The Biracial Kid

Her parents whitened out my black number. The blocked call called me back by a number I couldn’t remember, hitting my brain like cocaine, as I sat somewhere in Carolina, dying in the cold alone and blue.

She came out of her parents’ basement, swinging to an exasperated breath on the hillside of California.

We embraced three days before Christmas. She toted a baby in hand, not caring that it was white and black.


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