new perspective

v. RICH LIKE CHOCOLATE

chapter five,

rich like chocolate.

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[unedited] 5.

my mother didn't care to ask me where i was going before i was out the door. i was cold, as my thin as paper sweater wasn't giving me enough warmth as i wanted it to, and it had just rained. it was dark out, too. 

i wrapped my arms around myself as i started walking to my left, trailing my shoes against the side walk. i look across the street to darryl's house, all the lights on. i could see his father leaning on their kitchen table, his face red. he looked to be yelling, holding a broomstick high in his hands. across from him, darryl is stood, talking quickly. his lips moved so fast that i could barely keep up.

his father then threw the broomstick at darryl, shaking his head. i stopped right in my tracks. darryl was crying, now. holding the part of his head that was hit. 

jesus christ. darryl looked up at his dad and threw him the middle finger, screaming some more. he hurriedly made his way to his door, and i quickened my step. i don't know what i would do if he caught me watching that.

i don't know how to feel. gosh. darryl. getting hit like that. it made me think.. did that always happen to him?

"zak!" a faded voice called out from behind me. darryl. oh god.

i turned around sheepishly, "oh, hey."

he smiled, how could he do that? and asked, "where are you going?"

the truth was, i actually was going to walmart to buy him something. i hadn't made up my mind yet. i was thinking fake flowers, but isn't that just flat-out evil? and aren't those expensive? the highest expense i could spend was ten dollars, because it was all i had. i found it on the ground in the cafe, and took it. i knew it was wrong. i was desperate.

i maybe felt bad for treating him as rude as i did. i was going to speak, but the same music from thursday started to play again. darryl's head instantly shot back, asking, "is it really that loud?"

"you don't — you're not the reason why it's loud?" i asked, because of course it was. that music fit darryl. it was punk and he dressed punk. he was the only younger one of the family, and i didn't think a dad would be into that kind of stuff.

"no? i hate my dad's rock and roll music." he told, "which is ironic, because i like rock bands. just not his rock. his is too — scream-y. they yell too much. it gives me a headache."

woah. he felt the same as i did. "i agree." i responded. "it's really loud. like — loud. it kept me up all night one day."

"really?" he gasped. i nodded, "yeah.." and he seemed to be affected by this. "i told him to turn it down. i'm so sorry."

"hey, it's nothing to worry about." it was. it really made me mad. "if it was that serious, i would have gone over." no, i wouldn't have. it was too late in the night for that. 

"okay. if it happens again though, please tell me." he stated, seriously. i nodded, softening in his gaze, "okay."

he began to walk alongside me, and i don't think he wanted to ask me where we were going again. for all he knew, i could be leading him to a crack house. 

i wish i could ask him if we could go to get coffee or something, but there was no way i could afford it. why does life rely on money so much?

"we could go to the park." i suggested, my other plans now ruined.