Composure

Chapter 2

EVICTION NOTICE;
That was the new label on my dirty apartment door ever since last week, seeing it made me decide if I should take certain actions and soon precautions when doing these. I grab the taped, white bolded paper off my door and crumble it throwing it in my trash can like the rest of my class work.

"Eviction notice, again?!"

Aunt Deb never cared for our landlord for he was always out of town and mostly out of his mind.

"I mean, how could it be possible? Everything this month was paid. You paid the electric bill, right?"

I froze. No, no I did not. My work doesn't even acknowledge my existence let alone good shifts. I watched my aunt's face change from somber to anxious,

"Don't say it, Deb," I warned
She holds this anxiety over herself because I help a little here or there with the apartment. So what? It's my money and I can do what I like, not like I'm going to a college anyways.

"I'll get the electric covered, Nina. You need to start saving for other things."

And what exactly would she mean by that

"Save? Save for what? School?"

She looks at me like I have five eyes, walking closer

"Nina, I see you reading those medical books, a lot. You're wise, I never knew someone who could name what my symptom could be predicted by in like ten seconds."

She was right, but I couldn't admit that. I can't think of myself in times like these. Ever. It can't be that way.

"Another time, please?" I asked as I walked past her to go to my room.

When distance is between, I hear a slight whisper,

"You will be that spark in your own life, maybe even someone else's, Nina, I promise. You will accomplish it."

-

Music was loud as can be, of course

I snuck out my bedroom window, climbing down the windowsill trying to not to have a risky fall. Walking to this arena gives me some peace of mind because of the couple blocks it takes just to get there.

This arena used to be the Civic Center when I was a kid, but now they like to call it the 'Royal Farms' arena. Yes, an arena named after fried chicken. How wonderful. It does have a pretty big spot, but authentic at the same time.

I have my brown satchel with a tie dye design on it over my shoulder whereas my left hand and finger is trying to twist the plastic spiral that's on the upper right hand corner of the camera I got from the corner store. The number in the little box above reads, "20", which means I have 20 more pictures I can take before it runs out. Then, as usual, I can print them at the same store and purchase the printed pictures for a couple bucks. The show is supposed to start at seven, like every other show. It's already dark out and you can really tell because there are now purple clouds in the sky and as you walk, you can see hookah bar store lights flashing as if thinking their red and blue colors would attract customers, but in actuality it would freak people out because of the fear of cops. Men and blue, especially. It's not a good idea to have the same flashing lights as a cop car would.. just saying.

I continue to walk the sidewalk, with my head held high, trying not to count each crack like I'm some seven year old. I also look straight ahead because one should never make eye contact with a stranger, Ever.

"Cyclops woman got one eye in her head!"

I heard the echo of a Marilyn Manson song playing from the arena, drawing in people from all over. And, as I crept closer, all I saw were the back of heads towards the person in the glass window banging away at the person inside. Poor worker, I would feel like a guinea pig if I had that job. But, the worker didn't care. Im pretty sure I heard some dirty, but smug greetings as well. It's as if these people have known each other all of their lives. Just a simple, "Hey, yeah, fuck you! Oh yeah, two tickets, thanks," just like that.