perfect time || roddy ricch

two

Kyrie Anderson

Washington, D.C. 
9:45 P.M.

Why did I procrastinate so much? I knew exactly when this paper was due, and like always I decided to wait until the last minute to start on it. I've been locked away in my room for at least two hours sitting in front of my laptop. I had until 11:55 P.M. tonight to have this assignment turned in, and my fingers were moving endlessly across the keypads of my Macbook Air. For some reason, I always seem to do my best work when it's rushed. So I might be looking at a smooth B+ on this paper.

The explicit rap music in my room suddenly stopped the very second my phone began to ring. I glanced at the phone, right before smiling at the blue heart emoji that flashed across the screen.

"You have a collect call from... Kyrese Anderson. An inmate at... California State Prison, Los Angeles County. To accept this call press, five. If you do not wish to accept the charges, press star."

Already familiar with this routine, I did as instructed, while patiently waiting to hear one of my favorite voices.

"Wassup baby girl,"

"Hey, daddy."

"What's going on witcha? You doing alright?"

"Yeah, I'm good. What about you? You good?"

"You know your daddy always good. Don't shit keep down in here." He said, followed by a deep chuckle. I smiled.

If there was anyone in this world that I admired so much, it was certainly my father. No matter how hard or upsetting life appeared, he always maintained this positive aura. Despite the circumstances against him, you'd never see him without a smile on his face.

My father was a firm believer in positive energy. Growing up, he would always preach to me and my brothers, about the importance of keeping your mind clear of negative thoughts. I remember mornings, where I would wake up to the smell of burned sage, as one of his daily rituals was to sage the entire house. He had done this before the start of each day, under the belief that it cleansed one's environment of negative energy, generated wisdom and clarity, and promoted healing.

Til this very day, I still find myself saging Saki and I's apartment every morning. It was my own daily ritual.

"So how's school been?" He asked.

"Um, it's been okay for the most part. I can't complain." I shrugged just a little.

"But...,"

"Why does there have to be a but?"

"Because that tone in your voice told me there was. Plus, I know when something's bothering my baby girl."

Of course, he did.

"Well to keep it real with you, this semester's been kicking my ass. I feel like I can't catch a break with this schoolwork and it's only the third week. Not only that, but there are so many requirements I need to take care of in order to graduate." I confessed. These last few days were definitely stressing a kid out, but I was never one to complain to my parents about my issues at school.

As a first-generation college student, it was sometimes hard talking to my parents about school. My father's misguided lifestyle caused him to drop out of high school during the tenth grade, and my mom was already a teenage parent with a one-year-old by the time she graduated. It was obvious that college was the last thing on both of their minds, which was why I kept my school problems to myself. They didn't know anything about being homesick, stress and depression, lack of sleep, poor eating habits, and the pressure of having too much workload. All they expected was for you to do good and finish strong.