A Harlem Metanoia Story ©

AHMS| WEST SIDE

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Jaiyaah tucked a single tendril behind her ear as she worked her hands between the lines of her journal. It was a cold winter's day, and as usual; she sat awaiting the public train in transit to West Harlem.

Her mind was unconventionally blank that morning, seemingly not bringing any sort of substance to her habitual diary. On the tracks, long trains passed her by; blowing her twisted curls from her face in a breeze.

Merely two days had passed since she had left her home, and 3 weeks since the contemptible act of inhumanity had happened to her. Still she felt a sense of filth each time she passed a mirror, or reminisced on that day's events; feeling desire consume her.

Jaiyaah blinked several times, desperately yearning to push back the waterworks that had made their way to the brim of her waterline. It was no use though; since promptly, a lonely tear descended to her journal; dampening and fading the single line she had written.

'Is it bad that I want you; just once more?'

A sigh escaped her lips as she stared ahead; seeing her train come into view. The usual passengers sat; in their usual seats; with their usual dreary faces.

Jaiyaah took her spot in the far back, tucking her head into her lap, with dollar store earplugs placed securely in both ears, connected to her iPhone 3.

Her short playlist was placed on pause; the only tune playing being that of complete silence. For the past few days; she had liked it that way.

Complete and an unusually eerie silence.

Her eyes flickered to the passing trees and cars; people with smiling faces and both large and small families.

For a while, and even still; Jaiyaah yearned for that.

It seemed however; as if each day the world gave her an entirely new reason to frown. For as long as she could remember; she was a lonely child, void of both a family and wonted happiness.

Her most recent trial; had left Jaiyaah somewhat; conflicted.

Averting her eyes from the outside scenery when her job came into view; Jaiyaah exited the train. She stepped out in to the cold winter air, bunching the fabric of her windbreaker between the vacuum of her palms; pulling it closer to her chest.

She blew out a foggy breath, rubbing her hands together to muster any type of heat, before entering the establishment.

"Jaiyaah, you're back!"

Her boss; Mr. Jones, greeted her the moment she stepped inside 'Clean Kutz'. It was a barber shop located in one of the worst sectors of West Harlem. A hood nigga's favorite, and a neighborhood's beacon.

A certain look flashed behind his eyes when he saw Jaiyaah; one she herself had never seen on him prior to that day.

Jaiyaah gave him a small nod; brushing the hair that had managed to fall before her face away. In a whisper she spoke to him; unpolished nails fiddling with one another.