5. sixteen

My bronzed tan just doesn't look good, it feels good. Long toned legs protruding out of my short green shorts, my thin arms muscular in a tight halter top. I'm sitting on the top front step, it's a late summer afternoon and I'm waiting for the school bus to drop off the fiend camouflaged as my younger sister. It has been a normal summer in the sense that I spent all my time playing around with my vioilin, composing poetry and strange fictionalised stories. My mind is a demon that refuses to sleep. One summer evening with the June bugs hitting the outside light I drank too many glasses of Jamaican white rum and the next morning I was discovered beating my legs against the wall. Kicking them in mild hysterics or simply a temper spout uncapped and pouring out all my teenage grievances. The rum does tend to bring out the worst in people. I do call it unbottlling in the sense that there were escapades and adventures I was missing out on. Even the insignificant moment's that so many take advantage of; walking with a friend, talking about your day, laughing, fooling around, shopping, discussions about wonderful and amusing subject's. Reality is I was missing out, no matter what anyone had to say. It wasn't my fault, but everyone behaved like it was and they picked, prodded at a girl, holding the vibrancy of the color red right in front of her as is she were a god damn bull.

But most of the time I was attending to chores and always outside running as far as I could. Or power walking once I realized I couldn't run away from myself. I had to learn how to bide my time, a creeping, crouching tiger in a jungle of madness, the sharp and white teeth glistening in hunger. Needing to bite my prey. The way out was going to take up practically my entire adulthood, unfortunately, but I would make it. Adulthood would be my saving grace.

For now, around the bend in this crazy road, I can see a figure with long greasy hair, wearing one of those black suit style jacket's tapering in to mid calf, approaching me in the night shade. He stops and looks at me as if I don't have a chance in life and what exactly am I doing out here all alone anyways. Then I leap, my limber and youthful limbs awash in ferocity and madness with his insanity.

My life must've begun here. I knew there would be an ending or a beautiful beginning some where's down this short road. How short was it really, though? The idea with adulthood, well, it was actually a long and bumpy one that climbed sporadically.