'Jules' mind went back under the moonlight and night air of Baldwin's Fine Arts Center Garden, where intense anger shifted into an intimate moment of curiosity with a blow of the wind.
Maybe two flames weren't supposed to be that close when raging...
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"Identity is a prison you can never escape, but the way to redeem your past is not to run from it, but to try to understand it, and use it as a foundation to grow."
– JAY Z
THE hiss of the sewer system filled the air as Jules and Ayden walked side by side in the blanket of night. Steam crept into the streets as the wind tousled leaves into their pathway.
Jules had changed since leaving Raheem's dorm. A Harry Potter Slytherin Baby-Tee hugged the sides of her torso while darkened sky-blue mom jeans gave her waist some breathing room. Birkenstocks and comfy socks adorned her feet.
"Tell me why you decided to drag me across town to some janky tattoo shop in the middle of the night again," Ayden asked Jules -- her Scary Spice t-shirt cropped and clinched at her navel while baggy fatigue cargos graced her long legs. Black platform boots crunched the leaves under her feet.
"I told you that I'm living this year -- making the most of the time I have breathing."
"Did you have to decide to live at 8 pm? I mean damn -- I was in the mood to Netflix and chill with some chips and a soda."
Jules laughed, "Well then I saved you from extreme boredom."
"Oh yeah," Ayden responded with loads of sarcasm in her voice, "because watching somebody poke needles in your skin while I sit on a couch would be the highlight of my evening!"
She pushed Ayden with her hip, almost making her trip over the concrete sidewalk and into the street.
"And you're trying to kill me too? All you had to say is that you wanted more closet space in the room -- I would give it to you."
Jules stopped in front of the small building, "Prints n' Piercings." The windows were slightly shaded a little darker than usual. An open sign blinked on the side of black brick.
"We're here because as I was changing, I thought that there wasn't a single thing on my body that screamed it was mine. Nothing about my hips, my boobs, or my belly button feels like me. It's like I'm a visitor in my own skin. I want something to say that I'm here -- that I'm moving in; something to place on it that feels like me."
Ayden let out a small breath of air, "Why do you come to the most morbid realizations at the most inconvenient times? You're such a drama queen."
She then opened the door that led inside to the shop, a genuine smile creeping across her face -- equal parts amusing and daring, "But you're my drama queen, let's go."
They stepped into the shop and it looked exactly like it would from the outside. Tile floors, brick interior walls, a waiting area with a black couch and a few scattered black chairs, a glass receptionist desk, and walls covered with posters of artistic legends. Beyond the desk was a hallway that stretched to the back with different rooms for each employee.
