2. Family Too

The car comes to a sudden halt, jolting me out of my memory bank. I look at my father handing a post officer his military ID along with mine. The post officer nods and hands my father and my ID back, and waves them through, on Base. Home is on Base, not in the apartments where the Privates or Single Soldiers live. We live in the back of the military base to ensure we are well protected. Our neighborhood comes complete with a pool area, recreational center, and a library. It is a few miles from the P-Extra; P-Extra is a military commissary, a store almost like Wal-Mart except if you are military you do not have to pay taxes at this store.

The car stops again in the driveway of a two-story house with my mom's car in the driveway. I sigh relieved to be home, even though we have five bedrooms, we are still constantly bumping into each other. A big house and a small family would seem like it would be enough room for everyone.

I quickly get out and briskly walk to the front door with my food bag and cup. My father follows behind and unlocks the door with his key. I enter the house and immediately go upstairs into my room that I share with my older sister. The two boys’ rooms are downstairs near the kitchen area since they are always eating late at night. My parent's bedroom is upstairs as well; we have a few extra bedrooms.

I am not sure as to why I am sharing a room with my sister, but if it makes her happy, then I am happy as well. My thoughts is because we have always shared a room to have each other to talk to, but there should be an age limit to this.

I sit on my bed and take the salad out the bag; the taunts from the strangers are still going through my mind.

I do not get how people could be so mean, just because of my skin tone or the real reason: the Winters’ family adopted me. I was only five years old when they adopted me. Mrs. Winters had decided to adopt me because Sydnie wanted a sister and Mrs. Winters wanted another child. Even though they had two more children at home, they never treated me poorly; I was and still am an equal to the ones they gave birth to. Though being treated as an equal at home had me unprepared for the real world.

She remembers few things from her childhood. These few things aren't exactly heartwarming. They break her heart every time she remembers. It changed, of course, for the better. A different step in the right direction, Sirrah liked to remind herself. She was only five when she was adopted by a white family, the last of the orphans that were at the house. It was a happy moment in her dull life. There was a young girl with her parents, the Winters' who came to adopted Sirrah.

However, it was a sad thought. It was only a matter of time before she would forget again. The normal, happy life style. The judging looks the family would get when Sirrah joined the Winters'. A start of a revolution to something bigger.

. I know there are many respectable people around the world that have the exact same skin tone as I do, but they get more respect than I do. I ponder what do I have to do in order to get people to stop teasing me and see me as another human being, an equal.

Sighing, I try to shake this feeling so I can eat the wonderful looking salad. However, I look at the salad, sadly, my appetite now gone. I push the salad to the side and just sip the tea, and turning the television on. Watching Maury, my mind turns back to the stupid people at the McDonald's. I really want to cry so bad, but after being teased about my skin tone my whole life and being adopted into a white family and crying about the situations my whole life, all I can really do is just mope in a depressive state for a while.

I look around the room, my dark grey toned hues stop on the pictures of my sister and my sister's steady boyfriend of eleven months, on my sister's nightstand. He is a high yellow young man, a little older than my sister is, but they make it work. I envy my sister's relationship with her boyfriend.

Having not had a relationship yet, I would not know the first thing to do with a boyfriend. I look on my own side and only a lone picture that is of me and Alchemy on Summer Break of last year. It sits on my nightstand.

I can hear my brothers' loudly enter the house and their heavy footsteps race into the kitchen. I get up and go greet our mother.

"Hey, mama," I greet with a smile on my face.

My mother turns around from the kitchen sink and hugs me, "Hey, did you get your food?" I smile at the brown freckles which cover her nose and a little under her eyes. She goes back to making her famous baked lasagna for dinner with garlic bread. Mom cooks exceptionally well; she actually owns her own catering business and soon plans to open her own restaurant.

"Yes, ma'am," I watch my little brothers, ages 15 and 16 play around at the dining room table.

"Did you get hit on today, Sirrah?" Nickolas; my 15-year-old terror of a brother taunts.

I hang my head and meekly let out a, “No.” I have to go through this mess in the streets; I simply do not want to come home to it. I come home to escape the rumors in the public.

“Nickolas Chancey Winters,” Mother calls. “If you don’t leave your sister alone, I know something.” She warns waving the spoon at him.

Nick rolls his eyes and moves closer to me. He whispers, “Of course not, looking like a burnt marshmallow.”

Tears begin to burn the rims of my eyes as I clench my fists by my side until a hard smack sounds on the side of Nick’s head from our father.

Tears swell up in Nick’s brown eyes as he rubs the side of his head. “Ow!” Nick sniffles. “What’d I do?” He turns to father; who is not pleased at what he had heard by the scowl on his face.

Our mother scolds him quickly with a growl, "No football practice for a week. I will talk to your coach tomorrow to ensure that you don't play."

Nickolas' mouth gapes open in shock as if he said nothing wrong. A sudden hard smack on the side of his head comes from our father that echoes down the hallway of the house.

Tears swell up in Nick's eyes as he rubs the side of his head. “NO! Please!” Football is Nick’s life and he plans to go to the NFL. Mother really hit him where it hurt.

"What did I tell you about that, Nickolas?" Our father shouts grabbing the sobbing and pleading Nickolas by his shirt. "What did I tell you, huh?" He snatches him by his shirt collar and Nickolas cries.

"I am sorry, father.” He turns to mother, “Mama, I am sorry." Nickolas begs frantically with tears running down his face.

"Son, we are not the ones you should be apologizing to."

Nick turns to me, his eyes red and puffy, and parts his lips. Nothing escapes them, though. Father jerks Nick down the hallway to his room as he cries hysterically. I know he is not crying because father thumped him upside his head, but the fact that he will not be able to play football for two weeks. Nick was not always cruel to me, but he saw what other people saw and became a part of them.

"Are you okay, Sirrah?" Zander, 16-year-old, asks still at the table. Zander also saw the difference in the family and me. He heard what the strangers said and he would always jump to my defense. Being the third born, Zander always has a knack for trying to always comfort me in my time of need. Even when he really could not, he would always try.

"Yea, I am okay." I smile knowing that Zander will always be the comforting one out of the two brothers. Zander gets up and hugs me. I hug my little brother back, patting his back.

"I told that boy not to pick on Sirrah. That is his sister, no matter what she looks like or what people say. I don't understand why he does it." Our father huffs and straightens his suit.

"I know, Roy. I think it is because he sees other people doing it, but doesn't see how it hurts her." Our mother says putting some of the garlic bread on the fryer. "I don't know what else to do about it. I have banned him from football and basketball. I have taken his electronics away and I have whooped him for it."

"He'll learn . . . one day," our father, says looking in the hall mirror at his suit. He tries to get the nonexistent wrinkles out before work.

"Yeah, he will definitely learn when Sirrah two pieces him in the mouth." Zander laughs, jabbing at the air with his fists.

Father begins to laugh uproariously, I start laughing as well. Our mother does too. I am not a violent person, but if that is the only way, Nick will learn. I am up for it. Just kidding… a little.

"Maybe," Roy partially agrees chuckling as well. "I have to go to work." He daps Zander, kisses his wife, and tightly hugs me, then leaves.

"Sirrah, when did your sister say she'd be home? It's a school night." Our mother puts the noodles and meat on the stove.

"I don't really know." I shrug my shoulders.

"Could you go get her? She does not need tobe at that boy's house all day and night. It's bad enough that she spends all her time with him, she needs to give him a break and get out of his face." Mother lecture waving the spoon she uses to stir the noodles.

I nod. Grabbing my favorite coat, I put it on. Before I leave the house, I stare at myself in thefull-lengthmirror that is attached to the wall near the front door. Sighing, I open the door and leave the house. Walking down the street, I always have a lot on my mind, but that is to be discussed in my own time.