Not another Tall Tale
You could say it’s quite easy to disregard someone or a feeling, some form of intuition about something or someone when it seems frivolous or absurd. Then, even easier to disregard it when all your life you’ve despised and were denied it. In this matter ‘it’ wasn’t an object or person, but a phenomenon, in her case a hoax.
Love wasn’t a feeling she had for many things, and in her life it was a cliché, overused, overrated truism. It also wasn’t a prominent factor in her world, her Parents divorced when she was only 6, after that she had run through a total of 3 step-mothers, 1 step dad and 2 foster homes after her mother died of cancer when she was 15. She only had her father for two years post the death of her mother. He was abusive, controlling and impulsive. Clothes wise she never wore anything but long sleeve shirts and full length pants, hiding her bruises and scars. To make it worst after her aunt found out about the abuse and her father sent to jail, her aunt was ruled an unfit caregiver, leaving her to the hands of the foster home system. It was the story of her life, she had seen everything the world had to offer, the violence, drug abuse, starvation, the discrimination and worst of all she experienced it all first hand and it had done everything but lead her to fight against what she lived in.
Tara Carlos was the victim of the tragic worst’s of the modern world. It was her 21st birthday ,and the mist of the rain had just about faded out leaving a earthy smell as she descended from the top level unto the stairs of the gaseous Brooklyn subway. She sat down on a brick near some musicians trying to make a quick buck. This was her ‘home’, what she was use to; people selling drugs on the sidewalk, strippers on the corner ageing from 16 to 30+ and gang initiation and territory wars. Her Birthdays weren’t very special to her just another day, in fact she wouldn’t even had noticed if it wasn’t for the more than likely stolen gifts she got from the gang member she helped out a few years back or her drunken, barbie doll sister she cherished, but that’s a different story.
She had only two companions she trusted, she felt she understood them and they were her refuge for her chaotic mind. Three of them were basically best friends, they knew the same people in exception of a few and lived in the same crappy two room apartment, with one bathroom and a space you could barely call a kitchen. They were close, they more than tolerated each other and they didn’t mind coming home and listening to each other complain about the days they lived. But can’t we say that we all have our breaking points?
These were her friends, this was her life. She got up when she saw ChiChi and Lucas walk through the doors of the train. They looked the same as always, ChiChi was 5’4 with short dirty blonde hair and bangs, she had a stout like body but she was attractive, she always wore psychedelic colours and these round frame glasses but she was more of a modern hippie than a 70’s fake, she was more into the beliefs than the look. Lucas was tall, medium built but he wasn’t the most striking person, he was your average suit and tie, everyday, coffee shop regular. He had very, dark hair and crooked nose but that was about it to make his looks special.
