Kay Flock story:
about a girl who is learning herself and a boy who is losing himself
Many would consider them an unlikely duo but a perfect one.
They balance eachother perfectly; Like ying and yang.
This story begins with the pair coincidently me...
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—————————————————— 📍 BRONX, NEW YORK, USA 5:43 PM ——————————————————
I sit alone in my sole dimly lit house, the peachy candle wax cascading slowly down itself resulting in the fire to shiver at the touch.
One of my windows opened slightly to allow a fresh breeze of the autumn air to swing through, mixing with the scent of a vanilla and honey released from the circular diffuser.
It's white soft mist almost invisible to the eye, the green plants spread across the medium sized room acting as the main colour.
And still I sit alone, with my own company. My thick black inked pen caressing the thin off-white lined paper, old pieces of writing left behind as I continuously write down new ones.
A sigh pushes itself out of my two toned thick lips placed on my blemishless caramel brown skin.
Softly my mother knocks on the opposite side of my white painted wooden door used as an exit and enter into my room.
Then opening the door she lifts her lips into a small yet tight smile, closing the door quietly behind her.
She shifts her way over to my bed sitting at the end where I looked up at her "hey baby." She rubs over my circular shaped face.
I smile "hi momma." My pen placed down on my notepad.
She sighs a little her scrubs creating a scrunching sound "now baby you know I don't want to but I gotta go to work." She huffs once again before standing up and carrying on.
"Imma send you some money, text me if you need anymore, and try to get out the house for a little while" she smiles knowing I wouldn't text her for anymore money and most definitely wouldn't get out the house unless it was to go to work.
Which unfortunately I have today, I work at a small bakery placed in the middle of the Bronx. Being the most popular bakery in the Bronx even people from all around New York come to get a taste of the cooked goods.
My wage is around $12 an hour nothing too much and nothing too little. I clean and serve customers in need.
I enjoy my job though it's not what I want to spend my time doing, I used to sing all up until...
The rubber black bus wheels come to a sudden stop, the blue body of the bus jilting foward at the motion, as people stand up at it, all collecting in a orderly line at the entrance of the bus now being used as an exit.
Slowly but surely I realise I'm at the broken down bus stop just in-front of my work place I line up behind the few people who had a similar destination as me.
Saying a polite "thank you" to the bus driver I hop off and travel my way into the Bright apple green shop it's paint chipping from old age and bad care.
The small rusty golden bell rings in alarm of the wooden door hitting it harshly.
"Ahhhh, just in time!" A soft warm voice welcomes me into the store I smile at the sound, it was the owner and my manager, Mr.Lasous an old Italian man who's lived in New York his whole life.
His parents migrated from Italy it's self in dreams to become the biggest bakery name in the U.S.A, which unfortunately isn't fully fulfilled just yet.
"Hiya, Mr.Lasous" I say to him, walking from the staff room which I quickly dropped my belongings in and wrapped a grim green apron around my slim waist, emphasising my curvy figure.
After a little small chat with Mr.Lasous I got to work, helping him out in the kitchen and cleaning up the seating areas until customers arrived.
And many did, some with pre-orders making the job quick and snappy and others ordering on the spot taking their long slow time with it.
In which either case I didn't mind.
Placing the cash given to me by a regular costumer into the cash machine and giving them their paper printed receipt, the next customer comes up it was a group of people I slightly recognised.
Well... I only recognise two of them, from high school.
Argumentively they walked their way up to the cash register until one out of five of them told them "shut the fuck up, ya'll be fucking annoying and that shits pissin me off lately" his voice deep not necessarily matching his skinny frame.
As he picks at his Afro a little rocking back and forth, we all stare at him. He looks among his friends innocently before settling his eyes on one of the girl I recognised.
"Say yo order then dayum got us waiting around like dickheads" he huffs, his hand now in his Jean pockets.
Amaya Kingsley looks toward me a great big smile spread across her brown skin "hey dija, where you been I ain't seen you since- shit Ian even know the last time I seen you" she expesses excitedly.
It reminds me that I haven't attended school in so long, for months even all for the right reasons though.
Me and Amaya have became friends in middle school through maths class I think it was. And I'm currently, and regularly tutoring her for our exams, Amaya is an extremely aspirational person and anyone can see that.
To say we were such external opposites we get along quite well surprisingly.
I smile at the thought "yeahhh, I've been hiding Forreal. Just doin my thing most of the time though." She nods her head understandingly.
Smiling once more she begins to speak again "ight lemme take my order before these niggas get they panties in a fuckin' twist again" this makes me snicker a little as Amaya receives a few dirty looks and a smack against the back of her head.
Amaya takes her order and then allows the others to take there's and they explain they where also here to pick up a cake for their friend who had just come out of the hospital from being shot.
They pay eventually leaving the store alone going along their way to wherever.
I sigh not out of stress or anxiety but more out joy looking down at the crumpled paper given to me by my old friend.
A number in inconsistent,splotchy black ink scribbled down the number she had given to me just before she had left the store in a rush.
