That Lonely Black Boi

[11] The Way Of The Cool Kids

| Imran Adebayo Ibrahim |

I lost my innocence faster than I could ever lose my virginity. Skipping school wasn't the only crime we committed, we also stole a power bike that belonged to a senior — a senior who was in Omar's class. Like that wasn't enough, he rode like a maniac, taking me to the place I never thought existed, a metropolis for crime and lust.

Omar was obnoxious, regardless of my yelling like a girl, he kept increasing the velocity, making me scream harder. The scenery was the worst, the buildings were moving backwards, but this time even faster. Cold air rushed inside my eyes, causing me to shed a tear or two. I clung tightly to his jacket, desperate to avoid a disastrous outcome.

At that fleeting second of my life, I realized that; a life of crime doesn't suit me. I wouldn't make it in life being a Mafioso — maybe being a Doctor would work. My face had shook from my skull, it was all chapped and thick: my natural face was dry but I tried to make it oily with loads of dermatologist tested lotion, all the lotion I'd applied dried off quickly as cold breeze rushed through my face like tiny swords.

My screaming halted as soon as Omar stepped on the brake, making the bike jolt forward abruptly. I held into him tightly, even when the bike had stopped working I didn't let go.

"So—" He began, unlocking my fingers away from his stomach, "—we are here."

Embarrassed, I jumped down from the bike, wiping the dust off my face. "Where are we?" I inquired, looking at the enormous abandoned building in front of us.

I stood at the edge of the overgrown field, my gaze fixated on the towering silhouette of the abandoned complex Omar had taken me. My eyes, wide with curiosity and perhaps a hint of fear, traced the structure of the decaying structure, taking in every detail of its old scenery.

Amongst the old scenery, I could see dilapidated machineries which were also abandoned, despite their dilapidated state, they still held an air of kinetics to them, whispering tales of their former glory days — whenever that was.

My teenage mind buzzed with questions as I contemplated the importance of the abandoned complex and the stories it held within its crumbling walls. What secrets lay hidden behind those boarded-up windows? What inhumane behavior was being carried out inside?

Lost in my thought, I took a reluctant step forward, drawn closer by the allure of the abandoned complex.

"Yo man!" Omar's voice broke my trance, "you can feel that too?" He said over his struggling to lock the stolen bike, I nodded at his question, "that's the feeling of good gas." He finished in ecstasy.

"It is?" Was only what I could say before walking to the padlocked gate. "It's locked." I announced, shaking the chained gate aggressively, brown rusted dirt smeared on my palms from the gate.

"You sure haven't rebelled before." Omar said with a wry chuckle. Hitting the padlock with an algae -covered stone he picked up, the lock broke open, "it's open now, you're welcome."

Awestruck, I applauded his stupidity. All I wanted at that instance was fame.

"Shall we explore?"

I nodded while I was walking in, "yes sir!"

The inside of the abandoned complex was different from the outside. The walls weren't crumbling, rather they were sprayed with multiple colors. In vibrant hues, the spray-painted wall depicts the essence of Atlanta. Brightly colored murals adorned the walls as neon light scattered on each corner, showcasing Atlanta's thriving arts scene and diverse communities. In the foreground of the wall, people of color were drawn, dancing to the rhythm of jazz and hip-hop, which reflected Atlanta's vibrant music scene and influential role in shaping popular culture. I fell in love with Atlanta by looking at such diverse artwork, I always knew the most precious rose was the one that sprouted through concrete floors — I was too quick to judge Omar, they were very talented.