Untitled

Her head hurt terribly and her eyes burned each time her lids would close. Alex stood staring at the elevator, willing herself to push the illuminated "up" button. As she stood in front of the elevator doors, her eyes became so fixated on the design that it began to jump out at her. An old man scooted up next to her, his walker leading the way. He was dressed in a tweed jacket with matching pants and a wide-brimmed hat. He appeared to be older than Methuselah, but his clothes spoke higher volumes than the wrinkles on his face. He was dressed for a day out on the town, as though maybe this was the only event occupying his day, a visit to the doctor's office. Alex imagined that he had set his clothes out the day before, taking great care to notice any wrinkles or loose threads. His wrinkled hands slowly rubbed over each pant leg feeling a small hole in the seam, wondering how his wife had mended such a minor imperfection. The entire outfit hung neatly in front of his closet so that he would not become confused the next morning if he had to search through his closet. Make things simple.
She smiled limply at him as they both shuffled onto the elevator. He gave her a pitiful glance. Alex realized that she did look pitiful. She was dressed in an oversized college sweatshirt and pajama bottoms, both worn three days in a row. She had been too sick to care what she looked like as she made the journey to the doctor's office.
The elevator arrived at her floor, and she walked off, her head buzzing with the music playing inside. The hall smelled of antiseptic, clean yet very cold. Alex walked up to the office door, the bronze placard reading Dr. Jerry Espinosa, M.D. Alex had never been to this doctor; in fact, she had not seen a doctor in the three years that she had been in college. Alex had not had the flu since she was a child and she kept telling her mother in a very dramatic tone that death was imminent if she did not start improving. After suffering for two weeks with the flu, she had conceded to her mother that she needed to see a doctor. Her mother had made the appointment.
It wasn't that Alex hated doctors, but she did hate waiting rooms. She never knew what to do when she walked in and felt several pairs of eyes staring at her. And one never looked her best when seeing the doctor. The silence in the room always made her feel ill at ease, as though someone's death had just been announced. As she opened the door, Alex noticed the waiting room was empty, and she felt a sense of calm knowing relief was soon to be had.
As she walked towards the receptionist's desk, she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror hanging on the wall. Her blond hair was giving way to chocolate brown roots. She saw her black-rimmed glasses sliding down her nose, and she shuddered at the naked eyes hiding behind them. They looked naked without her blue-colored corrective lenses. Although her face appeared tired and grimy, it was her own lack of self that was most startling. Most days she hid behind her colored hair and colored eyes.
She had spent so many years as a child having to explain who she was. Her light complexion said one thing, but her dark eyes and frizzy hair said another. The children at school would ask are you black? Are you white? She hated those questions; she didn't understand why it mattered. But in school every little detail about oneself mattered. If she said “white,” then the girls named Tiffany or Amber would play with her, and she could play with them in their clean houses and swim in their shiny pools. If she said “black,” then girls named Monique and Shaneesha would play with her, and they would play jump rope barefoot in the street outside their houses, and swim in the crowded public pool. Alex was always trying to prove herself to someone-she never understood why she had to choose- but in the politics of a playground you do. She would ask her mother, "Am I black or white, Mom?"
"You are whoever you want to be Alex," her mother would always reply seriously.
Race was never discussed in their household. Alex's mother was white, but her father was black. One day she had heard her parents angrily whispering in their bedroom and she had pressed her ear to their door hoping to hear what they were saying.
"You sure have raised her to be a white girl,” she heard her Father whisper.
"It doesn't matter, as long as she is happy with the person she is," her mother replied without emotion.
"It will matter someday, but by then it will be too late," said her Father.
At the time Alex did not understand what her father meant by that statement, but the next day he moved out. Six months later he had found a new family. They were black. That was the first time Alex knew that race did matter. She concluded it mattered so much that her father had started over with a whole new family in order to be happy.
That year Alex turned 15, and she made the decision to stop being pulled back and forth. Her once frizzy curls became straight and shiny. Her chocolate brown hair was bleached blonde. Her seemingly black eyes became blue behind her contacts. Her mother looked at her and said, "As long as you are happy."
Alex didn’t care about being happy; she just didn't want to fight any longer. She no longer went swimming fearing her hair would curl up. And she no longer talked to the girls she had played jump rope with. Their glaring eyes would follow her down the hall, whispering between each other.
She saw little of her father, and when she did see him the color of his skin began to repulse her. His children would run up to her screaming, "Sister, sister.” But she would look at them and see only their skin, thinking that he must love them more since they had what she would never have. She looked at their unruly hair and bare feet and felt disgust. And she hated them as much as she imagined he must hate her. When she left home for college, she was never asked questions; to those she met she was exactly who she told them she was.
Staring back at her in the doctor's office Alex saw someone she had left behind long ago, and she was glad that only a few people would see her like this. Walking towards the receptionist, Alex smiled and read the placard on her desk, Adele. Adele was donned in white scrubs, the shirt covered in Flintstones characters. She appeared to be in her late sixties. She was black, her skin matching the color of Alex's hair. She wore reading glasses at the tip of her nose as she looked on the computer and asked, "Are you Alex Johnson?"
"Yes, maa'm."
"You must have the flu, honey," Adele's eyes scanned her pathetic appearance.
"How did you know?"
"Honey, it shows all over your face."
"Well, this is my first time seeing a doctor, since moving here, so I had to be pretty sick before my mother could convince me to come in."
"Since this is your first time seeing the doctor I need you to fill out some forms."
Adele handed Alex a clipboard filled with insurance paperwork. She sat down and felt herself go into autopilot as she answered the questions on each form.
Age: 22
Gender: female
Weight: 145
Race: Caucasian
Her pen then came across the usual questions regarding family history. Beside "mother" she filled out her mother's information. Then beside "father" she wrote N/A. She no longer used his name when filling out paperwork, when asked any questions about him she always declined to share any information. Alex finished filling out the forms and returned them to Adele, standing by her as she reviewed the papers.
She ran a manicured nail under each line as she verified everything had been filled out correctly. Then her pink nail stopped as she looked up at Alex staring at her for no longer than a second.
"You are black," she stated with venom in her voice.
"Excuse me?" Alex replied completely caught off guard, her stomach starting to knot as it had when she was in elementary school. "I said you are black. Why did you put Caucasian?" "Because I am Caucasian," Alex looked at Adele, seeing her father in her dark eyes. "Your form says that, but your nappy head says something else." "Not that it is any of your business, but I am mixed. And since the form said to check one box that is what I did." "It still don't change the fact that you are black and lying." Alex felt speechless. She looked back at Adele, and they just stared at each other for no longer than a few seconds, but what seemed like much longer. As Adele stared at her Alex saw the accusation in her face, as though Adele thought Alex was intending to blow up the building. "I am always wondering why you girls today need to hide behind a white name and silly white words." "I am done talking about this. I have been done talking about this for so long that it isn't even funny," Alex walked back to the chair in the waiting room. She stared at the chair next to her and felt Adele still watching her. The doctor walked into the waiting room a few minutes later, smiling at her. After spending only a few minutes with her, the doctor gave Alex a prescription to help her sleep while her body fought off her flu virus. As she walked out of the room past Adele's turned back, Alex kept telling herself that it was the virus inside of her, but she couldn't stop the wetness streaming down her face as she walked out of the office and into the brightness of the day. When she arrived back at her dorm room, she called her mother to tell her how the visit went. Just as her mother was hanging up, Alex asked her, "Mom, am I black or white?" Knowing her mother's usual response, Alex was startled when her mother said very seriously, "Alex, you are both. And there is nothing you can do to change that." "But I don't know how to be that person." "That is because you never tried to be. You always thought you could only be one or the other. And that is my fault for not telling you differently. I just wanted you to be happy, and not worry about the superficial part of yourself." "But it isn't superficial-it is who I am." "I understand that now, but by the time I realized it you had made the decision for yourself." "I don't know why I care. I know it is just because I have been sick for so long that I feel this way. I’m not usually emotional like this." After she hung up Alex drifted off to sleep. She woke the next day feeling her own self coming back. Her roommate, Kelly, walked into the room and said, “I am glad you are finally feeling better. And now that you are starting to feel like yourself again don’t you think you should start looking like yourself.” Alex looked in the bathroom mirror and saw her curly hair three times its normal size, brown roots sticking out. Alex glanced at Kelly, her own blond hair perfectly coiffed in a ponytail. “You’re right; I do need to start looking like myself again. I’m going to run to the drugstore and pick up some hair dye.” When Alex returned to her room Kelly was waiting. They walked into the bathroom and Kelly began mixing the dye in a plastic bowl. She saw the color turning a dark shade of brown and she gasped. “Alex this is brown, what are you doing.” “I want to see my natural color again. It has been so long since I have seen myself in this color.” Unsure, Kelly looked at her in the bathroom mirror and said, “Are you sure Alex, this seems so drastic. Your hair is your shining glory.” “Yes,” replied Alex matter-of-factly. As Kelly began to massage the hair dye into her scalp, Alex watched in the mirror and suddenly felt scared as memories began to flood through her head. After they were finished Alex looked in the mirror seeing that her chocolate roots had taken over her entire head. She looked at Kelly and said with a smile, “My natural color is my shining glory.” She went downstairs walking towards the park and for the first time in a very long time she felt cold pavement on the soles of her feet. She walked into the park, her toes curling around wet shoots of grass. And for some reason unbeknownst to her, her body felt a little lighter.