17 Years

Seventeen years, two eyes, one coronary heart, one mind. A kaleidoscopic of vehicles whizzes by me as I waltz from my bus cease in downtown Los Angeles to my dwelling, a government-funded house advanced. Seventeen years, two eyes, one coronary heart, one mind.

Seventeen years to slay apathy, stockpile verbal ammunition, doubt the established order, and delay dying by means of studying and residing. Seventeen years, and all it takes is only one traitorous second for all the things to vanish. As I linger on the curb, shifting my weight whereas balancing my AP textbooks, I fear about how straightforward it might be to enter “the undiscovered nation” the place “no traveler returns.” I fear concerning the insights I’ll by no means pocket, the pains I’ll by no means retain. Two eyes, one coronary heart, one mind.

Two eyes to guage. A black Honda swerves harshly, hissing at my mortality because it rounds the nook and barely misses my defenseless flesh.

Startled, I stumble. Miscalculating my threshold for shock, I fall to the bottom. My textbooks tango in descent as my backpack bemoans momentum’s pull. Emotionless, the sunshine modifications. I pluck my books from the bottom and cradle them in my arms earlier than darting throughout the road. A homeless one that has witnessed my misfortune smiles and I smile again. Head held excessive and shoulders again, I hope my assured saunter isn’t practically as comedic as I sense it’s.

One coronary heart to really feel. Paranoia pricks my pores and skin darkened with years of out of doors basketball follow and operating jaunts as I replicate on how younger, feminine and distinctively pedestrian I’m. Solely dejected homeless individuals and doleful carless souls negotiate these paths, the place one could be hard-pressed to seek out even the bravest of joggers. I routinely zigzag dwelling alone since my mother works lengthy hours as a seamstress and my dad works on-again, off-again at a manufacturing unit.

First, I cross the bridge overlooking the 101 Freeway. The second supply of paranoia is the overpass I need to stroll underneath, embracing obscurity as I pray for mild. Evidently, I often jog these steps. Third, is the gradual sloping upward of an unpaved sidewalk. In my seven years of strolling dwelling, I’ve seldom seen different pedestrians strolling beside or in entrance of me, however with the California sky peering at me from behind folded arms, I’m comforted in figuring out I’m not alone.

One mind to feed. With the reduction of passing every perceived hazard, I scurry alongside. Assuming the lighthearted aura of Little Purple Driving Hood, the tenacity of The Little Engine That Might, and the optimism of Dr. Seuss, I take a detour to my beloved library. There, I bask within the tranquil familiarity of books, data, phrases and knowledge. Seventeen years, two eyes, one coronary heart, one mind, one life.