"Lunch Time"
Maggie Melo
Lunch Time
My porcelain pedestal rattles with the bell’s screech, as tiny feet shuffle back to class. Silence. Peering through my hair’s brown curtain, I pluck away the toilet paper from my eyelashes and lips. My lunch box is socked into my stomach, as I squat hunkered on top a toilet seat. I can’t let them see my feet. I carefully pry my red lunch box open and finger the plastic bag that cuddles two slices of white bread and pink bologna. I tear into the sandwich after I pull it from its sleeve...
…“Your feet are so big, do you go skiing on those frog eyes?”
…“No one likes you. If you are by yourself, I’ll hurt you so bad you can die.”
…“I hate you stupid china girl. I want to shoot your family and send them to the hospital.”
My digits push the empty bag into the box’s open mouth, and rummage a silver spoon from the inside. I held it to my face then tossed it into the box. My face was pink. Ugly pink like the bologna floating in my stomach. Pink like the inside of a rabbit’s ear. Pink like the wad of gum Vanessa plopped onto my seat. Pink like the stall walls that once dripped with pink paint. Pink like the time I picked my scabbed and revealed a smooth puddle of pink.
I dip my feet onto the blue-dirt tiles and snatch back the bathroom lock. Tap. Tap. Tip. Tap. Tip towards the sink. The chilly water stung against my hot face while tiny pieces of toilet paper waltzed down the drain. I rip the brown paper towel from the dispenser, and stick it against my pink face. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Those didn’t belong to me. I pull the paper snail speed from my eyes and see two classmates snickering behind their rattling blond twirls.
“What’s wrong China girl?”
I didn’t answer. I am Filipino, not Chinese.
“Let’s make a deal, say something in Chinese and we will give you some candy”
I step backwards, pinched between two white sinks.
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