Devoid [Bruno Mars]

Chapter nineteen

Chapter nineteen

“My young Brunzwick and my young Driggs!” Phil grinned at us when the van door opened. It was the kind of van that had backseats on all sides, having ample space. Dre was here, his round, hardened face holding a small emotion that, frustratingly, I could not decipher.

“You good, man?” Bruno dropped into the seat next to Phil, doing that guy hand shake slash hug thing that guys do.

“Hey Philipsburg,” I greeted him as I stepped inside, Bruno lending a hand.

“Adrian!” Urbana, Phil's wife, threw out her hands, inviting an embrace. She carried the same scent from when I first met her at Phil's place: rose petals. “It's relieving to have another person here with the same parts as me,” she had said to me, rolling her eyes playfully. She enveloped me when Phil introduced us and I was engulfed with the smell of roses. Why Phil loved her was evident to me. She was one of pure affability, which seemed to fit perfectly with his goofy personality. We had joined the men in their video game playing instead of attempting to peel them away from them. Bruno beat my ass in NBA Sports, but—with a hidden smirk from me—lost to Phil and the rest of the band mates whose names I do not remember. Cameron, Wayne?

I settled into the spot alongside Urbana and touched her hair faintly. “The new color suits you well,” I complimented admiringly. Her purple dress matched the purple streaks in her long, dark hair; the right side of her head shaven completely bald.

“Thanks.” She smiled, lifting a lock of my own hair. “Urgh, girl, you should let me color yours.”

“What? Is it too bland for you?” I laughed, pushing the bangs out of my eyes. 

“No.” She shook her head, lips pursing. “Too tamed.” 

“You saying you're wild?” Phil asked his wife. I glanced out the window. We drove through the residence's gates. Benny, the gate guard, waved, and Bruno rolled down the window so he and I could return the gesture. Benny was awfully friendly. “Wild thang,” Phil sang, bobbing his head. “You make my heart sang. You remember that song, B?”

“You make everythang. . . groovy,” Bruno finished in answer. “Well man, you do have jungle fever,” he added, smirking.

“And you don't?” Phil questioned with a laugh. I could feel his eyes focus on me behind his glasses, which he adjusted as if to take a better look. “Wait, what are you Adrian?”

Bruno's smirk faded. I looked at Phil, my mouth parted, ready to answer. Then I cast my eyes down to myself, at my skin the color of Bruno's but sort of. . . yellowish? and my dark hair that reached my armpits in waves, not the neatest. My mother grew up in Grim without knowing her parents. She had no knowledge of her ethnic group so neither did I. There was no family tree to climb and if there was it would be thin and bare, like a tree in winter. It was only us two Hayes left, no one else. I thought about the nationality choices on state tests I took during high school and college; I always bubbled in other.

I looked at all three faces.

“It doesn't matter,” Bruno said, coming to my rescue. Our eyes met from across the van. It did matter to me, and I knew he saw that written in my eyes. But what would I say to them? A random race that I am not? It was another thing that I wasn't a part of. Another thing that made me feel lost, without belonging. . .

“Mixed?” Urbana guessed. “You look like a mutt. Black, white, Hispanic. . .”

I shrank back. “I. . .”

“Yo, turn up the radio!” It was Bruno, easily changing the topic off of me.

The radio's volume lifted, and Urbana abandoned the topic of my race quickly, “This is my jam.” I smiled, relieved, glancing at my skin again and feeling my smile dim.