Chapter 1
Sweet Tea
Life, I find, is like a labyrinth; full of twists and turns and jolts that no one that tagged along for the ride expected, least of all yourself. Those jolts can have a world of impact that can change your life forever. But, without these twists and turns, without the jolts, your world is nothingness, made of a dark, empty space. The dark empty space deprives you of feeling, which I find is the worst illness one can obtain. This illness is a deadly one; taking someone’s soul and stripping them of their former self. Being myself, I have seen many people with this illness; and being only thirteen I find that that is much too many.
This is the story of a girl with a mission, which winds up not to end up like she thought. Yes, her mind might become destroyed along the way, but as long her calling is fulfilled, all is well. Friend, foe, reader, or passionate, here is your story. I hope I’ve crafted it to your liking.
It started a mere seven years ago; that’s when my life started to plummet. That’s when I met Eva; and she was the one speck of light in my entire world of pure darkness. That’s when my world didn’t seem to revolve around me anymore.
Our story begins filled with sweet tea and innocence, sitting on an old porch swing in the small town of Cecil in Georgia. The population is meagerly only around 300, but that made the town even more homelike to any newcomer.
“Hello, Dakota,” I greeted.
“Hey, Serena!” Dakota called. She ran across the dying grass to meet me. I rang out my sopping hair which was wet from the pool. I smiled a crooked smile, which was littered with assorted gaps from missing teeth; a conventional six year old smile.
Summer had just begun but my skin was already dark as the night sky. Summer was a schoolchild’s savior, never to exclude Dakota and me. Dakota and I were practically inseparable, or “joined at the hip” as our mothers called it.
Dakota and I walked into the old fashioned kitchen placed immediately in the front of the house. Black and white tile covered the walls from top to bottom and the smell of freshly baked cookies never seemed to stop wafting from the oven. Ah, yes, this was a time for a child’s bliss to blossom.
“Hello, girls,” Dakota’s mother smiled.
“Hello, Mrs. Berwick,” I sang.
“Would you girls like some sweet tea and cookies?”
“Yes, please,” we said in unison. Our favorite treat.
It was a tradition for us to have chocolate chip cookies and sweet tea everyday; we had done it ever since we could remember and we weren’t about to stop any time soon. Of course, sweet tea was any Georgians’ favorite. Sweet tea had a zing to it that nothing else could supply, giving you a lovely tingly feeling all the way from your skin, to your marrow. Life then was so simple, not a worry in the world.
I closed my eyes and sat blissfully on the porch swing; with its peeling soft green paint and its monotonous creaking sound, I just felt at peace there.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of these!” Dakota declared.
“Never,” I agreed. Chocolate-y goodness dripped from the cookie onto my jean shorts, but I didn’t care. Gelid ice clinked in the glass and sent cool streaks of water down the side.
Just about everyday went as this one did; but on this date, July 17th, 1986, something went astray in the uniform days of summer. That was the day that not everything seemed so innocent. That was the day my world didn’t seem to revolve around me. That was the day that my mind changed forever.
Dakota was inside freshening up and her mother was out back tending to the garden. Dakota and I were planning on having a slumber party. We practically lived at each other’s houses.
I was staring up at the azure sky and blowing dandelions into the breeze; a picture perfect summer’s day. I was daydreaming about childish concerns, unimportant things that would be of no help to anyone in the future. The dilated seeds swam through the air gracefully, like ballerinas. North, south, east, west, it was this sort of simple beauty, as small as petals floating in countless directions, that captured my attention and pulled at the strings of my heart.
The old fashioned ring of the telephone shook me out of my daze. My bare feet jumped up to go answer it. As I said, Dakota’s house was my second home.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Serena?” my mother replied.
“Yes.”
“Someone at the house needs to meet you,” my mother said in an enthusiastic tone; a little too energetic for my taste.
“But Momma, you said me and Dakota could have a slumber party tonight; we’ve got it all set up and everything.”
“I know, sweetie, but someone very special needs to talk to you.”
“Please, Momma? Can you wait until tomorrow? We’re havin’ a real fun time.”
“You can have the slumber party another night. Get home now. You spend too much time over at her house anyways.” Mother sounded suddenly snappy. Although segregation had passed a while ago, my mother still wasn’t too fond of my having an African American for a best friend. Don’t get me wrong, she still was friends with Dakota and Mrs. Berwick, she just thought a white would be more “suitable” for me.
“Yes, Ma’am. I’m on my way right now. Bye, Momma.” I hung up and walked to Dakota’s room. It was filled with posters of Frankie Avalon and Tony Curtis. Although it was now ’74, the seventies hadn’t seemed to have reached Cecil.
“Dakota? My momma’s callin’ me home for something real important. She said the slumber party’ll have to wait until a different night.” Dakota stepped out from her walk in closet. I always was envious of her closet, mine was so small.
“Aw, really? We hardly even got to start,” she said, sounding disappointed. Her light blue eyes contrasted against her dark skin, which made it all the more potent when her face fell.
“Yes, I’m sorry, Dakota. How ‘bout tomorrow if we get the chance.” Dakota agreed and we said our goodbyes. I was on my way home, but what I didn’t realize was that this ‘special person’ that my mother had spoken of, was so much more unique than she had let on.
