This column consists of creative pieces written by me. Some might be a continued story, some might be poetry, some might be short stories from start to finish. You never know what you might get so, be ready for anything. Today’s story theme is about consequences. Interpret it as you may.
In light of Black History Month, all featured art pieces for this February’s column releases are going to be creations from Black artists.
Enjoy.
I was sitting there, minding my business, not searching for anything in particular, still hurt from the past and not looking for a future with anyone else. Trying to work to stay where I wanted to be, not thinking about elevating but rather surviving. I was so comfortable, so quickly. I shouldn’t have been but that’s a story for another time.
The minute you walked in our eyes met. You didn’t expect to see me there and I didn’t expect you to walk in. Hair tied up in a high pony and baggy clothes covering your slim figure. I wasn’t sure what I wanted, you seemed to know more than me. No intention of searching, just simply seeking comfort, warmth, and appreciation after a harsh rejection. Or rather a harsh realization that the people we want can’t always be who we need them to be. You seemed so confident in yourself, I was curious to see what was behind that confidence.
When she introduced you, practically pushing us towards each other, it was easy to keep the conversation flowing, even though social interaction seemed so foreign at the time. Like I had unlearned it in a sense. So comfortable with the people who already knew me that I almost didn’t know how to socialize with people who didn’t. Maybe that was because I didn’t know whether I even wanted to be talking.
You told me you were from a dangerous city, you had seen things, done things you weren’t proud of. You wanted me to know who you were, you tried so hard that it was put on. Was that really you? Or was that who you wanted to be. I acted innocent, and in a sense I was. I’d never seen those things, experienced that turmoil, fought those same battles. That’s not where I was from, and you liked that. You thought “that’s what I need”, and I thought “should I?”.
We hung out a couple of times. You tried to prove to me that you were a changed person. You don’t want the craziness of that lifestyle, it just follows you. I never realized how much you attracted it. What you put out into the world is exactly what ends up finding you.
One night we were on a hill, minding our business, enjoying the view, yet knowing we were somehow doing something we weren’t supposed to. It didn’t seem to concern anyone but me. No one ever seemed worried besides me. I chose not to show it. When I did in the past, I ended up arguing with the people around me. I shouldn’t have been around those people. I shouldn’t have been around you.
We heard a woman mumbling in the bushes, talking about smelling something she seemed familiar with, in an unfamiliar way. She claimed to want to call the police immediately without investigating the situation. She was definitely out of line. When we exited the spot we were in, purely for the view, she made eye contact with us. Even started taking pictures of us. It got you heated. You were always a hothead but I never realized how little it took to get you boiling.
She was definitely in the wrong, and she didn’t seem to calm down from her hysteria about something so small. Leaving was the best thing to do. I was the one driving which already gave me an eery feeling. It wasn’t my car, I didn’t have a license, there was alcohol in my trunk, and Mary in my system. Very unideal to say the least. You told me to turn around right there where the lady could see us. I watched you roll down the window and yell obscenities at her. I knew you were mad, overflowing with rage even, it was stupid of me to think you would keep it inside. She was shocked and so was I. Your cousin laughing in the back. What if she took a picture of my license plate? What if the police drives past us and recognized us from the description she gave on the phone. ‘There are three Black teens smoking and drinking behind my house.’
All we wanted was to watch the view from a hill. Have a good time. Relax. I wasn’t drinking. Yet none of that would matter if a hysterical white woman calls the police about a public disturbance, because we were the public disturbance, and we matched the description.
Today’s artist chosen for this piece is Tajh Rust. The New York based visual artist creates amazing moments on the canvas and draws inspirtion from not only his surroundings but also films, literary works, his travels, and influencial muses. “Through figuration and abstraction, he explores the relationships between black identity and space. … While also taking inspiration from his own travels and imagination, Rust manipulates the boundary between realism and surrealism” (source: www.tajhrust.com/about). Check out all his works on tajhrust.com and follow him @tajhrust.
(Header: The wrong place to be real, 2018 by Tajh Rust)
