She walked in, bleach hair and mildly tanned skin, wearing a black blazer and a pair of fitted jeans, the details finished off by pale pink flats with some flowery formation dripping from them. She seemed like the housewife type. I wouldn't know what that's like because I've never met one, but if I have ever seen a housewife, she would fit the description. She didn't seem to be in a rush. She wasn't looking around at everyone in the waiting room, judging each face. She didn't seem to care about anyone else, truthfully.
Behind her, in walked a striking opposite. Still nonchalant, looking through her purse for her phone, a tall brown-skinned girl strolled through the clinic's door, finishing a text message. Her small uniform polo was an almost blindingly clean shade of white. Her khaki pants were more gold than they were tan, seeming to be tailored. Matching trendy thong sandals hugged neon pink toenails. Her braids were so detailed, it must have been a long day at the hair salon. She walked behind blondie and stood in line.
No one looked. No one assumed. No one thought.
Mrs. Housewife turned back and whispered, "Silence your phone."
Miss Trendy nodded and smiled, hushing her Blackberry into a buzz with every received email.
That's when the ma'am in the first seat against the wall next to the door stared.
She stared for a while.
While she stared, I smiled, shaking my head, knowing what she was thinking of.
Mrs. Mom and Miss Daughter continued their conversation about tomorrow's homework assignments and when the dance recital was going to be. Miss Daughter was excited, talking about how "Senior year's going to be the best, mom."
Now, at that last syllable, everyone stopped what they were doing and unashamedly stared gaping at the two women.
Mom? Did she just call her mom? But she's white. And she's black. How could she be mom?
I don't know. Maybe she's the biological mother. Maybe she's adopted. But in the end, I don't care, because the expression on the patient's faces were priceless.
We live in the twenty-first century, yes? Well, at least I do. Last time I checked, there was nothing wrong with a white woman being the mother of a black girl. Why make everything such a commotion when we've declared to be the millennium of open-mindedness and acceptance? Sure, we frown when we see a Chinese girl with a Kenyan, but we're still open-minded, right? I mean, yeah, gays and bis are all gross and icky, but we're objective people who see things from every angle and make no judgments. I know, when you see a Muslim walking down the street you duck and cover, but we're still all about religious freedom, huh?
WAKE UP PEOPLE.
This isn't the world we're living in. You might want to think yourself someone amazing and forgiving and intelligent and accepting, but you're just as brutally biased as the guy in the corner who's waving around a confederate flag yelling "GIT ALL THOSE DAMN BEANERS OUTTA MY COUNTRY!"
So she sits down and shows Mrs Mom her Senior pictures that finally came in. The woman next to Miss Daughter looks horrified. I keep smiling. She has a Love Pink bag. I'm not surprised. Mom looks like the type of woman who loves doing those all-day shopping sprees at the Village at Merrick Park. She probably loves that bonding thing with the painting each others' nails and having slumber parties, staying up late talking about boys and such.
My iPod falls and I dash to the floor to pick it up.
Oh. What is this?
Miss Daughter has a tattoo on her left foot?
But Mom looked like she would have a PALIN 2010 bumper sticker on the rear of her red BMW.
How could that be?
Well, Daughter has a second piercing on both ears and an additional one on the shell of her right ear.
So Mom had to be a little more liberal, didn't she? Because goodness forbid that I asked my mom to get a second piercing anywhere. She might think I started following Satan and became a witch. (Which... the latter... wouldn't be surprising considering my undying love for Harry Potter and the supernatural.... just saying.)
Maybe Mom shopped lingerie with daughter at Victoria's Secret. Maybe she was Modern Mom that way.
"Rae?"
I looked up at the shiny counter. A short, plump woman in green scrubs and worn Nike's smiled and open the door.
"Just wait here until I get the new pair of contacts for you to try. The Dr.'s going to see you in a couple of minutes."
I smiled politely at her. "Thanks, Manuela."
