gabbythenerd
The teenager glares at his manager with a menacing look. His teeth are slammed together, his jaw moving rhythmically back and forth to keep from saying something that could get him in worse trouble than he already was. His foot was moving up and down quietly. He nodded at the manager's terse words and said "yes, sir" where it was required. Obviously he wasn't happy with the blame being placed on his shoulder. Especially when he wasn't the one who turned his boss away.
You amuse me with your lies, your pain. To you, you're watching a television show; you're eating popcorn, drinking pop, looking at the show you put on, saying "How can this chick be idiotic like this." You laugh because you know you have me wrapped around your finger and I'm oblivious. You claim to love me, claim to only want me, but I've heard the rumors. Thing you don't know is, I'm playing to your pawn to take you down later.
I cringed as the horrible screech of the megaphone fills my ears. I hate assemblies and the last thing I need is a large number of people screaming and a principal trying to use something like a megaphone or a microphone to control us. I press my index finger gently against the fleshy part near my inner ear and hope this assembly is over soon.
Timothy dribbles the ball down the court, throwing it off to the power forward who backs slightly before crossing over his opponent. He waits patiently as Timothy sprints to the left side of the basket. Just as he jumps, the power forward flings the ball toward him, making the perfect alley-oop. Smiling at his partner, Timothy nods at the guy who had just assisted in the game winning point.
I crane my neck to see what is in front of me. Normally, I'm not this nosy, but from the serious, stoic looks on the face of the people surrounding the scene, I can tell it's not something good and it's getting the best of me. I'm nervous, already feeling a heavy weight in my stomach, though I doubt I'd even know the person. As I drive to the side to offer help, I pray to God that the people are alright. I walk over to the scene and see an older man lying on the pavement. Gasping, tears glisten in my eyes as I see who it is. All I can utter is a weak "daddy!"
I remember when I was younger, in a time that was much easier. What I remember most is something my friends say is "odd, weird, etc". I feel as though I'm being so stereotypical to the black race when I say it, but it's true for me. During the summer, I'd go down to my aunt and uncle's house. My mom would call me after breakfast to do my hair. The heat didn't make it manageable, so she used to braid it, weaving designs, stories in her work, even if she and I were the only ones who understood it.
I stare at her beautiful blue eyes, shimmering now with unshed tears. Her lips are trembling and her legs are moving quickly, a clear indicator that she's nervous beyond belief. I don't know whether to be angry or upset with myself. Parents are supposed to raise their children to be righteous, forgiving, honest, right? Then why does it feel like I'm failing at parenthood even though this is the first time I've found something she said to be untrue.
"I'm sowwy mommy," she whispers. "I won't do it again."
The cold water assaults my leg, making every nerve in the area alert. I wonder how I'm going to make it across when I'm so cold and frozen now. I've only gotten one step down and I've got so many more to go. Wading in a nearly frozen lake wasn't the best idea, but this is worth it, even to save a life.
I think about his touch, the one that could ignite a fire inside me. The touch that could make me go to the ends of the earth to please him. I run a trembling hand through my disheveled hair as I think about him-his touch, his body, his mind, his energy, his everything. Nothing about this moment could be corrected. If only I had told him what really happened, maybe he would have remained my boyfriend instead of returning to a crush.
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