I
WAS SIXTEEN.
I was washing dishes on a Saturday afternoon in my parent's house.
You get your shirt wet while washing dishes you’ll marry a nigger, that’s what grandma always said.
My mom was sitting there at the kitchen table smoking and clicking her dentures.
I didn't see her much.
She went to work at the factory before I got home from school and came home after I went to sleep.
I didn't mind not seeing her though.
She was a wretched narcissist who did nothing but tell horror stories of her mother the benny addict and her father beating her.
And how she was bourgeoisie even though her house was a ranch with two tiny cells for bedrooms.
I was washing dishes and some water splashed on my shirt.
Mother: You get your shirt wet while washing dishes you’ll marry a nigger, that’s what grandma always said.
Monco: You know when I grow up I plan on marrying a black person.
Mother: No you are not; I will not stand for any of my sons marrying a nigger.
Monco: That’s what I’m going to do, marry a nigger mom; I’m going to marry as many niggers as possible and have like thirty nigger children and bring them to your white trash family reunion.
Mother: You are such a fucking asshole; you would never do that to me.
Monco: Mom, you’re a goddamn nigger.
Mother: No, I’m fucking not you piece of shit!
Monco: Mom, we are all niggers to The Man.
