Diary of an Ugly Duckling by Langhorne, Karyn (general ebook reader .txt) 📕

is just going to decide

you’re some self-hating black woman who wants to

look like a white girl—”

“It’s not going to come across like that!” Audra

exclaimed. “No one’s going to think—”

“They will if you don’t tell your story!” Shamiyah

nearly shouted. “Come on, Audra! You know how

sensitive we are about color in the black commu-

nity. If you just show up one color and leave a

different one without saying a word about it, what

else are people gonna think! But”—Shamiyah con-

tinued in a voice that regained its reassuring

calm—“when you tell your story, you come across

differently. You’re . . .” She paused as if gathering

steam to present her argument. “You’re a person

who doesn’t like the hand she was dealt and has de-

cided to use the resources available to change it.

You’re not filled with self-hate. You’re . . . coura-

geous,” she said, nodding as though she heard a

choir of amens in her head. “Personally, I think

you’re brave as hell to do this—and to tackle it on

TV.” Her smile vanished again. “But you got to give

it to the shrink straight. We’re gonna need that

footage to help explain your reasons for making

such radical changes. Okay?”

Audra’s chest felt tight, as though her heart were

being squeezed in a vise. The idea of delving into

the depths of the pain of the past made her head

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hurt . . . but the possibility of being perceived as

one of those black folks who hated her blackness

was even worse. “I don’t know,” she muttered,

rubbing at her temples. “I’ll . . . I’ll have to think

about it.”

Shamiyah hesitated, as though debating the wis-

dom of lengthening her pep talk a bit. But ulti-

mately, she just nodded. “I’m beat, how about you?”

she said, filling the space between them with a final

elaborate yawn that seemed a little fake. “You should

get some rest, too. You’ll be meeting with the dentist

tomorrow morning and Dr. Goddard again in the

afternoon, I think—”

“And the nutritionist in between,” Audra said,

trying to laugh, but her heart wasn’t in it.

“Right, right,” Shamiyah said, but her tone made

it clear that she was about as interested in the nutri-

tionist’s comments as she was in the current condi-

tion of the polar ice cap. “Oh, I almost forgot. I got

you these.” She pulled a wide-brimmed straw hat

with a red ribbon around its base, an elegant red

scarf and a pair of long, red gloves from her bag.

“Throw away that baseball cap and jacket. These are

much more hip.”

“Wow . . . it’s so . . . so . . .” Audra settled the hat

on her head and wrapped the scarf around her

throat, wishing for a mirror for the first time since

Shamiyah had admitted her to this small apartment.

“Audrey Hepburn.”

“Exactly,” Shamiyah nodded. “I thought you’d

like it.”

“I do. Thank you.”

“No problem. And talk to Doc Goddard. Let’s get

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197

the situation on camera for all the sisters and broth-

ers out there to see, okay?” she said and waved her

good night.

Chapter 16

Thursday, June 28

Dear Petra,

Thanks for the email. I got a little scared when I didn’t

hear from you . . .

It’s funny, isn’t it? I don’t mind letting them cut me

up (well, maybe a little) and I haven’t minded Dr.

Jamison’s treatments. To me, those were meant to

help me be more like you and Kiana . . . and even Ma.

I don’t mind knowing that at this Reveal there will be a

huge blowup of me in my fat, black and ugly glory

beside my new reality: something light and bright and

slender. I know people will draw whatever conclusion

suits them and I’m fine with it.

I don’t mind inviting the public to watch all the

external stuff . . . but I do mind the idea of talking to

this body-image consultant and having my most

personal doubts recorded for public consumption.

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199

But I don’t think there’s much I can do about it now.

Maybe Shamiyah’s right: Maybe it’s better to explain

myself than to leave it alone and let people reach what-

ever conclusions about me that they want to. Or maybe

it’s not other people I’m worried about at all. Maybe it’s

just that I don’t want to talk about any of that stuff. I

don’t want to go there. It’s one thing to beat Ma over the

head with it . . . It’s something else to really think about

it, what it means to me, who I am, my relationships . . .

I keep asking myself WWPD: What would Petra do?

Enlighten me, oh wise one!

Be careful out there,

Audra

“So. It’s tomorrow.” Edith’s voice was heavy

with the lateness of the hour. She sounded

tired and defeated to Audra’s ears . . . but it could

have just been a by-product of the thousands of

miles between them.

“Yep.” Audra forced her voice to bouncy enthusi-

asm she didn’t feel. “Tomorrow’s the big slice and

dice. Or at least it’s the first of the three days of slic-

ing and dicing.”

There was a long pause. Audra could almost see

her mother’s face: her cinnamon skin a little gray

without her makeup, her latest hairstyle tied down

tight in a colorful do-rag. She would be sitting in her

room by now, maybe on the bed, maybe at the little

desk that housed her computer, where she faithfully

typed an email to Petra every night, just as Audra

herself did, every morning. The image gave Audra

an unexpected sense of comfort.

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“I don’t suppose you’re gonna back out now? I

don’t suppose you might change your mind before

they knock you out and do what they’re gonna

do . . . because . . .” She hesitated for the briefest

moment, before rushing on to say, “You can still

come home. I know there’s been some harsh words

between us. But”—her mother spoke faster still, as if

expecting Audra to rain anger upon her before