Harlem Narrative

It’s December 12th, the day after my 17th birthday. I am awoken to yelling and my heart is beating out of my chest and I can hear it ringing in my head. I look at my phone and the time reads 4 in the morning. I climb down my bed so fast that I almost trip on my way down and hug my mother who is sleeping beneath me in the spare bed. My mother lets go of me and I can still hear the arguing at this very moment. In an instant, it seemed like a Rocky movie and I was Apollo Creed fighting Rocky Balboa. It’s still all so clear in my head, that I can reenact everything or even draw it out all in sequence. The next thing I knew, my mother’s things are packed, so are mine, thirty minutes go by and I’m at the precinct with her. She’s signing a massive

Over thinking, hyperventilating and holding in tears became a daily ritual on the A train because no one could know the demons I have. Multiply those three hours by six, that’s a total of eighteen hours a day. Dealing with my parent’s divorce was like a recurring nightmare: waking up to cry, having my throat dry like the desert and having to breathe at a calm pace to avoid an anxiety attack. I spoke to friends like nothing was going on, communicate with my parents like I wasn’t freaking out on the inside, keep up my grades, and smile like I didn’t have a care in the world. Though I tried so hard, my reality hit every time I entered that train, knowing I wouldn’t go to my apartment I call home. Strangers giving me the face of sympathy and concern, I wondered why they were all looking my way, then I saw my reflection; my eyes were bloodshot and I looked like a ghost. There’s nothing that I wanted more than to eat family dinner but I knew it was a fairy tale that would never come true because the police would end up knocking at my door and take dad

My mother was moving out of our apartment to live with someone else. I didn’t even want to think about having to share, my mother with anyone else or even having to share a new home. The initial plan was for her to move in August so I can finish senior year at home, then my father would take the apartment. It all sounded peachy keen until the asked me the big question; Who do you want to live with? It dawned on me that I had to choose who I love more and that’s not the way I wanted my decision to be based on. To avoid the constant arguments and agonizing questions, I chose to dorm here at College of Staten Island. It seemed ideal since I have classes here anyways, I’d avoid taking transportation, and I wouldn’t have to choose just yet who I wanted to live with. The day finally came in August, when I had to move into the dorms. It became another huge transition from living with parents to living alone with random