I’m in love with a dead man. Literally. And every night, I’ve prayed to God to bring where my dead man is. Well, I’m done praying. I've given up on wanting to die, simply because I know it’s not my time yet. A 14-year-old island girl like me isn't ready to leave this life, even if it feels like thorns at my side.
My dead man’s name if Royce, but all I have left of him now if is pitchfork, a garden lot and the scar he left on my mind. But the garden helped me let go of all the hurt, pain, and misery I thought would follow me until I was in a grave. But now I’m living my life, and nothing’s going to stop that.
It all started when I first came to Cleveland. My older brother, younger sister, parents and I just came from the Virgin Islands about two months ago. It was a rocky experience, leaving a place you've lived in most of your life. We didn't know anyone here, so we were clueless of Cleveland’s ways.
Then came school, the new and improved Trojan horse. They tell you it’s good to go to school, but look at the pain it’s caused some people. Surfing through waves and waves of unknown faces, a rush of humiliation and embarrassment came over me. I saw the cliques, groups and friends; but I was all alone. I felt unwanted. The tears were about to stream out my eyes, but I fought back.
I survived that first day at school. Walking to my house, I heard two girls talking about a community garden on Gibb Street. I loved planting back in the Islands, and I thought this would be a great opportunity to start again. So I went to the store and bought a pack of lemon seeds. Lemons remind me of the sunny skies back home. It was very comforting and peaceful.
I told my family about it, and they thought it was a great idea too. So the next day after school, I started working. I saw all these different people coming together, talking and laughing, having fun. These are people I saw in the past two months, barley passing by each other, now blending together like the smells in the air. I met a sixteen-year-old mom named Maricela. She became my best friend. We talked about things like school, friends, guys, her five-month-old baby Somara, and mostly, the things we were planting in the garden.
One day at the garden, Maricela brought Somara to see the plants. I asked her about the people in the garden, since I didn’t really know them yet. She started with a guy with a pitchfork named Royce. He seemed so interesting. “There was a time when he helped chase down a robber,” she told me. “the two men that were with him held him up to a wall, and Royce threatened him with a pitchfork.” “Wow, that’s amazing!” I exclaimed. “Yeah,” Maricela replied. “Royce is really strong for a teenager, and he’s so nice, he really loves to help people. Always surprising people with things for their garden lot, and…” “Hi, Maricela!” Royce was coming in our direction. There he was with his pitchfork. “How’s the baby girl?” His voice was soft, but deep. “She’s doing fine,” Maricela replied cheerfully. Then she looked at me. “Royce, this is my friend Deisilyn. She’s new here, came two months ago. I’ll leave you two alone for a second. Mara’s getting fussy.”
I didn’t really know what to say or do, so I just looked down. “So, you’re from the Caribbean?” he asked curiously. It was no surprise to me that he could tell. After all, my dark skin, scar, and my accent gave me away. “Virgin Islands.” I told him. He smiled. So did I.
Our conversation ended up lasting for hours, right before Maricela came back. It was just about to be sundown. After that day, we started talking a lot more. I got to meet new people in the garden everyday. Royce and I helped each other work in our garden lots, and helped other people too. I was walking on air for weeks, for months. I wasn’t lonely anymore. I had a whole group of people that actually knew me, that liked me, that didn’t overlook me. This garden made me feel like I was a part of something, like I was wanted. I felt like I belonged. And I did. It was one of the best feelings I’ve ever felt in a long time.
