It all began on a warm summer night, sun setting, laughter of children playing in the distance, smells of fried chicken sending smiles of excitement, kids rushing home with rumbling stomachs, meanwhile she glances up at the street lights, thinking to herself she only has a few more minutes to play with her new found friend. He’s a couple years older than her and she likes the way he looks, the way he treats her, and there is an attraction that neither of them hold the capacity to truly understand. As she walks in after a long day in the sun with a shiny red convertible remote control car, her mother asked where she received the car from. “it’s from my friend, he said I can play with it” she says. Her mother insisted that she give the toy back to the boy, not really sure why, she reluctantly returned the red convertible. Years pass and the two of them build a solid friendship. During there friendship they would run through burnt abandon houses, flip on urinated mattresses, bike riding to the white side of town, sitting on top of roof tops, eating junk food, you name it, they did it together!
One day the girls mother decided to move away to a new city for a fresh start. The girl was very sad, because not only would she be leaving all that she new, but her best friend would be left behind too, and so they went…Still trapped deep within her thoughts she remembers her first day of 9th grade being in a whole new city, everything was so big, bright and cleaner than where she came from. She saw white people mixed with black people, very little Asians and Arabs, unlike what she saw on a day to day. The only time she ever saw white people growing up was when she and her mother went across eight mile to shop at North Land Mall, a suburb located outside of Detroit, MI. Trying to make a home out of this new city the girl mother found a job at a local car wash. Not to mention mother was ridden of her kidneys after giving birth to her fifth child. The girls mother have five children to care for and also attended dialysis treatments 3 times a week for 4-6 hours per visit. Somehow the girl with no name kept her heart alive despite her families many struggles.
As she spent the summer in the new city of West Coast Sacramento CA, she sensed that she would never love innocently or fearlessly again. The girl had no friends, no knowledge of new hang out spots, just stood a girl and her broken heart. Every day that summer she would think back to that very moment when they had to depart. Not having any control over their own destiny, hopelessly losing the only thing that kept them both alive in the heart of the ghetto. He just stood there holding a pillow that they once laid on, a fan that blew on them during hot summer nights, and a teddy that she would hold dear when he wasn’t near. All the items he held were replaceable, but she wasn’t. The distance between them grew and the girl wanted to leap out of the car and run like on the movies into his arms and never let go, but that was impossible she had to go. She felt the tightest lump form in the middle of her throat like the lump everyone had in the movies, watching the ending of the Titanic, fighting to hold back the tears. Puppy love so her mother thought, but this love would set the tone for her expectation of every man in her future. He new her, he understood her struggle, and he saw the twinkle that still remains in her eyes. It took three months for her to stop crying, while listening to Luther Vandross, “Promise Me”.
What saddened her the most was that her loss was not his. Yes, he would miss her but he gave up first. The calls stopped, the “i miss you” faded, and when she would call him, he seemed further away than the 3000 miles that severed their love. The very person that ignited her heart was the same to put out her fire. He hurt her when only after two weeks he could pursue the girl next door from him. Only after two weeks he could forget about the years vested into trusting loving and not judging. She gulps on her own siliva thinking back to the time during her freshman year of high school. He was the start of the many broken hearts that were to come…
*im not much of a story writer, but im trying here folks(lol)..I hope you all enjoy.
* stay tuned part three coming soon
Copy Write@ Zachina Harps
Let my writing tell my story!