Surviving The Blues

14

"I am... I am going home now." I stand up and wiggle my way out of the grip Glendale has on me.

"Oh no you aren't." Glendale number two catches my hand. "I just walked into oncoming traffic to get you. I need an explanation."

"You are hallucinating. I didn't walk into oncoming traffic." I say. "Well, would you look at the time. I think it's best I get going now." I pull my hand away.

"You-"

"You are touching me without permission. It is very uncomfortable." I say to him. "I am a law abiding citizen who isn't incarcerated. That means I possess the right to my rights. Leaving here without obstruction is a right I have."

"Just let her be. We are in a hurry." Glendale says. Glendale number two gives him a look that illuminates him not being told what to do. He lets me go anyways

I watch them both walk away and get into their cars they had parked at the side of the road. I take a deep breath. This is a first. How could I walk into the middle of the street. If the street had been busier, I don't know what might have happened.

I make my way home. When there, I've almost gotten myself collected. My father would be furious at my outburst today. It was weakness, the enemy of a strong Black woman. He would always call emotions a waste of time. He shunned crying. He isn't fond of physical contact such as hugging or kissing. His opinion on mental health—though changed slightly—is it is a myth. It's another form of weakness. I've had no choice to listen to my father and mirror everything he's told me. He's my caretaker. He's taken care of me my whole life. He'll tell it to me straight. I trust him.

I am trying not to react, but I can't help it. I don't believe it's PTSD. People like me don't get PTSD. By people like me, I mean people who are Black and who identify as female. We aren't allowed the luxury. Sure, one could say times are changing. Don't bring race into everything they would say. However, it is true no matter how much people want to deny it. It is more socially accepted when people who are white have mental illness. You see it in court cases. You see it in the Army. Even in ads on mental illness the models are usual non-Black people.

I take a deep breath and collect myself fully. I make my way to the desktop in my room. It's one of the older versions that gets overwhelmed from time to time, but it is efficient. I don't even change my clothes, I just drop my bag and login to my college board. I scroll and click like crazy.

Then I see it. I can't believe my eyes. I blink and rub my eyes to see if my eyes are deceiving me. It can't be. I rank number one at school, but...

I am lost for words. I got a 1460. I got an 740 in
Evidence-Based Reading and Writing and a 720 in Math. I can barely believe it. When I was taking that test, I felt sure I was going to bomb. Now, my score is unbelievable. This isn't possible for someone like me. Sure I've studied on my own for like forever, but still. It's against statistics. Add in neighborhood, income, gender and race, it's near impossible. The only thing I have riding for me is the school.

Relax I tell myself. Do some homework. You are dreaming. I get up and do my homework. After, I take a shower and get ready for my father to bring dinner home. He walks in the house exactly at 7:46.

"We have some stuff to talk about." He doesn't say good evening like a normal person.

"Yes." I say. He closes the door and takes his shoes off.

He doesn't even put the stuff down yet before he asks. "First, what's that SAT score? You got 1120 last year. I hope you put in better work to do better." He says.

"I got a 1460. 740 for the English and 720 for the Math."

He puts the food on the table. His facial expression doesn't change. "1460 is fair, but you could do better. You think those kids at your school getting 1460? No, they getting 1500 and up. An average score for Harvard is 1540. For Yale it is 1520. You could've done better than a 1460. But why do any better when you got affirmative action right?" I blink. He slaps both his hands down on the table in force. I don't react. "Not right. I've been told you and I'll keep telling you you need to better times every single one of them. Speaking of better, you think because they skipped school you could too? Why's your school calling me at work to tell me you skipped school? You don't have time to be angry Journer. Not with 1460s on a SAT. You don't follow them, you follow yourself." He says.

"I didn't follow them. The teacher told me to leave." I say.

"No excuses. You should of sat there. They don't want to see you succeed." He's looking at me.

"I am sorry. It'll never happen again." I say, head bowed.

I hear him walking over to me. He lifts my chin. "Don't make me regret paying your senior dues and for those senior trips." He says. Wait, what dues and trip? I never gave him the package. I didn't want him to have to pay for unnecessary trips, yell at me and call it a waste of time or even go at all. "And always keep eye contact." He talks away and washes his hands before opening the bag of food.

"Trip? Dues?" I question lowly.

"School called. I paid. You got lucky for that trip to Cali next week." He shoves a slice a pizza to his mouth. "Some girl dropped out and you got her spot." His mouth has food in it. "You're welcome." He shoves more in his mouth.

"Thank you." I don't want to thank him. I didn't want to go.

"Come eat this shit before it gets cold."

I don't want to go. Why me?

____
This book seems to be getting a little tiny bit more reads since I've started updating it again.

Thank you guys for reading it. I am trying this whole thing where I reduce the amount of cringe of a normal wattpad plot. A lot less toxic masculinity (apparently people hate wattpad because of that). I am just happy and grateful it is received well.

It's going to get more serious on topics in chapters to come to stay in it with me.

Purple_sky15 is out. Byeee.