~Detroit, 1995~
It's quiet here, alone in my apartment at this time in the morning. Just the sound of the kitchen tap leaking again and the low hum of the city waking up outside as I get ready for work. But it's familiar and comforting to hear every day. I'd almost call it peaceful.
After locking up my apartment, I brace myself for the cold, nestling further into my jacket as I adjust the hood around my face to keep out the harsh wind. It's still early, nearly 6:30 AM. The clouds overhead are grey and gloomy, signaling a rainy and cold November day. It's the type of weather that makes me regret getting out of my warm bed just a little bit.
I begin my morning walk to the bus stop just a short distance away–saying hello to the postman as I pass. Police sirens echo from a distance as I avoid a group of men standing on the corner arguing about money– steam rising from the sewer grates around them. I pass by countless abandoned or run down homes, empty lots, and closed businesses- just the norm here in Detroit- till finally I reach my bus stop just as the bus arrives and I get on.
It's weird to think how used to everything I am, around Detroit. How quickly I've adjusted to living here. I wasn't sure if I'd remember much about the area when I first moved here this year. But all those summers spent in the past have prepared me, leaving me with a familiarity for the city.
Though Detroit isn't your regular summer vacation spot, it was for me. There was a house, not too far from where I'm living now, that I would spend two weeks at every summer since I was eight years old. The woman who lived there was known in the neighborhood as Irene. An older lady with thick prescription glasses, a mouth of a sailor and a tendency to chain smoke Marlboro Lights. She was the kindest soul though, always opening her door- and heart- for those in need.
She was also my Nana.
And those two weeks every summer were some of the most memorable times of my life. On Mondays we'd go shopping. She'd take me to volunteer with her at the soup kitchen on Wednesdays. And Thursdays she'd take me to the Bingo hall. We'd participate in neighborhood activities or just stay home cooking and baking. And as I got older, she'd let me explore more of the city on my own. I enjoyed spending time with her and she was always there for me.
My Nana lived in Detroit all her 89 years, right up until the day she died– earlier this year.
The tough old broad wouldn't have wanted me to cry over her, but of course I did. I loved her so, and now I have no one. No one but myself.
Well. I guess that's not completly true. Since I made the move from New York City to Detroit after my Nana's funeral-a move to feel closer to the maternal figure I lost-I've really made a life here.
It was an adjustment at first. I left everything behind, rented an apartment, got a teaching job at the nearby day care center. Slowly I got to know my neighbors and the employees at various restaurants and stores I'd frequent. I became friends with one of the girls I worked with, Gabi, and her best friend Hanna–a waitress and aspiring model. I'd take the bus around, since the car my Nana left to me still didn't work, and re-familiarized myself with the area I once knew.
And I grew to love this city just as she did.
When I arrive at the daycare, I'm welcomed with several cheers of, "Miss Tessa!" followed by young children running up to say hello to me.
"Morning, kiddos!" I smile at them, just as happy to see them as they are to see me.
"Oh good, you're here!" I hear Gabi sigh from behind me and I turn to see her with one of the kids, Tommy, on her hip-the little boy playing with her braid. She already looks tired and flustered as she asks, "Could you start circle time, Tess? I need to run to the bathroom."
"No problem." I take Tommy from her and announce to the group, "Little ones, to the rug for circle time! Remember, criss-cross applesauce!"
The kid's obey right away, running to sit down on the rug designated for circle time- their favorite- and wait for me.
All the children in our group are under six years old. There are twenty-five children total in the daycare, but Gabi, another teacher and I take care of the older kids while three other teachers care for the infants. The other ladies are at least twice our age, which is one of the reasons why Gabi and I became friends. We were the youngest and closest in age- I being twenty-one and her just a year older. Not to say we aren't close to the other ladies, but it's a different type of friendship.
Our day is just like any other; circle time, snack time, dancing, sing-alongs, arts and crafts, recess, story time, and so much more. It's mostly fun all day, but there's a few scraped knees I have to bandage and tears I have to wipe away when feelings are hurt too. I even have to raise my voice a few times, to not only be heard but taken seriously. And it's honestly exhausting.
So I'm happy when it's time to put the kids down for a nap, just to get a small break. When I finally get the last child to sleep- after two books, three lullabies, and a back rub- Gabi slips me a note:
Girls night Saturday?
You in?
I look up at her with a tired smile and nod. I desperately need a night out.
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A/N
And welcome to my second story, Love Me (an 8 mile fan fiction). It'll be a short story...probably
This story, on top of Ain't Nobody Like You, has been in my head forever.
This chapter takes place a week before the events of 8 Mile.
Also I made it november... not sure of the month it takes place but if anyone else knows let me know and I'll change it. But after 100 viewings I dont think they ever say. I know it doesnt matter either. Honestly it's just my annoying need for as much "accuracy" in a fictional story as I can.
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