𝘕𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳.
𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘮.
Being a morning person, or as some say, an "early bird," was a goal many aimed for, even if they couldn't quite achieve it. After all, who wouldn't want to wake up with a positive attitude for the day ahead?
Yet while Notti waited for his ride to arrive, he came to a quiet realization: he wasn't, and perhaps could never be, one of these people.
Early September in New York sets the stage for this story. The renowned city that never sleeps needs no introduction. Its name resonates widely, and its vibrancy lives up to every expectation. The constant buzz that envelops the city is a constant cue of its liveliness, even in the wee hours of the morning. For the fourteen-year-old, these sounds were far from unfamiliar, a part of the city's regular rhythm. Though, on this particular day, they carried an irksome undertone. Which might have to do with the annoyance of having to rise early for school amplifying the otherwise mundane soundscape.
The blaring beep of the alarm clock, an insistent reminder that it was time to rise and shine, piercing through the silence of morning slumber already was enough to do him in. Furthermore, after countless presses on the snooze button followed by an inward groan, Ethan succumbed to the inevitable, slowly disentangling himself from the warm embrace of his bed and fleeting comfort. When reluctantly preparing for the day, a looming realization had settled in his mind – the next 180 days would be no different, a dreadful routine shared by countless others in society.
As the clock struck a quarter past seven, the front of his laced Jordan twelves encountered a soft rock pebble on the ground, a subtle collision. He kept his beige-colored hands snug within the embrace of his branded moose knuckle coat. A brisk breeze, indicative of the changing season, wafts through Notti's nostrils, prompting occasional sniffling and reminding him why he oh so hated the fast change of forecast.
His typically free-flowing 3B curly hair had been meticulously transformed into orderly twists, the natural hair grazing to the midpoint of his shoulders. He sported a black bathing ape t-shirt, complemented by a pair of plain black jeans that sat snugly on his waist, slightly sagging. It was a casual but clean fit, which was what he normally liked.
Born and raised in Sugarhill, an significantly named neighborhood nestled in Harlem, Notti's life resembled a rollercoaster ride. It was a journey characterized by ongoing learning experiences intertwined with moments of fun times.
There were unmistakable moments when life became challenging, especially for a young boy in the process of discovering his identity. The adolescent was oblivious to any other borough, but residing in the projects of West New York made self-awareness a paramount trait—almost akin to a survival strategy in his world.
As he grew older he became acutely aware of the need to be caution around people. Trusting others was a luxury he couldn't afford, a practice stemming from the realization that finding trustworthy individuals was like searching for a needle in a haystack. Ultimately, the risk was not worth it, as he had witnessed even those he knew getting entangled in unfortunate circumstances, solidifying his resolve to not do it.
Still, the good times stood out as unforgettable. They were moments saturated with the essence of hot summer days, when the broken A.C offered no respite and cooling off meant opening the fire hydrants. There were days spent lounging on the block with friends,— or when he became an uncle for the first time.
The little things per say.
Amidst it all, a sense of gratitude enveloped Notti, an acknowledgment of whatever higher force that had orchestrated his bond with DD. He's one out the five siblings who you can put a name to. At fifteen years old, DD stood shoulder to shoulder with Notti and was someone whose loyalty he never had to question, someone whom he knew would be by his side no matter what came ahead. If Notti were to throw five shots, he knew without a doubt that DD would throw ten in return.
