I watched him take a bite, it was his last as he dumped the rest of the creamy garnished hamburger that cost three times the meat pie and soft drink I had before me.
I was by myself and he was with his family, just slightly secluded from the discussion they were having. With his eyes locked to his iPhone and ears blocked with his earphone, he glowed like sun, fair and had eyes like the half cast he really was, while I tried to hide my scanty bleached knuckles from revealing and avoid itching my contact lenses that felt like it was slipping off my eyes.
All I did was stare but I had a little self control putting in mind I was hungry and that was my main purpose for coming to the restaurant. But it was hard and I suddenly became ashamed of holding the meat pie.
I didn’t know him, I hadn’t seen him before but from the moment I my eyes caught his image, I knew my life, my entire existence could have been a mistake. If only there was a restart button to my existence I could probably go back and return as a natural light skinned half breed boy. Where my father is Nigerian and my mom whom I would inherit my good looks from would be a former beauty queen of a state in the United States of America. I would be tall, and perfect. I would follow my parents to any restaurant whenever we came visiting in Nigeria for the holidays. We would buy the most expensive hamburger and wine. I would take just a bite and then dump the rest on the plate wipe my mouth with a savet while I press on my iPhone 6 with my earpiece buried in my drums scrolling through the internet probably placing an order for the new iPhone 7. Oblivious to my parents conversation, oblivious to the weird kid staring with cheap meat pie and a bottle of coke whose knuckles looked darker than the rest of his body. I would take a selfie and wouldn’t need to filter it. Post it on my instagram and wake up to a thousands likes and a hundred comments.
Sadly, there was no restart button and this was all there was to my life. My mum wasn’t an half cast, and I didn’t have an iPhone. That was my reality, and I couldn’t believe it.
They always say no one is perfect, but they are wrong. How can one be good looking, and rich? I’m sure he wouldn’t have issues traveling to the USA, he probably wouldn’t need a visa to come home here in Nigeria.
Just when I couldn’t feel worse about myself, he spoke. The boy with the fair flawless skin, cat eyes and coily dark hair spoke. As if he wasn’t beautiful enough, he had to have a good intonation too. Why me? Why is life unfair to me?
Just then my tecno p3 phone rang so loudly it startled everyone. I was immediately embarrassed. It was my mum calling wondering where I was. I could already imagine how the conversation would go, she would speak in our dialect and I would be forced to reply in my feigned British accent I had learnt from watching too many white movies. She would continue with the dialect and I would continue pretending I was talking to my own American mum, it would go on forever and I didn’t want that to happen, and I was not about to be the poorly bleached boy with a cheap mobile phone and dog food in front of him who can’t speak English. No. My life at the moment was bad enough.
How did I get here? Why wasn’t I the one in those expensive tee-shirt and Jordan’s. Why wasn’t I the one with silver spoon in my mouth? Why wasnt I the natural light skinned boy ?
Thanks for reading. Your thoughts are highly needed. That’s the purpose of this post.
If you have a short piece below 800 words you need thoughts on, contact us.