"empty"
Shit's been hard— well, harder than usual. I've been adding days onto my usual work week and even working through my occasional physical pain in order to regain the $2,000 I contributed to Juwan's bail. I figured that my hard work would pay off eventually, especially since I'd been taking on more responsibility at the salon. I was learning the ropes of owning a business and regulating a usual day and making sure everyone was paid adequately.
Hopefully, in a year's time, I'd be ready to take on the same responsibilities for a place of my own. I've even started mapping out a business plan to pitch, and with Marlo's over-the-phone assistance, it was coming together nicely.
But for the last three weeks, I've been stuck. Marlo and I have been playing phone tag since he's started the process of shopping around his portfolio and I've extended my work schedule. I missed him a lot, and I was getting really low in spirits.
It'd officially been over a year since Juwan and I met— an entire year since I began building the rest of my life. It was October, meaning that it'd been only three months since our future came crashing down like Jenga blocks. I wondered if he was doing well, and, every day, I thought about the upcoming art show he invited me to. The last thing I wanted to do was put myself in the predicament that would end with me in his grasp again, but I also wanted to let him know that I do support his endeavors. Although we will never end up together again, I do still have love for him— after all, he was my best friend at a certain point.
I thought about calling him and catching up a bit. After all, it'd be nice to hear his voice, especially in the absence of Marlo, but I didn't want him getting any ideas. . . and I surely didn't want these calls to become regular occurrences.
I just needed some solace. It felt as if I've been on a treadmill for nearly a month, running fast and heading nowhere. I knew my work would pay off, but I had yet to see results. I was growing impatient and stress was enveloping me because of it. I wanted to turn to Sweets or Keisha, but I knew it wouldn't give me the same boost that talking to Marlo would. I thought about resuming my therapy sessions, but money was tight, especially since I was actively setting aside money for my own business now that I'd finally regenerated the $2,000 that were initially sitting in my savings.
So, instead, I turned to books. It wasn't often that I had off time, but when I did, I was nose deep in novels that I'd pick up from a cute little local book store in Harlem. I was currently sitting at Sweets' kitchen table, enthralled in a story about life in a post-apocalyptic world. There was a living plague, strong female leads of color, and a mysterious and a little suspicious aura around this character named Boogie.
I had some jazz playing softly on Sweets' living room stereo while eating an apple and reading. It was relatively cloudy outside, but that only made for a perfect mood to read and relax. Apparently, Sweets didn't think so since she left earlier in the morning to "run some errands." I didn't know what the hell that meant, seeing as though I'd just gone grocery shopping and last I checked, her car was fine. . . but I wasn't complaining as long as I had some peace. . . or at least I thought I did until I heard the doorbell ring.
YOU ARE READING
falling in leaves
General Fiction"we fell in love the way you fall in leaves." Juwan "Rocky" Rockwell has had a pretty hard life. Between trying to find a way to fend for himself and dealing with the normal hardships of teenage angst, he had nowhere to turn as an adolescent and no...