Surviving The Blues

25

"Why are they so red?" Glendale number two asks, judging my french fries.

"Barbecue sauce, ketchup, and hot sauce. That's the only way I eat them." I tell him.

"I don't think that is healthy."

"I eat fast food every day. My breakfast is usually a readymade genetically modified item from a box. This is healthy for me. A potato and a tomato product are about as many veggies as I get. Don't yuck my yum."

"I find it hard to believe that you eat fast food every day. It is just not possible." He shakes his head.

He didn't want anything. "Would you like to see my midsection? There's a build-up of stored energy also known as fat. There is some in my arms and the others that go to my hips and buttocks."

"Why do you eat fast food every night? It isn't the healthiest."

"There's no one to cook dinner. Plus it's inexpensive. That way I am able to attend a private school miles away from home and get into an Ivy League college." I shove a fry into my mouth. "My father is trying his best. I didn't die yet so that's a plus."

"Is it good?" He asks, changing the mood.

"Yes. Try it." He's sitting on the couch. I hold out my fork with the fries on it for him to try.

"You want me to use your fork?" He asks, eyebrow raised.

"Why not? The products of your bloodstream have flowed through mines. It is now your turn."

"You are making it sound like I have something contagious."

"I wouldn't know. My hand is beginning to get tired." He moves to the floor again sitting in front of me and takes the fries in his mouth. "I'll feed you I guess."

I look at him trying to figure out what he thinks about my accidental discovery. I watch as he chews and swallows. He realized I am looking at him and he narrows his eyes. "What?"

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"What do you think I am inquiring about, the weather?"

He's somehow closer to me than he was a second ago. I didn't even realize. He's so close that if I try hard enough, my tongue could reach out and touch his face. "I don't know."

I clear my throat. "The fries." I look down. "You are really close." I say.

His finger tilts my head up so I am looking at him. "Are you okay with not knowing what happened?"

"Huh?"

"You said you don't remember."

"Why are you doing this?" I ask him, trying to get away from it. "You are kind of obsessed with me and what happened to me? Do you like me or something?" I am deflecting. I know he doesn't like me.

He ignores my deflection. "Why don't you want to remember? Why are you blocking your memory?"

"I have PTSD."

"You have PTDS because you are suppressing the recall of your trauma. If you are careful, you won't just have PTSD or anxiety. Y'all have depression or dissociative disorder."

"Are we re-enacting the role of psychologists and patient? I don't want to play." I turn away from him and pick up yet another fry as a distraction.

"Faith." He says lowly. "Faith look at me." I don't look at him. He sighs. "Look at me." He says again. "Faith, look at me!" He raises his voice.

"You didn't need to shout." I look at him.

"You can't keep repressing your memory. It'll get worst for you. It'll get worst that being scared and triggered by every little thing." His voice softened.

"Why do you care?" I ask after a while.

"Because I know what it's like to go through trauma and feel like you have to repress it. I know what it's like not wanting to be vulnerable. Trust me, it'll get a lot worst if you don't stop repressing the memories."

"Do you know what reconsolidation is?" I ask.

"Replacing or disrupting a memory with a new version of the memory."

"There's this one part of that night that I remember several different ways and one of those ways, getting shot was my fault. The first time I remembered that moment, it was me talking back to the police. The other times I remembered, it was him." I look down. "I want to forget because if it was me...If I caused him to be gone. If I caused them to die, I don't know how I'll feel."

"Faith..."

"A lot of black girls are not thought to be afraid of police. They aren't thought never to talk back or advocate for themselves. When boys like Ty and Chris are young, they are thought never to talk back to the police. They are told never to talk back or reach for anything. If you must, do it slowly where they can see your every move. They are told... they are told to answer then respectfully. They are thought to fear the police." I grab my other hand and place it on my lap. "Girls like me aren't thought the same thing. We are thought not to be fast. We are told not to be ghetto. We are told to keep our voices down. We are taught to grow up at a young age." I pause. "My dad made sure I knew my rights. He didn't tell me you are guilty if the say you are guilty. He didn't tell me not to talk back or to plead me case. In fact, he told me to advocated for myself in a calm and respectful manner. We were taught to think that police isn't our struggle, but it is our duty to fight for black men and boys. It's are duty to be on the forefront." I bite my tongue and take a deep breath. "So , it might have been my fault we were shot in the first place."

"What do you remember exactly?"

"We were walking home. I was working at the youth center and there was a party. I wasn't going to go, but my dad made me go because my cousin wanted to go. They call her fast, so she's not trusted alone. We all walked her home and we were walking towards our apartments." I gulp. "There was the tension between Ty and I and I guess Chris senses it. He was trying to lighten the mood. It worked and we were laughing when the cops stopped us." My mouth is dry. "The thing about our neighborhood is cops stop people all the time. It had never happened to me because I am really allowed to go out or hang out with people that live here. Titus and Christopher, I don't know. I guess the looked like the trouble types. They were both dressed like the regular teen boy around this neighborhood. It was dark and they were laughing. Moments before there was a shooting as usually, but we didn't know. Or else we would've stayed a little longer at my cousin's house."

"Do you need to take a break?" His hand is on my hands and stops them from shaking.

"I am sorry. I can't do this." I get up and run to the bathroom throwing up the contents of my stomach.

____
I have this thing called procrastination that stops me from updating when I am supposed to. So I get swapped with school work and the books loses priority.

But I wanna thank you guys for reading this book. WhenI first started, no one read it. I didn't even think anyone would read it at all, but people are now. Despite the numbers, it fuels me to keep writing this book even though I want to give up a lot.

So thanks 😊.