Caitlin held onto her secret for years, remaining a burden she was willing to carry. She desperately wanted to protect her son Zion from this world and from his father Bronze Marcelo, the most prominent artist of the rap industry. Simultaneously, sh...
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Explosions of wavering hatred burst through her inner core. Inch by inch, it took over her entire body. It was one of those moments where no matter how much she tried to control her emotions, it continuously released like an oil spill. Her feet carried her into the front office. At the front desk, the receptionist - Mrs. Donaldson, the kindest elderly woman that set foot in this school - tapped away on her keyboard with a stack of labeled folders sitting on the countertop. She had her gray hair in a neat bun, most likely perfected by years of experience, and a dab of red lipstick on her full lips. She was a voluptuous, black woman with eyes the shade of honey and arms the size of my thighs.
Mrs. Donaldson's eyes widened, and her hand took grasp of the white collar of her beige dress. She scanned the room after the abrupt swing of the doors which opened to her office. This part of the building led a straight path to the principal's office.
"Honey, you nearly put me on my deathbed," Mrs. Donaldson admitted. Her eyes met Caitlin's, and she stood from her seat. "What's the matter, sweetheart?"
Caitlin shook her head.
"I need to see Mr. Godwin."
"He's in a meeting at the moment. If you like, I can report to him immediately after it's over," Mrs. Donaldson said. She grabbed a thick packet of Post-It notes and in cursive, began to write Caitlin's name.
There were two types of decisions in this world. Ones you calculated every result in careful, concise analyzation, where you gained over the average of loss. Then, there were the drastic decisions made on instinct, not by choice. Before she thought about regretting the emotional decision to burst through Mr. Godwin's office, her hands turned the door knob and flung it open. In the spacious room of decorative school spirit, behind the principal's desk, was Mr. Godwin, who was emerged in conversation with a man in a suit, whose his back faced her. Mr. Godwin glanced up, his nostrils flared, and his pale face turned a deep shade of pink.
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Caitlin lowered down to her knees and her head dropped down low. Because a fresh wave of tears had begun to drain from her eyes, and the pounding of her head matched the fast rhythm of her heartbeats. For a while, the room was silent except for her sobbing. The embarrassing sobs of a broken heart. If that wasn't bad enough, she felt her nose began to drip. Someone placed their arm around her shoulders and assisted her back on her feet. The arms hugged her with such familiarity. Through her blurry vision, she saw a pair of black loafers. She hid her face in this kind person's grasp.
