Indian Aunty 1242

One picture particularly disturbed Samantha. It was the self-portrait my friend Evelyn painted of herself after her third and last suicide attempt. When it had happened, my mom was afraid that me and my friends had formed some sort of suicide pact because of something she saw on Oprah or something. I had thought of death a lot during high school, but looking back on the first two years, they were rough, but the last two years were worth it despite the fact that I had distanced myself from the people who had taken me in as one of their own. Evelyn didn’t die, and I was glad for it. After being locked up for awhile, she discovered art, particularly painting. Some of her work was so moving that she got a scholarship to a major art institute in Europe. I thought this was great since the one thing she had wanted most in the world was to get out of our small and small-minded town, whether escaping by death or travel. Nothing made me more happy than seeing her face as she was boarding the. The truck and car traffic were more frequent, signalled the approaching border. “I hope we have an easy crossing into Ghana. I’ll feel more comfortable being back in my own homeland,” Jenny said.They moved slowly, car by car, towards the inspection point. “Make sure we have our passports ready,” Sula mentioned.Jenny took them out of her purse, handing each theirs. “Oh Scott, don’t forget your moustache,” Jenny reminded him. He pressed it above his upper lip, and a moment later, it fell off. He reapplied it, but the moustache wouldn’t remain in place.“Shit, my moustache won’t stick to me because of my whiskers! What do we do?” He feared.“I don’t know!” Jenny cried.There was no time to do anything as the Ivory Coast border guard motioned Scott up next to him. “I thought we’d be stopped by the Ghanaian border guard not the Ivory Coast military first,” he complained.“Passeports s’il vous plaît,” “Passports please,” the guard asked, holding out his right hand. Scott inspected the AK 47.
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