Jennifer

I wanted to share an experience I had when I was in second grade where a person used race to achieve popularity and she used me as a pawn to get it. This is an anti-racism piece.

Black is the color of markers, colored paper, and crayons, but not people. Black has five letters like my name, but unlike my name, I hate it. Black doesn’t mean a color, but to me, it means hatred. Black got me into deep trouble when I was in second grade and I never said Black. Another girl’s words threw me under the bus and ruined my life.

The morning was crisp and cool, the perfect skipping weather. I had my jump rope, Jennifer, in my hands. Jennifer was the prettiest jump rope I have ever seen. She had pink foam handles and a clear rope with a bright green twirly rope within it. She was beautiful and Jennifer was the prettiest name I could think of. Jennifer was my best friend when my friends had not arrived and my sister was busy with her own friends. Jennifer and I had one goal and that was to get to the end of the Skipping Song. I always got to the middle of the song and I would give up because I was so tired. This crisp morning I held each of Jennifer’s handles and I felt the breeze on my face. I was ready to make it to the end of the Skipping Song. I was one line before the end, but I felt the pavement on my face. There was a pebble beside my foot and I knew what that meant. I just tripped over a pebble. I looked up and I saw Carie standing above me. She had her jump rope in one hand and she held it like a cowboy did a lasso.

“Hey, Julia,” Carie said, “want to have a race to see who can finish the Skipping Song?” Jennifer and I were always willing to accept a challenge. Right before I starred, Jezbelle walked up to us.

“Jezbelle,” I asked, “where is your skipping rope?” She told me she had left her skipping rope at home. Oh, Jezbelle was the best skipper in the entire second grade. She could go through the Skipping Song! Twice! Her skipping rope counted how many times she jumped. Jezbelle was my friend whom I always skipped with. I started jumping vigorously until my face turned hot and numb and my lungs were lead balloons.

“C’mon, Jennifer,” I whispered, “we can finish the song. Just a few more words.” I could feel the victory on my skin. Victory tasted so sweet almost like a freshly baked cookie. Somebody stopped Jennifer and said to me, “Right, Julia?” It was Carie, but I didn’t know what the question was. Jennifer and I were on a roll. I just nodded like I always did when my mum asked me a question. Jezbelle ran away and she was crying. Carie told me that she had just scraped her knee and was running to the nurse. I believed her because I needed to beat Carie in the race for the skipping title. I knew Jennifer could do it.

Suddenly and without warning a teacher stopped Jennifer and was towering over me. She asked Carie and I if we had called Jezbelle Black. Why would I ever call Jezbelle Black? Black was the crayon, marker, and colored pencil I always threw away. Black were the super scary Scream masks all of the icky boys wore on Halloween. Black was the color of the dark that I drowned out with night-lights. Jezbelle was not Black. She was Blue. She made me happy like the Blue or Green. Jezbelle was not Black. Somehow, Carie and I were ushered into the hall beside the principal’s office. The principal’s office was for bad kids, but not for me. I have never gotten in trouble before. Carie went first in the principal’s office. While, Carie was in there, I thought of every bad thing I have done. Was I at the office because I picked that ladybug up and kissed it? Was it because I accidentally kicked the rock? Did I accidentally hit somebody with Jennifer? I held my Jennifer close hoping the principal wouldn’t take Jennifer away from me.

Carie danced out of the office. She had the “I just ate a cookie” attitude about her that made me feel a tiny bit better. Carie told me that I had to go in. When I entered the principal told me to close the door and sit on a lumpy couch. I gripped Jennifer so hard that my fingers were numb. When I sat down, the principal said in a firm tone, “Are you racist?”  I could feel my face catch on fire and I began to cry. I didn’t know what was going on and I was in the school prison for a reason I didn’t know.

What was racism? I thought about racism and it had the word race in it. I was in trouble for having a skipping race with Carie. I cried so hard I could not even speak or breathe. I was forced to write an apology to Jezbelle. When my tears turned to hyperventilation, I returned to my class.

All I heard in the class was Jezbelle and Carie telling everybody never to speak, eat, or play with me ever again. They said that I was the Devil’s agent and that if anybody spoke to me they would go to Hell. Nobody sat near me at rug time. When I sneezed, nobody said, “Bless you.” My two best friends and my sister were in the other class. I was alone because I was not allowed to carry Jennifer with me in the room.

Lunch was the worst because people kept calling me mean names. One person stole my cookie and said I didn’t deserve a cookie because I was a bad girl. Finally, it was recess and I went to go get Jennifer from the coatroom. I began to hug and cry with Jennifer and I told her how awful my day was. When I came out of the coatroom, the teacher yelled at me,  “If you can’t play nicely, you do not deserve to play at all. Take that thing out of my sight and I never want to see that thing again.”

The class went out to recess and I stayed in the class. I was angry that people were mean to me because I was racing Carie in morning recess. Now, I wasn’t allowed to have my only friend, Jennifer, with me at recess. Jennifer and I had a goal and that was to finish the Skipping Song. Rage surged through my body. I threw Jennifer in the trashcan right above the lunch scraps and I went outside. I was mad at everything and I took out my rage on my Jennifer.

Outside, everybody had their jump ropes and I asked people to play and they threw me out of the game. I played hand dolls with my friends that still liked me. At the end of recess, I went back to the room and I looked in the trash. The trash had been taken out and Jennifer was nowhere to be found. My beautiful Jennifer was gone. I threw my only friend away because I was angry at everything. I loved Jennifer and now she was gone. I never finished the Skipping Song.

 

© Julia Mancini 2011

Author's Note

Please be as harsh as possible. What do you think? Be brutally honest please.
Also, I know many things in here can be difficult to read, but please no "race hate". I am not racist. I love everybody's character and I could care less what was on the outside. This is just a chapter in my life that I wanted to share, so please no "I'm sorry that happened to you."

Reviews

[JennaMarie]

Hey Julia! I think you have the makings of a really good story here! There are a few little grammar things here and there but they don't detract from the story or anything. My advice would be to elaborate a bit on some of the parts and make sure that all of the important details get explained because there are a few parts that could be more clear. I really did like the way you let us in to your thought processes though, it made your emotions very real. You're a good writer and you'll only get better!

[Linda]

ooh feel bad for you honey *hugs*

[Sean Someplace]

I really enjoyed this story, as you did a wonderful job making me feel the subject's emotions. I love to read something where I never notice the the writing itself but get pulled into your story so that, even if there were errors, I'm don't even notice them.

Like your piece "Potential", you seem to have a habit of explaining some of the deeper meaning you intended with your story when you arrive at your conclusion. I would discourage you from doing this. You're very skilled at communicating your point subtly, and would suggest building upon that, making sure you can express your point through allusion, rather than basically putting a line the end that says "this is what I meant to say".

Another analogy is when a skilled painter paints a scene, he uses his craft to direct the viewers eye towards what he wants them to see and focus on, and how he wants them to see the work. He does not then take that scene, draw a circle around what he wants the viewer to see.

I think with a little more work you can conclude that story and emphasized the loss of Jennifer and it's significance with more allusion and less explanation, and the story will be richer for the effort.

Another fine effort. You have a bright future.

[Jenna]

So what was the real story behind this? Did u actually call her balack or did ur friend set u up?

[SoulCrusader (Yas)]

I'm sorry that happened to you, lol just winding you up!!!! Enjoyed the story, and race is a tricky issue, and a very sensitive one at that. And poor Jennifer as well!!! Anyways nice read :)