There are days when you feel like you woke up in the middle of something. This was one of those days. The shrill sound and deep vibrations of my phone alarm dragged me out of my sleep, like a fight I didn’t sign up for. I reached around blindly until I found it under my pillow. I overslept. Again. Another rushed, careless morning.
I washed up quickly, rummaging for leggings, a black camisole, and something, anything, like a colorful cardigan or jacket. The cute jacket was my attempt at expressing style, a small gesture to show I cared about my appearance. I grabbed my work bag, a banana, and a bottle of water, then scurried out the door, leaving all the lights on in the apartment.
The wind hit hard, taking my breath with it. It felt more like the start of winter than fall. The pavement stretched endlessly, and it felt like the bus stop had moved further away overnight. I was feeling winded and looked around to see if anyone saw me gasping for air. The street was hazy, unusually quiet. No school buses in sight, am I later than usual? A neon sign on a corner store buzzed and flickered like a bug zapper. The chill clung to my skin.
At the stop, a girl stood with headphones on, looking like she stepped out of a mood board. Trendy. A bold choice of an orange asymmetrical dress layered over camo pants, and some sort of fuzzy orange heels like flames on her feet. A long camel color coat draped from her shoulders, oversized sunglasses and trucker hat giving her that “don’t talk to me unless you get it” look. We were the same size, same height, similar build.
Wow, I thought. Is this what I’d look like if I had a lil more time, maybe a little more me?
We made awkward eye contact. Or maybe she was just gazing out. I collapsed onto the bench with a sigh. Peeled the banana. The bus usually came at 8:58, but sometimes it showed up early at 8:54. It was 8:55. Either way, I was grateful to catch my breath.
Her music was loud enough that I could make it out. “Steelo” by 702. Instantly, I was back in girlhood. Me, Vanessa, Keesha, and Tay. Seventh grade. Getting teased by boys named Rayshawn and Paris. Richard too, who I had a crush on. We’d mostly laugh, but sometimes it left questions. We were always too something—too loud, too mean. But we’d sing anyway. After school, we’d head to the corner store with a couple dollars, feeling rich cause we could get snacks for errbody. Those boys were on our minds when we sang, “You know how I do, and you know how I flow…”
A car screeched by, yanking my thoughts back to the present. My banana was gone. I looked east. No bus. The girl was walking down the street now.
What’s taking so long? I checked the time: 8:57.
A little girl with purple barrettes sat beside me on the bench, kicking her feet and singing something unfamiliar. She looked happy.
“I like your hair.” I smiled. Mom used to hum when she did mine like that, sometimes Gospel, sometimes not. The song she reached for always let me know the mood she was in.
She smiled back.
“Why didn’t you do your hair?”
My hand flew to my head. I still had on my scarf from the night before. “I was rushing,” I said. “Forgot to take it down. I’ll fix it when I get there.”
“Where you going?”
“Work.”
“Do you like it? Her big brown eyes were so hopeful.
“Not really. I just have to.”
“Why?”
“Pays the bills.”
“Are there other ways to pay bills?”
“Sure, but they take energy and time.”
“You don’t have time and energy?”
“Not really. Not at the same time.”
She frowned. “Well, when you do, are you gonna change it?”
I shifted in my seat and lied. “I certainly will.”
“What’d you want to be when you were my age?”
“A dancer.”
“Can you dance?”
I smiled. “Not anymore.”
“Why didn’t you become one?”
I hung my head, “It’s not easy.”
She tilted her head. “But if you dance right now, wouldn’t that make you a dancer?”
I chuckled. “I guess so.”
She hopped off the bench and did something—jumps, twirls, a shimmy. Not quite dancing, but she was feeling herself. I watched her and thought about the days my mom used to do my hair in ribbons and bows. Before everything changed. Before my brother was born. Before mom sunk into depression.
“Where’s your mom, sweetheart?”
She paused, still smiling. breath intact. “She’s resting. Mommy gets very tired a lot.”
I nodded. But something caught in my throat.
She skipped away, humming. Her purple barrettes rhythmically swayed left to right, catching sunlight even though there was cloud cover.
The wind kicked up. I pulled my jacket tighter as a shield, a weak one. A teenage girl approached, her afro wild against the gust. Puffy coat, hunched shoulders. Something about her felt…known.
“You know what time it is?”
“8:58.”
“Late again, huh?”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“You’re always late.”
I rubbed my palms together, the guilt creeping in.c”I try,” I said, realizing she was speaking to herself, but I continued. “Mornings are hard.”
She sat beside me.
“When I get older, I want to wake up naturally. No one yelling. I want to make tea or a smoothie. Meditate. Look fly.”
My heart lurched. I used to say that. I did say that.
“I want to be a scientist. Something cool—NASA, marine biology. I want to explore.”
I gave her a weak smile.
“You don’t have a morning routine, do you?”
Heat crept up my neck. She looked me up and down, unimpressed.
She didn’t know what was happening back then. Or maybe she did. My mom sunk deep into herself. I raised my little brother. Nobody raised me. I lost friends. Lost my scholarship. Lost…myself. When my stepfather left, he took more than would ever be restored
“Damn,” she said, snapping me out of it. “Did you do anything we said we’d do?”
I froze. “Huh?”
“You got a car?”
“It’s down.”
She rolled her eyes. “You work?”
“Yeah.”
“Doing what?”
I don’t want to answer but I feel compelled to. “Accounting.”
She burst out laughing. “That’s boring as hell!”
The words cut deeper than I expected. I looked down and saw The bracelet. “T.A.C.K.Y” in uneven letters burned into stiff leather. Just like the one I made in eighth grade Wood shop class. My stomach turned. I remembered the heat press, carving letters into the leather. Before Vanessa transferred to our school, it had been just me, Keesha, and Tay. We’d mashed up our names into a funny word that somehow felt sacred. That same word now sat on her wrist. My breath caught. Mouth, dry. I knew that bracelet. I knew her.
She tilted her head. “You just now figuring it out? That’s sad. You don’t know me and I wish I didn’t know you.”
“I…”
She started to cry.
I knew that cry. I knew her.
That anger was sharp and unfiltered; it wasn’t new to me. I used to live in it. I was mad all the time. At everything. At everyone. At the silence in our house. No one ever asked me if I was okay. Having to grow up fast with no one to catch me. Her voice cracked. Tears welled in her eyes. I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to reach for her, but my arms felt useless.
“You think I didn’t try?” my voice came out hoarse. “It consumed me. Life’s a vacuum. A hypnotic maze. I couldn’t find my way out. And I’m lucky, we are lucky, to still be here.”
“I was smart.” She held her head up proudly. “What kind of things stopped you from using it ?”
Memories rushed in: dropping out of college, depression, the smell of burnt coffee at the diner, nights crying in the walk-in freezer, going back to school, clawing my way through it, the betrayal with Michael, meeting my real father and losing him almost as fast.
“Well?” she pressed. “We didn’t do any of the things we said we’d do. I was counting on you. I…just thought you’d fix it.”
“I didn’t know how,” I whispered.
Her eyes locked on mine. Fury, grief, disappointment all tangled together. And then, just like that, she vanished.
“It’s not that bad baby girl—”
I wanted to disappear. The wind blew dust and pebbles around my feet. The bus sped past.
A woman stood in the light like she belonged to it. Hair piled high in a soft, proud puff, skin glowing looking naturally highlighted. A fitted, striped set clung to her like it was made just for her, and her big gold hoops swayed every time she shifted her weight. I squinted, unsure at first.
Was that…me?
I didn’t remember looking…maybe feeling…that good. She looked like someone who knew how to invite joy and show up on time, even after everything.
I sat beside her. She was humming Mary J. Blige’s “Just Fine.”
“There’s still hope, right?”
We said it at the same time.
She stood, brushing off her clothes. “Today feels good. My plants budded this morning. After all that cold, they’re still growing, so I must be doing something right.”
I shifted, still heavy from the last version of me. And trying to remember this one.
“I made breakfast today. French toast. Sausage. Eggs. Orange-cranberry juice mocktail. I ate slowly. Watched TV. It’s the first time I felt good after a long time.”
I couldn’t remember when that happened for me. When I finally stopped crying over Michael. When I finally breathed without the weight. Not surviving. Not performing. Just being.
She looked at me with soft eyes. No judgment. No disappointment. Just…love? She reached out and took my hand, warm and steady.
“You’ve already done the hardest part,” she said. “Now you just have to remember.” Then she squeezed my hand once and let go.
I blinked, and she was gone. No vanishing act, no gust of wind, just gone, like she’d never been there. But something about the air felt lighter.
And I realized, I didn’t give that to myself.
The shrill sound and deep vibration of my phone buzzed beneath the pillow. I reached for it, eyes still heavy, body warm from sleep. For a second, I expected to feel the bench under me, the wind against my coat—but it was my room. Light creeping through the blinds. I checked the time. Late again. I thought about getting dressed. Just because you sign up for a fight, doesn’t mean you can’t lay down the gloves. I turned off the alarm and sent a quick text: Taking a personal day.
In the kitchen, music filled the air as I found myself rolling my hips a bit and feeling good. I moved slowly, pulling out bread, eggs and milk. I checked the cabinet; I like a ‘lil cinnamon on my French toast.
I didn’t know I needed to see myself again until I did.
Maybe nothing’s changed.
Maybe everything has.
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