Family, Race, Uncategorized


The warm evening breeze gently swept through my bedroom window bringing with it the smell of grass and what was left of the sunshine from the day. I watched the colors dance on the wall as the outside world had turned from gold to a cool lavender. I could hear the chorus of windchimes in my mother’s garden begin to settle down. My six year old body was still and quiet with my eyes closed when my mother came in to say goodnight. I pretended I was already asleep, seeing if I could fool her. I could smell the citrus tones of her lotion.
The smell of that lotion is forever burned in my memory. It was ritual. Many times I would sit on the bathroom floor when she got ready for bed at night. It gave me time alone with her away from my siblings where I could prattle on about my day and ask her questions. Countless times I would witness as she pumped the lotion from the yellow bottle and spread it on her arms and legs. If she had too much she’d spread out her arms to me and take my hands and rub it on me too. We looked nothing alike, I like two of my three siblings, am adopted. Her hair is short, straight and styled. My hair is long in wild curls. Her eyes are dark blue and mine are dark brown. We both have random freckles all over, but her complexion is pink and creamy and mine is brown like honey.
She came in and sat on my bed. I continued to pretend to be asleep. She bent over and kissed each of my eyelids, then my nose, then my chin, then my cheeks. She kissed my skin.



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