My feet hit the cold tile as I shut the glass shower door behind me. I turn the faucet and water begins to spurt from the shower head, freezing at first then slowly warming like the changing of the seasons. I feel my body react, tensing with goose bumps from the initially frigid hail of the winter then relaxing as the warm summer sprinkling begins to steam the glass.
The air around me is humid, the once translucent glass now opaque. I’m hidden from view, blocked off from the judgment of their eyes.
I grab the shampoo and watch as the liquid gathers in the palm of my hand, a creamy pearl surrounded by a background of tan yellow. I mechanically lift my hands to my hair and feel the cool gel begin to lather and bubble. My fingers become claws as I scrape my head, trying to get rid of the blackness that surrounds it. I scratch and scratch until the soap runs down my face and into my eyes, its foamy quality no longer at work. The hot rain burns my scalp as if it is salt being poured into a cut. My hair hangs limply at my back, slicked back from my face. I look down at the drain and watch as the pure white suds are sucked into the blackness of the drain.
I turn and reach for the bar of white soap. I start with my shoulders and work downwards. My fingernails rake across my skin, trying to get rid of the dirt on my skin. It stings and I watch as long red lines are left in the wake of each long stroke of a nail. The soap begins to whiten my skin, a coat of purity around the dirt crusted into my skin. Soon I’m covered in the whiteness I’ve always desired. I step into the spray of the showerhead and watch in horror as the whiteness begins to recede from my skin. The dirt is still there, I’m still covered from head to toe. Tears prick my eyes and I start to tear at my skin, more red marks, more pain. I scratch and scratch until my skin is numb. Eventually I turn the shower off. I stand on the moist tiles dripping wet, my head hangs limply in front of me, my hair falls around my head in clumped strands.
I slide the glass door open without thinking or feeling and walk to the mirror. I clear the fogged glass with my hand and stare at my reflection.
My black hair is sticking to my skin and the steam cannot camouflage its darkness. The red slashes on my skin cannot hide its true color either, the tan golden-yellow color of dirt. I stand out on the stark whiteness of the bathroom, just as I stand out in the sea of white, pearly skin and golden-silver hair.
I look into the almond shaped brown eyes and my reflection stares back with hatred.
You were born with skin the same color of the dirt that The Light walk on.