Veronica

I still think of her, my beautiful black Honduran friend, from my first grade class.

We would sit next to each other in class and play hopscotch during recess.  

Her bright pink bows and clips bouncing in the air. 

We had a lot in common: We liked to play with our Barbies, watch the same shows, 

and we both liked White boy George from our class.

George had hazel eyes and dirty blonde hair cut into the popular mushroom cut of the 90's.

One day Veronica decided to tell him she liked him, to which he replied, " yuck I don't like girls

with dark skin."

That day our walk home with our moms was unusually quiet for the two of us.  

Our moms, kept asking if we were ok to which we both nodded yes.  

The next morning we all walked to school together and Veronica was her usual happy self.

I was so glad that things were back to normal and my friend was ready to talk and jump over the

concrete cracks with me. 

At one point she held her head up high and said, "I'm becoming white and George is going to like

me."

I looked at her, a bit confused, and waited for her to finish. 

Raising her arm, her hand in front of my little face, she said, "Look at the bottom of my hands...

They're white.  Just like the bottom of my feet too... Soon I'll be white all over and George will like

me."

I didn't say anything.  I didn't know what to say, but I knew she was wrong. 

I just looked at my friend. 

She didn't say much after that either. 

She walked right next to me and looked ahead, a small smile on her face. 

Together, we walked in silence the rest of the way.