Can you imagine living with nothing? Without a home? Just alone. Well I can. I have nothing. No home, no money, and no family. Well, that's not entirely true. I have one thing: a guitar, but I have no idea how to play it. It's light brown with a dark spot on the side. Every once in a while, on the streets of New York, I'll walk around with my guitar and people will ask, "Do you play?" Or, "Can you play for me?" I always have to just say no and walk away. When I reach my so called "home," which is a bench viewing the water and New Jersey, I sit with my guitar at my feet, laying on the ground.
"You really shouldn't put your guitar there. It could break." a voice came from behind me. I turn around and I see a boy who had the face of a twelve year old. Cute.
"Sorry I didn't know there was proper etiquette on how to put a guitar down," I say, trying to get him to leave me alone.
"How long have you been playing guitar?" He asked, walking closer to me. I stand, grabbing my guitar and start walking backwards away from him.
"My mom told me not to talk to strangers, sorry," I ran away.
How did I end up here? How did an innocent girl named Jessica Hines end up on the streets digging through trash cans? I can tell you the whole story, but that would probably take longer than you want it to. So long story short, my mom was murdered in a gas station five years ago, so when I was twelve. I was left with my alcoholic step-dad. I've never met my real father. My mother said he was a jerk anyways. My step-dad wasn't an alcoholic until my mom died. Whenever he was drunk, he would come home and beat me. I protected my little sister who was nine at the time. I didn't want her to know what he could do to her. So I took the blame for everything. After years of putting up with that, I finally had enough and I tried to stand up to him. Key word: tried. I told him he needs to stop drinking and get his life back together. He beat me harder that night than he ever did before. He broke my left ankle and he told me to walk out and he threw a guitar at my head when I was limping out. Why a guitar? I don't know, but I'm guessing it was the closest thing to him to throw. I found out that it my mother's old guitar becasue her signature was on the back along with some famous singers that I guess she saw before she had me. I took the guitar with me as a reminder of home before she died. I've limped around 100 miles to get where I am now. I came from Conneticut and let me tell you, I love New York City so much better. It was one of the places I wanted to go with my mom, but now that she's not here, I guess I'm seeing it for the both of us.
