Kimberly's Monologue

Hi I’m Kim. I am 16 years old and in grade 11. I live with my mom and my half sister Giselle in Toronto. I sometimes stay with my dad on weekends but he is not really regular with that. My sister is one year younger than me, but she fast-tracked so we’re in the same grade. We really don’t get along. Her entire essence and being bothers me to be honest. Life just seems so much easier for her in all aspects. And why?—I don’t know, just straight luck. Just goes to show how little control we have over our own lives. Guess I just must have called tails on God’s coin toss when it was heads.

You could say I’m angry. Angry at exactly who I don’t know, but I’m angry at my life and how ugly it is. I partially blame my mom for making so many mistakes and choices that I have to pay for now. The first was having a kid with a total dead beat 16 years ago. A black dead beat at that. It was a little girl and she named her Kimberly. The second would be getting knocked up AGAIN right after… with a different dude. This dude was white and had a good job and was happy for a baby and thought she was gift from heaven. I guess there’s something wrong with my mom though, because he left her too. But he never left his little angel, Giselle. So here’s this white woman now with two illegitimate children of different races. She would say who cares and what difference does it make, it’s just colour. But I see how people stare at us, at me—the only part that doesn’t seem to fit the pattern even though I came first. She thinks I don’t know, but I know why we never see any of her family anymore, not even granny. I over heard her talking to Auntie Lisa on the phone saying that two summer’s ago when we went up North to a cottage Auntie Ann was saying to her and granny that “ya know, Kim is really pretty for being half black”. I’m guessing there was some sort of blow out or argument and Auntie Ann wasn’t the only one who felt that way, because we haven’t seen any of them since. My own grandmother! Now you tell me race doesn’t matter. Of course mom can barely afford to feed and house us and Dad’s child support cheques are FAR and in between. Giselle’s dad does his share but he only has one kid to support in our house remember. She has some new gadget every week and I know she always comes home with new clothes or jewelry from daddy dearest even though she tries to hide it. Mom tries to get me some extras once and a while when she can but I told her it’s lame and I know what she’s doing. This brings me to mom’s mistake number three: thinking I’m going to sit there and take all the bullshit she’s thrown at me and call us a family. What are the functions of a family? Whatever they are, they’re not being sustained here. So, I made my own family: Martina and Shyla, my girls.

Me and my girls are a unit. We’re tight and don’t fuck around. We love each other and we support each other. We hustle, we grind and we get the things we need. There’s nothing out of our reach with the three of us together. TT, Shy and I run the halls of our high school. Nobody messes with us and I know who I am there. I realize that I can’t afford to live on my own yet, so I still live at home, but I have become really skilled at using the people around me to get what I want. I keep my grades up which keeps my mom appeased so she doesn’t ask me questions and I can run my business. Putting food in the house and giving us transportation money is pretty much as far as her parenting goes. She’s not really home often because she works two jobs, so I just delete the messages from the vice principal when I get suspended for fights or skipping. If it really comes down to it, I can convince my dad to call into the school to back me up, by crying racism. He doesn’t believe in the education institute anyway. As far as he’s concerned everyone’s racist. And Giselle, she keeps her mouth shut. She wouldn’t dare tell on me, because she knows she’ll have hell to pay. They’re all so predictable.

Shyla, TT and I get into a lot of shit. We drink, we party, and smoke weed. We just want to have fun and not think about how much life sucks. We make money whenever and however we can whether it’s stealing, dealing, fucking some chump, whatever. I always have to look fly and rock the latest shit so I do what I have to do to get it. I don’t really care what the law says is right or wrong because I don’t think the law was made for people like me. Giselle is on my case all the time with her stupid ass, but like my dad says she was born on the right side of the law and she’ll never get it. Despite his drunkenness and irresponsibility my dad has taught me a lot about the world I live in and what it means to be black. He taught me to be realistic and that life is not a fairy tale. There are barriers and walls everywhere for black people he says and don’t think that being half white makes me exempt. I don’t take offense to this because I know that he’s just trying to make me stronger. This is his way of loving me. He told me that my mom will never understand. And she doesn’t. I know for sure she loves me, but we just can’t relate. I guess in this case it’s what’s on the outside that counts.

You know what maybe that’s true for everything in life. Fuck being a good person and looking for the best in others. That’s bullshit and you just get hurt. It’s all about what do you have and what can you do for me. You have to be tough and fierce because animals prey on the weak and we’re all just animals. What do I see in my future? Well, I don’t ever want to end up like my mom; she got fucked over in all senses of the word. I used to think I wanted to get married and have a family so I could prove to myself that happy families do exist, but more and more everyday this becomes a fading image. I don’t think that that kind of trust and devotion from a man is possible. I know I want to get out of this ghetto. I don’t want to hustle the rest of my life it’s just all I know how to do right now. I really love music and TT and I were thinking maybe of writing some songs and making our own album. We haven’t thought of a name yet for the group but, either way it’ll be hot. And then if we make lots of money I’ll adopt a bunch of poor black children, move far away and give them a life no one ever thought possible. There’s a dream. That would be nice. And maybe I’d actually have the chance to be happy in this life.

Ok, now back to reality.