Catfishing
At 5:00, “Amber” waves away friends: all blonde and petite like herself. All porcelain and privilege. The door shuts behind them. She unfolds her skin from the beginning of her hairline. She scratches a little, then peels with her thumbs and pointer fingers when there’s enough looseness to grip. The blonde wig slides backwards and onto the polished wooden floor. The synthetic skin divides between her front and back. Her real body seeps out into a puddle. She glides herself around the floor, rolling freely as only liquid can. In this state, she thinks herself as nectar ready to seduce birds. Enough fun, she says to herself, finally moving into the crack that is her freezer. She has to become solid enough to make dinner. After a couple of hours, she steps out all chubby brown legs and afro hair. She dampens a washcloth and scrubs away the various “N” words she said today while in uniform. The ink burns and resists the water, but these slurs must be gone by the time the others come over. They never talk about their inks, the things they had to do to fit in through the day. Just as she’s seasoning the chicken, her apartment door opens. Her boyfriend, Brian, drunkenly stomps in. “You can’t hide anymore, Amber,” he slurs. “Why can’t I ever come over at n — .” He stops in his tracks and leans forward to take in the Black woman in front of him. “Amber!” he calls. “There’s a nigger in here!” She shoves his scrawny body against the floor, slamming and locking the door this time. He’s shivering against her feet. “They’ll kill you if you hurt me, you Black bitch!” I wouldn’t do that, she assures him. Kiss me. You’ll see I’m harmless. He slowly stands up. Instead of kissing her, he shoves a pale hand against her bare crotch. “You think I don’t know the law?” he asks. “Your mouth is poison.” He studies her body. “The rest of you, though, fair game I guess.” As he tries to force himself onto her, she liquifies and floods the entire apartment where he drowns. She rolls into the freezer for a second time to solidify and once she does, she drags his body into it. The only thing she has in common with her persona is that they both hated this White boy. She finishes her dinner. Her friends come over and remove their cloaks. They discuss the usual: the new clothing holograms and virtual reality pornos. Amber notices the letter “N” on her friend Cassie’s arm. Cassie notices Amber noticing and swiftly moves her arm under the table. This food is great, she says to Amber. With a nod, Amber thanks her. When the discussion simmers a bit, Amber asks how things got so bad that all minorities have to live this way, inside shells of White culture. Not this shit again, everyone says in unison. You know how it happened, they insist. She drops it and offers to show them her latest trophy. They follow her to the freezer and poke at the White body like it’s a dead animal.
That’s too bad, Stacey offers. He was kind of cute.
And a racist rapist, Amber adds.
True. Hey, Clement, Stacey teases. Maybe you should use this body to catfish. Yours is aging horribly.
Fuck you, Clement offers.
The room erupts in laughter and stays that way for the next hour or so as Amber studies the ice crystals on Brian: a cold, cold White boy.
Andrea Jefferson is a creative residing in Southern Louisiana. Her chapbook Stray Curls and Dirty Laundry was released digitally in 2018.
