His Block

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"What's your opinion on love, Phatima?"Mr. Johnson surveyed the class asking everyone the same question. My mind trampled off into other things the ticking of the analog clock echoed through my distracted head. I prayed that the bell would ring before the spotlight enlarged on me.

"Jhenea, what is your opinion on love?"Mr Johnson asked he seemed very interested in what I was going to say being the fact I was the only that caught on with what was being taught. I silently cursed keeping the urge of rolling my eyes to a minimum.

"Love,"I mumbled to myself "I feel like there is no love"I stated honestly with my posture slightly slouched.

"And why do you feel this way?"He seemed infatuated with the amount of blutness I offered. His finger nails tapped the wooden desk that was being supported by the metal poles that held the structure together. He awaited my answer as if he had all day to sit and wait.

I glanced my orbs over to the clock as the long hand adjusted over to the six, meaning three more minutes of class.
"Because love is non existent. The word itself should be erased from all knowledge. Love shouldn't be used because anyone can love something drugs, clothes, gifts, anything."I eloborated. "If your so call 'love' for some one is real and as strong as you claim, I feel like it wouldn't be described by a small and vague four letter word" Ending my statement the bell rung completely after.

I speedily got up from my seat throwing my side bag across my shoulder. I kept my head hanging low as my body guided the way rushing me out the door of the classroom.

Scrambling through the hall ways kids kept the passage ways busy as a working bee hive. Conversations were being made accross the hall by illiterate dudes along with girls with no morals. Students were pushing through the crowded hallways rushing to make seats on the school bus or to simply get out of the swamp of students that was slowly increasing by the moment.

Placing my books in my locker I carefully locked and secured my locker for the weekend from these troubled teenagers.

Averting my head back, I seen Mr Johnson coming my way. I quickly rush through the crowd of students losing him in the mix. Siding with the fact I didn't want to have my weekly conversation with Mr Johnson I began my original route home.

My black vans hit the concrete sidewalk with every step I took causing a step by step sound pattern. I kept my head high watching my surroundings. I've always kept watching my surrounding in mind after watching Ms Renolds pursed get snatched right under her arm. Even though I don't carry anything with much value, I still try my best to avoid that type of situation.

My restless body followed my aching legs as I continued the ten block walk home. My box braids swayed from side to side with each and every step hitting my rear every so often. The zippers of my back pack jingled as my walking caused a slight shake to it.

My palms began to grow sweaty as I reached my most feared blocks that were on my way to and from school. Dopeboys that called themselves men stood posted on each and every corner selling soon to be addicts and addicts illegal substances that were slowly destroying their lives.

I picked up the pace of my walking not making any eye contact with anyone. I wrapped my sweaty palms around the straps of my bookbag along with my out to date Betsy Johnson side bag. Although it was out of style I still kept it up to my standards making it look like I bought it just yesterday.

I recieved cat calls as I adjusted my tight fitting distressed jean overall that I let hang on to my thighs. My black V-neck tucked inside, showed my maturing figure. 16 going on 17 , I dressed like this because this is what my cousin Kashari thinks is in. Because her family is my only source of necessities, I have to deal with her style of clothing.