Safety Patrol

Only one minute before school ends.

*Ring! Ring! Ring! *

I closed my neon green 2 1/2 inch 3 ringed binder and quickly placed it into my Sponge Bob roller backpack. My foot was halfway out the door as I was so eager to get to my locker.

“Hey, Caitlyn could you come here for a second?”

Pretending not to hear that call I went along to my locker.

“Caitlyn! Caitlyn! I have something for you”, she scouted jogging after me

With the fakest grin on my face I turn around. “Oh sorry Mrs. Scott, I didn’t hear you”, I said to her as she handed me an envelope. “Thank you, I’ll see you tomorrow”, I said as I shoved the envelope between my polka dot 1 subject notebook and my Sponge Bob lunch box.

n n  n

Finally, I was home. I grabbed to remote and aimed in at the flat screen TV. V I Z I O appeared in neon orange across the screen. GUIDE. PAGE DOWN. PAGE DOWN. NICKELODEON.

[Are you ready kids "Aye Aye Captain" I Can't hear you "AYE AYE CAPTAIN" Ohh...]

I laid on the plush burgundy rug in front of the television and took my pencil case and binder out of my backpack to start my homework. When I flipped open the cover of my notebook the envelope Mrs. Scott gave me fell out.  

To the Parent or Guardian of Caitlyn Rollins

OMG! What did I do now?! Was it another uniform violation? I don’t wanna get in trouble again, I just got off punishment. I’m just gonna open it, that way I’ll know what I’m getting myself into ahead of time.

 Dear Parent or Guardian,

Congratulations! I am pleased to inform you that the staff of Hilton Elementary/Middle School has recommended Caitlyn Rollins to join the AAA Safety Patrol Club as she has shown academic strength, outstanding leadership skills in class, Blah! Blah! Blah!, and overall good behavior throughout the school year.  AAA (American Automobile Association) is a non-profit member service organization Blah! Blah! Blah…helping young pedestrians learn and fulfill responsibilities regarding traffic safety. A parent consent form MUST be signed before being awarded the safety badge and belt. A meeting will be held Tuesday March 7^th at 3:45pm in the auditorium. 

Sincerely,

Judy P. Harcum

Judy P. Harcum

Principle

Bandana Girl

       I pull a perfectly square maroon fabric from that cheetah drawstring bag. I lay it down on top of my bed and smooth it out flat to try and get as many of the wrinkles out as I can. I fold it diagonally, making sure the corners match. Then I fold it again, long ways this time. Five more folds. I smooth it with my palms to make sure the creases are permanent.
       It's time to be her again. Encasing my forehead, I tie the ends once. Then twice. She will be around for two months and two weeks, no more, no less. The time will pass... I just need to make it through the next few hours; she will go back in the bag and I can be me again. But for now, I stare at her in the large closet door mirror covered with dry erase marker writings.
      What will her name be today, she has many. Mom calls her little Mexican or gang member; her poor excuse for humor. JB calls her Jimi Hendrix. To some she does't have a name, but they fear her anyway. Most importantly, those enticed strangers call her Bandana Girl.

     "You have enough for every day of the week, don'tchu? I've never seen anyone with that many."
The colors and patters flash in my brain: gray, maroon, white, purple, polka dots with a pink border trim, and cheetah print with a black border trim.
"At first I thought you were a gang banger. I was like 'ooo don't hurt me'." A breathy full-hearted chuckle accompanies his statements making his body jump. 'Why do you wear them?" "It's personal" she says.

 #OG...

[Looking up at the red light]...  Next time y'all wake up late, you're walking you’re a**es up to school.

LOVE YOU MANDERS!

Seven twenty a.m. *bell rings*

Damn it! My mom's going to kill me if I'm late ... again.. [sigh]

Calm down! It's only your second  ...I already have morning detention L-O-L!         *Scrolling through my Facebook*

My philosophy: Why rush to school? Rushing can cause accidents. It is THE LAW to stop at a red light. 

            

Pulling into the black top, a Howard County police car as well as my principal’s car were in their reserved parking spot. The front row, closest to the school, was filled with all of the teacher’s cars with couple of exceptions, those who think it is cool to get to school a little bit earlier to park a little closer... haha not!

Mander's parked super crooked... in a tiny little spot.... Maybe because she's super tiny, she parked like that?  I honestly did not understand...

Reaching into my North Face backpack, I pulled out a blank sheet of paper and pen. And not just any pen, but a BLACK pen because adults and professionals use black for document, according to my CNA teacher. Cracking my knuckles and warming up my hands, I hunched over the hood of the silver civic, and the pen began to move...

                                                                                                          April 1, 2013

To whom it may concern,

         

          Please excuse my daughter, Pariis, from being tardy. She was not feeling well last night and took a drowsy medication. If you have any questions or concerns, please feel free to call me at 443 *** ****. 

Thank You,

[Xeuforia Yi signature]

         Xeuforia Yi

Sincerely Perry! I’m all done, I’ll see you guys inside.

  

Can you write mine too? 

REALLY RANYA?!

... Fine... 

Girl

Today was a success. I deceived them all.


Bursts of warm water wash away my temporary shield. 8 oily, built-up hours of lies. I cringe in the mirror before me. Naked eyes. Nose and chin a nice ripe tomato shade.



Oh. My. God.

                  “This is Houston, and we have a problem.”



                                                                              Sincerely,

                                                             The Mountain on Your Lower Jaw



I don’t know if I have enough concealer to cover that bad boy up.

       You look like you need a nap!

       Rough day huh?

That's what they would say if they saw me right now. But this is me. Huge pores and all. Tomorrow, I will please the world again. I will spend 30 minutes painting, fixing up, and then fixing again.


And then I will cringe in the mirror before me.


Who is that girl?

"Narnia"

“Narnia”

            In the blazing sun, I roller bladed around the entire neighborhood, all day with my friends, with the present my uncle had gotten me the year before. In my brother’s shorts and tee shirt, I raced home to my mom. With a ginormous smile, she asked “Guess where you’re going next week?” She had enrolled me into summer camp at the YMCA.

           I woke up to the yellow/orange sun and checkered shadows on my face, as my body screamed for more sleep. Like a sack of potatoes, I sagged off my bed and crawled to the bathroom. Electrocuted with a burst of energy, I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and put my clothes on. Grabbing my packed brown bagged lunch, I clenched my teeth and walked out the door. The minutes must have had melted away into seconds by the sun because I was already in front of the YMCA. With my mom’s hand glued to mine, butterflies and blushed skin, I held my head high and walked in. The rooms were rainbows and the people were unicorns. My mouth dropped and my hand squeezed even tighter.

          Taking another fresh breath of air, I followed a lady with a bright red shirt. I, too, was wearing a bright red shirt with many others wearing a bright red shirt. Following this lady like little ducklings out into the scorching sun, I sat on the wooden bench underneath a breezy tree as its leaves fanned me. With eyes wide opened, a girl with braids ran over to feel the gushing wind of the same tree, but it was not enough. Hunched over, I heard a great roar as all the “animals” began running towards the sound. I grabbed my friend’s hand and we headed to “Narnia,” a place in which the heat could be defeated with many possibilities. At this place, the Blue Raspberry snowball cured me and looking at my friend, she smiled and ordered, as I reached into my pocket to pay.

12 years later, we often visit Narnia because she still owes me 50 blue raspberry snow cones.

10 Violet Drive

I made two lefts, three rights, and saw the home that I spent so many years and had so many memories in. Some thingswere the exact same, and somewhere different. The hunter green shutters were still faded, the single tree was still standing, and the mailbox still had a tiny dent from when I backed down the driveway, a little too fast. 

The fence was new, replaced by the neighbors. It was only a fence, but it was the fence where I learned how to pitch for softball, and spent numerous hours outside practicing. My spray painted pitching box was gone, like the neighbors just erased it without thinking twice. I thought this fence was just a fence, but emotions started to swarm me; like the huge wave that creeps up on you out of no where, when you aren’t looking at the ocean.  I thought the fence was just a meaningless object, but it actually cared some importance to me. I was nervous to see my house from the inside, like a high school girl on the first day of class. I was scared to see what else changed, or if my room was still the same sky blue color. 

I was surprised to see the inside look exactly the way I remember it. The third step still cracked, the paint chips in the hallway from moving furniture were still there, and my height chart was still along the wall. All of these things were easy cosmetic fixes, so why didn’t the new owners fix these? I was confused, but yet relieved. I felt as if my home still had parts of myself and my childhood left in it. We no longer owned the house, but you could still tell that my family left it’s own footprint. Like when you are walking along the beach in the early morning and you can look over your shoulder, and see your track of footprints. The footprints may erase in time, but you always know where you start walking at. This house was like the start of my own footprints for the beginning years of my life. 

I loved my house as a child, and I continued to. I had a special spot for what I called my home for so long. This place wouldn’t change my memoires just because a couple of changes were made; it was still my home, and would always be home to me.

5216 Darien Blvd

It has been 7 years since I left Baltimore. I decided to go back to my old home, where my parents still lived.  I did not call ahead of time because I wanted to surprise them. When I got there I stood at the bottom of the multi-colored stone walk way as memories of my childhood flooded my brain, like a pot of grits that has boiled over onto the stove. I would hear Come in girls its dinner time as I washed away the chalk drawing from the pathway with the water hose. Each step was like walking down the isle on my wedding day, slightly nervous but still extremely thrilled. I walked pass the ash bush that my green bouncy ball used to roll under. I could remember the small scratches that aligned my arms from trying to retrieve it. Raising my right arm knocked on the door. Not to loud. Not to soft. After about 2 minutes with no response I decided to try my key. Surprisingly it worked I was in. As the door slowly closed, squeaking like they do in horror films I was shocked at what I had walked in to.

What Used to be Left

The place I used to come to since I was 12 years old is different. It used to be my second home but now it seems as if it never knew me. It is as if we are strangers to one another. It used to be filled with so much love, and warmth. Now it feels so cold. It feels dark. The many conversations and laughter that used to take place has ceased. There are less little feet tapping on the dance floor. A place where we would have after class gatherings, is no longer welcoming of us to gather. Now it seems as if as soon as class is over everyone just leaves and does not stick around. We all used to sit in the building on Market Street., talking, laughing and dancing for hours on end even when we did not have to be there. The place I used to spend 12 hours or more a week, I now only spend an hour a week if that when I am around. It has all changed and I cannot wrap my head around it. Ever since she has passed everything has been different. Our beloved Carol Lorraine Cubbage Davis was the glue that kept our dance school together. She was such a great person to be around, she was filled with such joy, love and laughter. She always knew what to say when you were having an off day. I miss that bright smile that warms your heart. The dance school that I came to know as Progressive Center for Dance is now called Ms. Carol’s Center for dance in memory of our angel. Everything is just so different from what it used to be since she’s been gone. I want what used to be to come back.

Unseen Observations

Some strange shuffling rocks me back to consciousness,

Quick rapid blinks force my eyes to awaken.
Colors swirl around my eyes-
registering the light, the lens widens then shrinks,
When I gaze upon a gentle warm bask of the soft light,
Creeping underneath the bedroom door.
The heavy wheels of the late night travelers roll over the small street,
just below the small second story apartment window.

Footsteps gliding over that old matter rug
On top those light brown hardwood floors… followed by a dense thump…
            usually mom says we can’t be too loud
            or the people downstairs will be mad
Go     then     stop    then      go     then    stop
It sounds like the shuffling footsteps are dangerously traveling
In some awkward circle.
Quick shallow breaths escape from worried lungs
            can’t be me, I’ve stopped filling my lungs…
            they have yet to be released
Words are thrown out into the space between them.

All the movement halts-
No staccato footsteps of the circular motions
No travelers coming or going up or down the hill
Eerie drab silence grows
Looking blacker than darkness…

The next day I look over at the strangest sight
…My mom is wearing sunglasses in the store
My voice must take place of hers…
Hers has run away
Even though I am only 8,
The. Dots. Connect.
It hits me…
            But not as hard as he hit her.