of the damage she'd caused.
She recalled staggering to her feet, still shaking with amusement, then looking into the ravenous eyes of her best friend. Huey didn't display too many emotions, but anger was one she was familiar with. Usually, it was directed towards other people, and, on occasion, on her behalf when one of the other kids at school picked on her. Jazmine was so used to the mocha-skinned boy's rare outbreaks that she even dedicated names to the levels of his anger. Right at that moment, she saw maroon colored lava. It killed her laugh track with a shock of cold sweat that made her spine and neck tingle in fear. She gulped, and attempted to prepare herself for the eruption.
"You destroyed my book." Huey's voice was eerily calm. Jazmine didn't like it.
"Technically, we both did," she supplied, lifting a slightly shaky finger towards the African-American teenager's own hands, which still held the other half of the old book.
"What is wrong with you?" Huey asked, the calm still there. He was cracking, and she could see it. The mulatto knew it was important to choose her words wisely. A quick glance over to Riley told her that the younger brother would be no help. The cornrowed pre-teen was silent between them, his noticeably calmer maroon eyes shifting curiously and warily between his companions. Jazmine inhaled deeply before responding.
"I just wanted your attention. You're always reading and—"
"Then you should've said something! Not rip apart my book like that!" Huey spat. She could tell he wasn't in the mood for her excuses. "Why do you always have to be so annoying?! You don't see me tearing apart your shit whenever I'm bored! If you find me so boring, why not just go and play with your other little white friends? I'm sure they'll be more than happy to put up you're your craziness."
"Hey—"
"You never respect my privacy. It's always about what you want." Apparently, Huey needed to get a lot of things about their friendship off his chest. Jasmine clamped her mouth shut, suffering in silence. She willed away the tears as he continued his verbal assault. "Just like all the other white people in this goddamned neighborhood. You don't pay attention to anything! I try to teach you, but apparently, you're just too stupid to get it—"
At that, Jasmine snapped. She could handle a lot of things, but being called stupid was not one. "I am not stupid! So what if I'm white?! It's just a stupid book! What are you getting so upset over?!"
"It's not just about the book, Jazmine!" Huey growled. "It's about respecting property and space. You constantly violate mine with your shenanigans, and I'm tired of it."
"But you're my best friend! You never want to hang out with me, so I have to do these things to get your attention!" Jasmine explained. The tears were dreadfully close to falling.
"You have to destroy my books to get my attention? Jazmine, that's the dumbest thing I ever heard. You're thirteen now; act like it."
"It's just a dumb book!"
"It is NOT a dumb book! My dad gave me this book and you ruined it!"
At that, Jazmine was dumbfounded. She had no response. She hadn't realized she destroyed something so precious. It just looked like an old book to her, but it held value she couldn't even begin to imagine for the young revolutionary. She sensed she was in trouble. Scratch that, her entire friendship with Huey was at stake here. Sucking in air to generate a response, she opened her mouth to say something, anything.
"Well, then… I…" Would an apology fix this? Jazmine doubted it. Huey glared at her with a ferocity unmatched by any teenager Jazmine knew. She couldn't hold it in anymore. The hot, wet, and salty tears fell from her eyes. The mocha-skinned boy's own eyes reflected no sympathy for her.
"Do you really think crying is going to change this? God, you're such a baby."
"I'm not a baby! I didn't mean to damage your book!"
"Well, it's too late for that, Jazmine. I don't have time for this," Huey sighed, heading back to the couch. Riley seemed to have disappeared. Jazmine vaguely recalled him sneaking off during the climax of their argument.
"You never have time for me! You always say mean things to me! Why can't you just admit you can't stand me because I'm half white?! That's your real problem, isn't it! You said so yourself!" Those weren't the words she meant. She was just hurt, and didn't want to apologize and admit the boy was right… again. Huey had to be at fault for some of this. If he didn't want to be her friend, he could use that blunt honesty of his to tell her so. He never seemed to have a problem telling her off otherwise. Why was she even friends with him?
"I don't have a problem with your race, Jazmine—"
"Yes, you do! You racist pig!" And with that, the mulatto stormed off for the door. She heard the Afro haired boy jump from the couch and stomp after her. She figured she was in for another yelling match. Maybe he'd call her names like the other kids did at school. Maybe he'd hit her. She felt him grab her wrist.
It was a fluid motion, an instant response. Whipping around with the force Huey used to pull her back, Jazmine launched her hand across the air. Her palm connected with his cheek. An echo of flesh to flesh contact broke the brooding silence between them. Huey's face slowly reddened from the force of her attack. His grip on her wrist slipped, and she pulled back to stare at her handiwork.
Jazmine's emerald green eyes widened in the shock of her actions. Huey didn't look at her, but he didn't need to. His body language spoke for itself. Shoulders slumped, hands at his side, she heard her best friend sigh in defeat.
"…Whatever."
She hadn't said anything. She just watched as the teenage boy made his way back to the living room, bending only to pick up the other half of the book she dropped when she made her initial attempt to leave. The tears were still falling when Jazmine turned away and headed out the door.
That had been hours ago, and Jazmine had spent the time crying in her room. Her tears had stopped some minutes ago, and her raspy cries had slowed to a short series of hiccups. Lifting her head, she peered out her window to the house across the streets. The curtains were drawn on the second story, so she couldn't see in. Jazmine lifted herself, wiping her runny nose with the back of her hand. She had to make things right.
Heading to her nearly bare bookshelf, she selected one of the few books she had and quickly made her way out of her room, down the stairs, and out her front door. She knew she had to do this now, before she lost the nerve and her best friend all together.
Shakily, she approached the door, and rang the bell, the book laid flat and tightly against her chest. Robert Freeman answered the door pleasantly, but she paid him no mind. Instead, she zipped past the elderly man and made her way up the stairs to the shared room of the boys. With no hesitation, she flung the door open.
Huey sat on the bed, starring off into space. He barely flinched at the mulatto's sudden presence. His eyes casually rolled over to set their sights on her panting form as she took cautious steps into the half messy room.
"What do you want, Jazm—"
"I'm sorry," she sputtered. "I didn't mean to ruin your book. I was being selfish, and I'm sorry."
Huey sat up in the bed. She stared into his eyes. They were guarded at first, but after a moment, softened. She felt her heartbeat quicken slightly at the sight.
"…I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have said those things to you. I meant it when I said I didn't care about your race. You being white has nothing to do with anything."
"I know," Jasmine replied, finishing her journey across the room and to the young revolutionary's bed. "Here."
Thrusting the book forward, Jazmine dropped her gift into the boy's lap. She saw him glance down, and take up the book in his hands. His eyebrow rose with a curious tone shining in his wine-colored depths. "Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison," he stated, reading the title out loud.
"It probably can't replace the book your dad gave you. And it's not an autobiography or revolutionary or anything. But it's by a Black lady, and… I liked it a lot. So… um…. I'm giving it to you. As an apology."
Jazmine watched as the boy in front of her lifted his eyes to hers. So many emotions swam inside them both as the moment of silence stretched on. Jazmine held her breath, eagerly and nervously awaiting a response. Finally, Huey nodded.
"Thanks." He opened the book and skimmed the first page briefly before glancing up at the now smiling mixed girl. "Want to hang out for a bit?"
"Sure," she breathed, happy the worst was behind them.
She didn't understand his attachment to books, but Jazmine figured there was something to learn here. She just hoped that this book could form a new connection with Huey between them, like the now taped together old leather back had done before between the revolutionary and a father he could only remember.
...Eh. I'm not 100% fond of this chapter, but it is what it is. See you next update.
