OniHana

Her was Chang-Dharia and most black people--A lot of black people didn't get that. Her father was Japanese, and her mother was a black woman. It didn't matter to them so she never asked what Chang meant. Maybe there is some special meaning to it. Maybe not. But her father explained anyway. "According to some cultures, "Chang" can also be a surname." her father told her. "The Korean term "Chang" (찿) may denote both "window" and "flourishing." 

"Flourishing Dharia?" that was pretty to her and caused a faint smile. "What does Dharia mean?" 

"That came from your aunt Natalie." he said. She pouted. How could they let that woman name her? She rested her chin in her hands. ""Chang" (踸) can literally mean "often," "common," or "unchanging" in Chinese. In Chinese tradition, it can also be used as a surname (姓)."

"So, my name is like Rose-Ann."

"It shows that I share differences with your mother. She's African American and her sister thinks she owns her." her father began to smile. "But now she is in jail. Thank God."

"Auntie has been in jail for like 12 years."

"And that means she lives there and should never leave."

She sighed, her father was full of jokes. "What does Chang mean in Japanese?"

"I don't know. Dharia, honey, I hate Chinese. I had a teacher who was Chinese and that man swore from the hells under that China ruled Japan. I fucking hate the Chinese." he took a drink from his green tea. "Such awful people."

"That's racist." she groaned. "So? Let me tell you something about racism. Growing up, you may encounter prejudice in this world due to your mixed ancestry. It hurts and is incorrect. But here's something you should keep in mind: neither your skin tone nor the origins of your ancestors define your value."

"Why do they say Chinese people eat dogs?" she asked. He threw his head back as he finished his tea. "Because they do. Now, I have to go to work and fill out some paperwork because my dumb ass chose to be a goddamn accountant." He got up from his chair and grabbed his cane from the kitchen counter. "You tell your mother that next month is holiday. I don't have to work." he told his daughter. "Are we doing something special?"

"Sleeping." he said, heading for the door. Dharia listened for the car outside to pull out the driveway. She looked around the kitchen, and there was still tea on the stove. She took his cup, put water in it and placed it in the sink. In the corner of eyes, she saw a roach crawling. She threw the dish sponge at it but it kept moving forward. 

"What the fuck." It seemed drab or dingy. Maybe it was already half dead, It's legs are dragging or jerking slightly. It's a nasty thing, as one of the wings was crumpled and revealed. She took a spoon out the dresser and tossed it at the bug. It flipped over and couldn't get on it's feet. "Ugh..."

She walked out the kitchen and noticed a fly in the living room, sitting casually on the remote. "What are you watching?" She turned to the TV, which was completely black. "Did you know that's what hell looks like for fly people?"

And came a curious thought. What do flies believe in? Like, did flies prefer certain foods? Did mother flies tell their children to stay away from things that could kill them? "Your mother is probably dead." she berated at the fly. "Y'all always in a nigga's house. You are poor, useless, and annoying. You have no value. You don't pay bills. That's 410 in this house! What do you have to offer!" She stomped her feet."

"Dharia!" her mother called from upstairs. She went upstairs and opened her parent's broken door. "Yes mama?"

"Stop yelling." she said. "I heard the door downstairs, who was in the house?"

"Nobody," her mother was in the bed wearing her red pajamas. "Why you yelling so much?"

She hated to admit it, "I was yelling at a fly."

"What?"

"It's a fly downstairs. So I started threatening it."

"Girl, what is wrong with you?" questioned her mother. "Nothing. What's wrong with you?"

"Cancer pains." her mother rubbed her hips. "I had to change dresses. I peed on myself." She was startled, "Mama, call me!" she shouted. "It's only a matter of time and treatment is running your father out of the house. He sold all his clothes and just wears that damn black suit."

"Do you need anything?" she asked. "Get the coco butter so I can smell good."

She grumbled but walked out the house to look in the store down the street. Miss Theresa Bowen ran the neighboring beauty parlor, Quality Cures. The shop, however, smelled like mustard. Ms. Bowen was missing, but she went to the small selves and stared at all the hair products, matte clay, olaplex hair repair, canto, styling hold gel, and many more. But no coco butter.

She heard a door in the back open and went to the front counter. "Ms. Bowen, do you have cocoa butter?" The old woman shook her head. "I don't like coco butter. But Monique might have it, she's over in Perry. Her store is next to the CVs, and there is a voodoo doll in front." 

"Perry?" she scoffed. "Damn." She rolled her eyes and went towards the door. On the way home, she heard the phone ring. She assumed it was her father, she went to the phone and picked it up. "Hello?"

"You do it." said the voice over the phone. It was something in Japanese, "Jibunjishin'no `oni' to taiji suru toki, jibun no uchinaru chikara o omoidashite kudasai. Jishin o motte karera ni tachimukaimashou. Mukō-gawa de seikō ga matte imasu."

"Alright. Do you know my father?" the call ended. "Hello?"

The phone was silent. She put it back on the receiver and wall. Did you went upstairs to her mother. "Mama, I went to Ms. Bowen. She don't have coco butter."

"I fucking hate her. Let me tell you something, she makes homemade coco butter, and her grandson Tracy, broke out in hives."

"So don't go over there?"

"No." her mother grabbed her side. "Oooo!"

"Mama!" Dharia grabbed her hand. "You want a pain pill?"

"Give me three painkillers." After she spoke, the phone downstairs rang. Dharia went to the bathroom and looked in the cabinet for painkillers. What she saw was a big bottle of aspirin. She took the bottle and listened to the phone ring again. She threw the bottle of aspirin at her mother and hurried downstairs. "Dharia! Get me water!" her mother shouted.

Downstairs, she picked up the phone, "Freehope Memorial Gardens would like to send you blessing. The grave, born on December 30, 1924 has passed a notice to the closest family members, Orena Miles and Natalie Miles. The grave for Eddie Miles is set for January 15." 

She scratched up her nose, "That's not normal." She wondered if she could call the number back. She put the phone up and went upstairs. "Dharia! Get me some water!" her mother shouted. "What the fuck am I supposed to do? Choke?"