Chapter 1: The Rising Sun
Somewhere In Between
Blessed, the sun rose again. Light shines between the buildings in the inner city. Normally barely any light can get to my window because of the giant shadows casted along the side of my apartment complex. But today … today feels different, almost … brighter.
Six months I’ve lived here with my girl, Imani, and my baby daughter, Nia. The sun hasn’t shined this bright since the day she was born. That was the same day I was kicked outta my momma’s crib to live in this raggedy ass one bedroom apartment on E. 33rd Street. On the bright side, it’s priced just right for two 17 year olds who work and go to school. It’s ok, I guess. I mean, we fall asleep safe knowing no one can creep up on us in the dead of the night; we’d hear them coming from a mile away. The living room is just a maze of creaky floor boards that me and Imani know like the back of our hands, now, from walking back and forth for the last 6 months trying to complete our new apartment.
It’s complete with a hardly furnished living room, little two seater love seat, and a 55 inch tv sitting comfortably on the floor. We don’t have cable, but I got my PlayStation to watch Netflix all day and keep Nia’s little brain numb with her little kiddy shows that, to be honest, keep me and Imani entertained, too. Our kitchen: stocked with plenty of baby food and microwave meals for us; it’s not that we can’t cook, we're just lazy. Our room: finished with a queen sized bed barely raised an inch off the ground, a tall lamp, a hamper, with a ton of dirty clothes that need to be taken to the laundromat, and Nia’s crib just to the left of the bed.
At night … I feel the emptiness of the house and find myself reaching for closeness. Then there’s Imani in my arms, always here when I need her, just her presence settles me. I think she feels the same emptiness I feel, whenever my arms around her, I feel her tense cold body loosen, relax, and warm to the embrace.
In the morning, I wake up to the two most beautiful girls I’ve ever laid my hazel eyes on. Imani’s perfect brown skin, like fertile soil, Nia’s light skin like the spring sun. Imani’s beautiful black eyes, like staring into the night sky, Nia’s light eyes, like the north star. Imani’s chiseled cheekbones, Nia’s chubby cheeks. They’re so opposingly beautiful, contrasting, clashing yet, coming together to make a once in a lifetime pair.
I love these women; I’d do anything for these women. Imani is my balance in a world that seems to tilt which way it pleases. My whole body is in love with her. She’s so perfect; she doesn’t believe me but she is. She’s intelligent, she’s a fighter, hard headed then a mothafucka. She’d probably say the same about me. She’s gorgeous. Her body flows like the ocean, I feel every curve and edge of it, I love it. I can tell she doesn’t have any clothes on other than my blue and yellow dashiki. The loose fit and thin feel makes me weak, I tried to give her a space, but it’s too late she feels my weakness. She knows I’m not the type to ask so she flips over, grabs it, and whispers, “Come on.”
The Rich
Cursed, the sun rose again. He’s alone and he doesn’t even know, the light his surrounding people shine seems to dim. His name, Caspar James, born to a family with a lot of land. Caspar never knew struggle, he always got exactly what he wanted. He never knew what it was like to be wrong or wronged. As he grew, his circle grew. He was gullible; he genuinely believed those people loved him. He never realized everybody that he considers a friend are just yes-men and ass kissers.
Here he is, 47 years old, just as gullible and rich as he was 30 years ago, living in a big ol’ penthouse on 57th street. His fiancée Eris lives with him but she's never home; she’s either out with her “friend” or shopping on Fifth Ave. Spending the money she didn’t work for herself, I mean, I suppose getting on her knees or bending over is a lot of work for her.
Eris is 20 years younger than Caspar, attractive, promiscuous, and deceiving. High cheekbones, nose pointed, thin red lips, blonde hair, and greenish-blue eyes the embodiment of worldly beauty, manifesting signs of the Jezebel spirit. Love blinds a man, all evils become shrouded in false purity, and love makes a man more susceptible to deceit, sometimes the deceiver is the one considered to be love. Caspar has fallen into a place where the only escape is hitting the ground. Hard.
The Needy
The sun rose, he still sleeps. The sun falls, he still sleeps. Sun cycles mean less and less to her when her son sleeps. She sits at his bedside with fading hope, wondering if he dreams of her, wondering whether or not he’ll ever know her struggles: her pains; would she want him too? Would she want him to know her temple has been touched by men who don’t believe in her God; but pay tithes? Would she want him to know the favors she’s done that make for forgetful cops? It doesn’t matter, this is the only thing keeping her son alive.
