𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐔𝐃𝐆𝐄

𝐭𝐰𝐨

JAHI THOMAS

      Another day, another fucking routine. I felt trapped, unsure how much longer I could keep repeating this cycle. As I washed my face, the warm water soothed my frustration. I dried off with a rag. I placed the rag back on the rack.

     Grabbing my book bag from my room, I threw it over my shoulder and headed towards the living room. There, my mom sat in front of the TV, her uneaten breakfast congealed on the plate, her medicine beside her.

Only the sounds of the TV's played again. I sighed. "Ma!" I called out, but she didn't respond. "Mom, come on, if you're not gonna eat, at least take your medicine" I said, standing in front of her face. She remained silent, her eyes fixed on the screen.

   I shook my head, feeling guilty leaving her like this, but I had to get to campus. I took one last look at her before closing the door, locking it behind me.

You see what I mean by the cycle repeats? My life was absolute shit. I couldn't even blame my mom for it; I was just tired, so tired. I felt like I was drowning in my own despair. I got in my car, and pulled out of the apartment building parking lot.

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Today, I had a few classes– art class first, then intro to business later. As I sat in art class, I tried my best to concentrate on the drawing in front of me. But my mind raced with ideas. Drawing was another talent I had, and I liked to bring my visions to life.

As I finished up, my art teacher approached me, her eyes scanning my drawing. I had filled most of the page, but the details were still incomplete. She nodded her head. "Jahi, this is impressive."

I looked up at her, hoping she wouldn't ask the question I dreaded. But she did. "What does this mean?"

I hesitated, my heart racing. "I'd rather not say," I replied. She nodded understandingly, leaving the question alone. My drawing depicted a little black boy, tears streaming down his face, a large hand covering his mouth, and a crowd surrounding him. That little boy was me, but I wasn't about to tell that to anyone.

For what? So that they could feel sorry for me, absolutely not. I began to fill in the details. It never took me as long to draw as it did most people; I could create anything in under ten minutes.

I was just that good. And I had been drawing since I was a kid.Once I finished, I debated adding colors, but decided against it. The Sharpie outline and pencil shading were enough.

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As I closed my car door, I checked the time. I'd just devoured some Wendy's, having not ate shit all day. My session with Mario should have started by now, but traffic had held me back.