Our emancipation doesn't fit their equation~
Aesthetic ~ 4
The white man who seems to lead this whole audition claps his hands sharply, drawing everyone who hasn't noticed him before attention. He grins, wrinkled cheeks creasing even though he was relatively young. He was holding a thin sheet of white paper.
"All right, listen up! We're gonna skip the dramatics--there'll be no crying, boo hooing, death threats --none of that. When you hear your number go to the registry desk to get your contract. You've been hired."
There was some nervous rustling before he continues, looking down at his sheet.
"Okay, numbers goes as follows 57, 62, 98, 76, 45...." On and on it goes, numbers flowing from his mouth at a steady even pace. Her bottom lip was clenched between her teeth, and she could hear the intake of excited inhales and the disappointed exhales.
Some people were already silently crying as their numbers seemingly pass by without getting called. It was making her upset because it seems like she was gonna be in the same boat as them.
The man folds the sheet in half, sticking it in his pocket and putting his hands on his hips.
"Thank you all for coming out and auditioning. We wish you luck on your future endeavors and success. If your number has not been called, please exit the building at this time."
So she didn't make it.
Afrika holds up a good front, hiding her despair behind a blank face. She stands up along with half the room and begins the walk to the door. Tears fill up in her eyes but she swallows them back, telling herself she should've never got her hopes up in the first place.
Especially in a time like this.
She was the first one to the door so she yanks it open, warm air hitting her face. It was about mid-afternoon and the next bus should be running soon. She doesn't want to miss it. She puts a little pep in her step.
While walking she convinces herself that she never needed the job. That her help was needed for the movement.
It wasn't much but the lie eases the sting in her heart.
~
"Why didn't you tell me days ago that you didn't make it? I wouldn't have laughed." Roxxanne asks, rubbing coconut oil in her coarse black locks.
Afrika picks up the comb she was using and shrugs absently, the incident successfully pushed to the back of her head. What happened was now a distant memory. Or so she tells herself.
"I was mad at myself for even trying out. I should've known I wouldn't meet the standard." She admits quietly.
Roxxanne shakes her head, twisting a section in her hair and wrapping a rubber band around it. "Don't say that. Stop putting yourself down because you're better than that. I know you were just as good as anyone in the room."
"Mmhp." She makes a non committal response, toying with the teeth in the comb. She was becoming depressed again.
"Here, let's not talk about that. Can you do the back of my head for me please?" Roxxanne scoots closer to her, holding the hair oil out imploringly.
Afrika takes it without saying anything and places her fingers in her hair, cutting a portion out with her hands and two strand twisting the hair, circling it in a knot and wrapping a rubber band around it. She moves on to the next one. Then the next one.
