Category: Junior Literary

Hello, my fellow bored human persons. (;

I have a lot of blog posts planned…so consider yourself warned. But, first, I want to call your attention to a pressing matter in our current reality. Before I reveal my jaw-dropping topic, however, I want to check in on everyone. Hello, how are you? Personally, I stand somewhere between stress and apathy, but I have hope that this will all end…sometime. I want fast food. I want to wander through Dirt Cheap. I want to drink overpriced coffee in a bookstore as I browse the shelves and stare longingly at ten-dollar novelty socks. Well, that made me sad. Anyway…

Oh, yes, my pressing topic: food. In this blog post, I am reviewing food. I would recommend leaving to preserve your sanity, but why not stay and torture yourself? Take me seriously when I say that I have crossed a line. Hearts will be broken, and stomachs will feel empty. Do not say that I failed to warn you.

And so we begin…

dun dun dun

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Hm, what should I—a certified food judging person—review first?

Yes.

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Pizza

(Viewer Discretion Advised: A whole lot of people are about to be offended.)

Why did I start with pizza? Well, it obviously has nothing to do with it being literally everywhere in America despite being Italian. Oh, what should we serve at a birthday party? Pizza. Class parties? Pizza. Get-togethers? Pizza. Probably even wedding receptions? Pizza.

Why? When did American society conspire together to agree upon this? I need answers.

I mean, sure, pizza is a pretty easy solution to the crisis of what food to serve a hungry, obnoxious crowd of extremely picky and unsatisfied people, but come on! Every single gathering?

Some pizza tastes golden, especially with soda. You have stuffed crust pizza, pizza that costs more than five dollars, different styles of pizza, supreme pizza, thin crust pizza, and pizza with topics other than pepperoni.

But the rest of pizza? The pizza that everyone buys in bulk for parties because of affordability? I have had so much of it that I am convinced that “hot and ready” refers only to the fire that consumes my hopes and dreams when I eat slices of pizza the temperature of desolation and despair. My taste buds have all died from the taste of cooked, stale, cardboard bread and desecrated tomatoes that have surrendered golden opportunities to have themselves massacred and squashed into the cardboard.

Dear, pizza, I apologize. I love you sometimes; you surprise me. But I despise eating you day after day out of frozen pizza boxes and “hot and ready” lies from a mockery of a Roman emperor.

To everyone deciding that I am an enemy, I eat pizza; I am not a snob. But my #tragic backstory featured so much pizza that I am desensitized to its deliciousness. Call me a coward, but, yes, I guess I have fallen asleep to the wondrous taste of pizza.

I would apologize, but the damage has already been done.

Rating: a black hole of sadness and despair

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Tacos

Hate me all you want, but I pity those that fail to see the undeniable beauty of tacos.

Thank you, creators of the lovely taco, I owe you all of my respect and acknowledgement.

(Tacos are better than pizza; sorry Italians.)

Although I am not of Hispanic heritage and blessed with the beautiful traditions of creating tacos, I know a thing or two about the essence of the taco.

Commercialized Tacos (Taco B*ll): 4/10…pretty good—especially for quantity over quality.

Normal Restaurants in America: 6.788800999/10

Fancy Restaurants in America: 10/10

Homemade Tacos Made by Clueless Americans: 10/10 (A+ for love, dedication, and doing whatever you want.

Guacamole, I love you. No, not you, store-bought guacamole. I mean the guacamole with the colors and flavors of life itself. I mean the guacamole with cilantro and citrus and avocados squashed with care. I love you with all of my heart.

Dear salsa, I love you too.

Dear tacos in general, you are my one, true love. I would sacrifice eating chicken nuggets for you.

Here is a love poem I wrote (it is an excerpt from a vignette titled “Love and Its Flavors):

 

On a blue plastic plate sits 

The reason for my heartbeat:

A crunchy corn shell 

Glimmering gold,

Encompassing an expanse

Of savory goodness. 

Ground beef,

A product of thirty minutes

Spent crumbling a

Cold slab of meat,

Glows with a tantalizing

Orange that owes its

Existence to a sauce packet.

Above this foundation of 

Flavor, a medley of crisp

Lettuce and tomatoes 

Contrast the saturated 

Protein, and all of the 

Colors and textures of

Salsa and guacamole dance

Beneath melted cheese.

 

This is a description of a basic taco, but keep in mind that I am not a taco amateur.

That aside, I have finished my appraisal of the existence of the taco.

Rating: what heaven tastes like

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Spaghetti

Not that I have pizza out of the way, I do not have anymore vehement words. But since I am a critic of prestige, I will venture into grey waters.

Oh, spaghetti. I am not sure how to feel about you. You are not my favorite pasta, but you surprise me sometimes. However, I am saddened when you take the form of merely noodles and tomato sauce. You need flavor and variety.

But most of all, I dislike chicken spaghetti. I am sure that an acceptable versions exist, but I have had some chicken spaghetti that had the taste and consistency of my eighth grade poetry. Blah.

Spaghetti, I accept you, especially when you are made with care. But I love tortellini.

Rating: a hearty thumbs up

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Potatoes

Every other food can go ahead and leave; we all know the true winner.

The best vegetable in the entire world: the potato. I mean, come on—baked potatoes, fries, mashed potatoes, you name it. Wow.

I love potatoes with all of my heart. If I could serenade one vegetable, it would be a potato. Because it is so modest and simple yet filled with so much opportunity.

I love mashed potatoes (gravy? sure).

I love baked potatoes, wow (unless I have only a meek plastic fork).

And most of all…I love french fries. Oh, thinking of fries makes my heart burst. I have not had a good fry in so long, so I believe that I am suffering from the side effects (heavy eyes, overcast spirit, blah blah blah).

But, yes, I love the potato.

Rating: a heart

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Honorable Mentions for “Eh” Food:

• Sloppy Joe’s (whatever the heck that monstrosity is)
• Repetitive chicken sandwiches (you know it)
• French fries that taste like twigs
• Really sad fast food burgers (not naming any names…)
• Leftovers when you have absolutely nothing in the refrigerator
• Some box dinners
• Really dry or burnt abominations

Honorable Mentions for “Thumbs Up” Food:

• Sushi
• Nachos
• Certain casseroles
• Key lime pie
• Lemon bars
• Reese’s
• Sherbet
• Cookies
• Lasagna
• Certain soups

Okay, that could continue forever, so I will go ahead and stop.

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So, I hope you enjoyed reading my incredibly biased ratings. I may or may not have another one of these, but I have a lot planned; we shall see.

In the mean time, I hope everyone is well and not too hungry.

When I am out of quarantine, I will savor every second spent eating in restaurants and buying groceries. I will never complain about L*ttle Caes*rs again because at least it is from the outside world, and that is a privilege in itself.

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Wednesday’s Fun Fact:

Legend has it that the dreaded part three to a band blog lies on the horizon…(evil laughter cued)

Wash your hands or something…whatever the cool kids say these days (in case you did not already know to wash your hands).

peace out

Hello guys and happy Wednesday! I don’t know what day we are on in quarantine, but guess what? We are still here and that’s all that matters.

For today’s blog post I wanted to share a flash fiction piece I wrote recently for an assignment. It’s called “Journaling in Jamaica” and it’s about this woman journaling about finding her happiness in Jamaica by leaving her husband.

I have noticed that most of my stories when I write about love always includes a relationship breaking up.  It’s funny to me in a way. I have tried to write love stories but I can never bring myself to produce it. Personally, I have never witnessed a functional, healthy relationship and that scares me. Because a part of me feels like if I’ve never seen romantic love how can I write about it, even more importantly, how can I experience it for myself?  But that’s off topic from “Journaling in Jamaica”. I will just stop ranting now. I hope you all enjoy the story and please leave any suggestions below!

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                                              Journaling in Jamaica

Of course, I never believed traveling to Jamaica was going to save our marriage, but it was the last play we had left. Our last straw left to draw. I may have never believed it, but the thought did cross my mind. At times I wonder to myself: Where did we go wrong? What was the day you fell out of love with me? That is the question I desire to ask my husband. Of course, I would have to ask myself the same question.

It has been two days since we landed in Montego Bay, and so far, I figure this has to be the most animated city in the world. I’m surrounded by happy black people dancing, smiling, and singing. Just living their life with no worries it seems. Have they not face hardships? Of course, they have, everyone has to face hardships in their life. They just seem to not let their hardships affect their life and ruined their happiness, unlike me.

I have found peace at the beach that flows outside our resort. The beach has palm trees with coconuts sprouting from the branches. Which provides me shade as I journal under the Jamaican sun. Along with sand as shy as silver that warms my submerged toes. In the center of the beach is a vibrant self-made dance floor. The natives are dancing to reggae music. It’s such a majestic view as if there are dancing with their souls leading. The blue, clear ocean covers the equator of the earth. It expands so wide, I feel like if I were to swim in it I would get lost at sea where no one can find me.

A lively woman, who balanced fruit on her head, walked up to me yesterday while I was journaling on the beach. She told me in her thick Jamaican accent, “Dawta, look yah pipe up. There no problems in Jamaica.” She handed me a branch of lychee from her assortment and twirled away. I started to smile, I did. I felt the grin rise on my face, and then I saw my no-good husband up to no good conversing with a woman bartender. Under the large straw hut where a black wooden island stands stacked with alcohol to serve anyone’s desires and pleasures. I saw the grin on his face as he studied her, planning his next move. I saw her cheeks blush as she analyzes him. She ignores the gold wedding ring on his finger which signifies that he is unavailable. But he ignores the commitment and vows he made to me when he slides his hand over her face. I decided that’s my cue. So I walk towards my husband and said, “Husband, there you are! I’ve haven’t seen you all day. You were already gone when I woke this morning. Seems like you made a friend.”

The man’s face looked like he had seen a ghost. I could tell he didn’t expect me to be there; nevertheless, catch him in the act of him flirting with another woman. He said, “Hi wife, I woke early to hit a run on a beach, and uh where I met her. This is…” His words trailed off when he realizes he never even got the bartender name. That was so funny to me. He is willing to risk our marriage over someone that he couldn’t even bother to ask what her name was. It dawns on me at that moment that this man who I named my husband, did not deserve to be the draining source of my happiness. I decided that I was no longer going to allow his actions to dictate my joy. So, I said to him, “Save that thought husband. I’m going to go dance. You have fun with the bartender.” I winked to him and made my way to the dance floor. I reached the vibrant area where the natives are dancing and singing. I joined them by moving my hips to every beat, and feeling the rhythm with my feet. I let my soul guide me to a life filled with happiness.

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Quote of the week

” If I don’t define myself for myself, I would be crunched into other people’s fantasies for me and eaten alive. ”

– Audre Lorde

 

Audre Lorde was a writer, civil rights activist, feminist, and a lesbian. In her writing she spoke on the oppression of race, gender, and sexuality.

Okay. Y’all, I’ve been listening to S O M U C H music lately. Like, it is honestly ridiculous. And I’ve fallen into a hole of listening to songs, but slowed down. And it’s a certified vibe. An every song is different. Every song has a different energy and it’s so nice and refreshing. So, I thought I’d introduce y’all to some slowed down songs in hopes that you like them! So, without further ado, here we go.

 

First off, Drama by Roy Woods ft. Drake

This song does have profanity, so listen cautiously. But it takes an already amazing song and adds a little spice. Honestly, listening to this song, it reminds me of a movie score. Like, it’s not that boujee where there’s an entire orchestra in the background, but I feel like it would be in a modern rendition of a Bluford Heights book or The Wood. Something like that.

Next, Trust- Brent Faiyaz

This version of the song is IMMACULATE!!!!!! The flavor is beyond sensational.  Ugh, Brent is almost perfect before the edit. But after??? It’s a whole new world. This version really reminds me of the summer in the bottom of a pool. Like, you’re just chilling with your friends and this song is blaring through speakers but it’s muffled through the water. It’s just gorgeous. I love this song.

After that is Die For You by The Weeknd

This is probably one of my favorite songs in the world. The original is gorgeous and this version just amps that up. Now, the best part of this version is the chorus. It’s absolutely a m a z i n g. The slowness of the song mixed with the depth of the voice really just makes this perfect. This song was MADE for 3 A.M. drives with no cars on the road and street lamps on the both sides. That mental image mixed with this song is just *chef’s kiss*

Next to last is Big Poppa by Notorious B.I.G.

This song does have some profanity and suggestive lyrics, so, again, listen cautiously. HOWEVER, Biggie is such a monumental rapper so I felt obligated to share this absolute masterpiece. Now, the original version of this song is amazing and I will always love it. But the slow version??? It adds more emotion to the words and the voice. Ugh, I think this is one of my favorites that I’ve discovered.

And lastly, Everybody Wants to Rule The World by Tears for Fears

This song is specifically for Callie. I know she adores Tear for Fears so I wanted to give her this. The original of this song is amazing. It’s kinda retro and gives you a good sense of the alternative scene back in the 80’s. The slowed version takes that and amplifies it. When I listen to this, I feel like I’m driving in the dessert in Nevada and there’s only me, my ’83 Lincoln, and the clothes in my back seat. Just beautiful.

 

I hope you enjoy these songs and if you have any suggestions, I’d love them! I love you all and hope to see you soon.

Hello, welcome back to my blog. I hope your day has been awesome with a side of fries…and a milkshake…and—

Okay, I will not tantalize you with anymore thoughts of food. Anyway, I hope everyone is well and has something other than canned green beans to eat. And…there I go again.

Well, in this blog, instead of describing food (even though I am not opposed to the idea), I will be describing pictures in my camera roll. Bear with me…It will make some sense, I hope.

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To me, this image conveys beauty darkened by anticipation. The glow of the lights are warm and soft and inviting, but clouds have taken over the sky, threatening rain. Time feels still and uncertain. But this scene feels so whole and rich.

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I like looking at this picture. It feels light and crisp yet warm. I like the pop of red and green in the structured shades of grey. Life blooms out of a concrete pot; I love that. It feels sort of daring and intentional. I am continuously compelled to stop and stare.

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When looking at this image, I feel contained. I feel heaviness. Yet the open lies in reach. I am not too entirely sure how to move through this sheet of linked chain, but I know that I will be stepping through a waterfall of liquid metal into the sun.

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Interesting. If I had to assign this picture one word, it would be lateral. I love the blue and gold coloring. And this feels so urban. Although a palm tree grows, it seems trapped and forced to conform to the nature of the area. And no leaves are too be seen. Overall, this image feels colorful and sort of appealing (so many shapes!), but it is missing something, some kind of depth.

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I love this picture. It feels so exuberant and fresh and lively. It possesses a certain youthfulness, and it feels whole to me. But I think an edge hides somewhere…It feels slightly off.

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I like the way this image feels. It communicates the laid-back yet disoriented feeling of waking up in a hotel room. Sunlight slides through the blinds as you stretch, your back stiff from sleeping on a sagging mattress with creaking coils (the pull-out couch life). Outside is too bright, so you roll over and cover your head, having no conception of time. I feel warm but not too entirely comfortable.

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Confusion. Fear. Isolation. An increasing sense of dread as the light is perpetually obscured. Trapped and smothering.

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I only took this picture to capture an important internal moment in my life, and it communicates how I felt quite well: drab, coarse, soggy, and barren. That describes the desert of pine needles, especially. But across the lake lies so much more: trees, a different shore, and the sky. A pool of reflection stands as a bridge in need of crossing. Overall, this image feels hopeful despite its hollowness. It also feels so cold. I sat in a swing with a Styrofoam cup of coffee in hand at this moment.

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This feels like decades ago, wow. I took this picture back in February while sitting on a school bus. It feels so nonchalant and austere. But I know that morning felt full of promise and oranges (and Taco Bell).

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About 7:45 in the morning. I barely finished my coffee, and my backpack is heavy with the weight of math problems. I wait for the elevator on the sixth floor (of the dorm at MSA), and I play with the shadows brought by a new sun. Looking at this picture brings me a lot of nostalgia. Actually, it has such a nostalgic feel anyway. It is warm yet lost in memory, and I have no idea how to feel.

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When I captured this moment, I felt exhausted and prepared for a late night, ACT prep books in hand. But now I look back at this image and feel nostalgic for these halls (even though all of my classes are on the second floor…). It feels so barren and haunted. It has such a hazy appearance that I want to check my watch and question its veracity. Also, all I can see is the EXIT sign in the distance.

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Wednesday, 6:55 a.m., I awoke to a lovely pink sunrise. I left my room to step into the sleeping hall, wrapped in a blanket like a tortilla. And I took this picture from a large window near the elevator. It communicates such warmth and promise and hopefulness. The sky has me deciding between sleeping forever and running to math class, and I can only describe it as lovely. One of my favorite mornings and pictures.

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Walking late one winter night. I love this picture of the SLC. The sky and the air seem extraordinarily cold, but warmth and light pour from the windows. It beckons you to come closer with your red nose and numb face.

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On my way to the cafeteria for dinner, but stopping to absorb the sunset. I love this type of window and how it manipulates what lies on the other side of the glass. Again, I feel a lot of nostalgia. This image feels frozen in time. I feel as if I am dreaming. But it radiates content, so I like that. I want to go back to this. It feel light and calm.

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During my off-block, the sun usually began to set (winter). One day I went into the hallway on my floor of the dorm and left with a few pictures. I like this image because the cinder blocks seem melted. And then I start thinking about vanilla cake and banana pudding. Anyway, I love how particular this image is. It is so vague and without any answers, and that is how I wanted it to feel. I miss this: strolling down an empty hall with an orange in hand, at peace for a moment as the school day came to an end. This image make me feel distracted and lost yet warm.

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Thank you for viewing my blog, and I appreciate everyone’s time. I hope you all have an orange day and eat lots of tacos. And about the title…I will leave its reason up for you to interpret.

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Wednesday’s Fun Fact:

Check your plants for mealy bugs! They are a common pest that will infest your plants and make you sad. If you see any evidence of them, isolate the plant(s) and do a little research on how to get rid of the malicious fiends.

Take care. (:

peace

By the time this is posted, it will be April 1st, and Women’s History Month will be over, but since we missed a week for spring break, I figured I’d do just one last post to celebrate this wonderful month. Besides, it’s still March, as I’m typing this.

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Little Miss Flint

In 2016, at just 8 years old, Mari Copeny wrote to President Barack Obama about the water crisis in Flint, Michigan. In response, Obama visited her in the town of Flint and brought national attention to the crisis. 

Since then, Copeny worked to donate thousands of bottles of water to her hometown— resulting in her nickname, Little Miss Flint. Copeny is also the is the youngest Women’s March Youth Ambassador. In the video below, she stated, “If I had a superpower, it would be to change the world,” and I think she is definitely doing that.

Malala Yousafzai

In 2007, The District of Swat Valley was taken over by the Taliban, and experienced many drastic changes. Girls were no longer allowed to attend school, dancing and other cultural activities were banned, and even watching television was prohibited. Yousafzai was 10 years old when the changes were implemented. As a young girl, she valued education and yearned for knowledge. This could be a result of her father being an educator. Either way, Yousafzai was devasted by not being allowed to attend school. To make matters worse, in just a year, the Taliban had destroyed nearly 400 schools and had made the outlaw for education the foundation of their rule.

However, Yousafzai didn’t stay silent. Together, she and her father protested the orders of the Taliban and fought for girls’ right to education. She started an anonymous blog and wrote about life under the administration of the Taliban and having her rights taken away. Her activism and bravery were known widely. In 2011, she received the International Children’s Peace Prize and Pakistan’s National Youth Peace Prize. However, despite her efforts, not everyone supported Yousafzai. One day, while riding the bus, the Taliban found her and attempted to kill her. They shot her in the head and left her for dead. She was only 15. Fortunately, she pulled through and had a full recovery, and just 2 years after the event, she became the youngest person to receive a Nobel Peace Prize. When accepting the award, she said, “This award is not just for me. It is for those forgotten children who want education. It is for those frightened children who want peace. It is for those voiceless children who want change.”

Malala Yousafzai is a remarkable young woman whose story is inspiring and profound. She has been creating change since she was very young and faced adversity through most of her life and has lived to keep creating change and to tell her story.

April Ryan

April Ryan has been a White House correspondent for the last 23 years. She is also the bureau chief for American Urban Radio Networks. In 2017, she became a political analyst for CNN. She has made headlines for being the only correspondent asking tough questions and shedding light on urban issues. She has also been known to scuffle with the Trump administration, or in other words, calling him out on his “bullcrap”. Also, in 2017, Ryan was named “Journalist of the Year” by the National Association of Black Journalists for telling the truth about political issues, supporting, and keeping African-Americans informed.

America Ferrera

America Ferrera is most known for her role in the 2006 series, Ugly Betty, in which she won an Emmy for Outstanding Actress, making her the first Latina to do so. However, lately, Ferrera has been activating and advocating. She was a speaker at the 2017 Women’s March on Washington, a founding member of the 2018 Time’s Up movement, a partner in The North Face’s Move Mountains initiative, an advocate for the protection of people in the DACA program, and much more. In 2018, she published a collection of stories titled: American Like Me: Reflections on Life Between Cultures that features first-person narratives of life experiences between cultures. In doing all this, Ferrara also found time to star in the NBC comedy, Superstore, and have 2 children. She is, by definition, a “superwoman”. Ferrera may have played ugly Betty on screen, but she could never be anything less than phenomenal.

Tamika Mallory

Tamika Mallory is the daughter of  Stanley and Voncile Mallory. Her parents instilled a passion for equality and activism in her at an early age. They were a part of the National Action Network (NAN), founded by Al Sharpton. It was the leading civil rights organization at the time. Following in her parents’ footsteps, Mallory began early in her activist work. She became a member of NAN at age 11, and in 2011, she became the youngest executive director of the organization. After nearly 15 years, Mallory stepped down to pursue other activism opportunities. She helped create the New York City Crisis Management System, a gun violence prevention program. She then went on to serve as co-chair of Gun Violence Awareness Month, an initiative created by the NYC Crisis Management System.

However, she is most known as one of the leading organizers of the 2017 Women’s March. Approximately, 500,000 people attended the march. Not only was it to advocate for women’s rights, but for immigration reform, LGBTQ+ rights, healthcare reform, environmental reform, racial justice and equality, and also, for the protest of the inauguration of Donald Trump.

Mallory is also a big advocate for the Black Lives Matter movement. She has been advocating for equality and social justice her entire life and she’s made tremendous strides in doing so.

Aly Raisman

Aly Raisman is an Olympic gymnast. In 2012 and 2016, she led the Women’s gymnastics teams, and has won numerous gold medals. Raisman is also one of the few women to speak out about the U.S. gymnastics team’s doctor. In 2018, she, along with other members of the team, publicly shared about the sexual abuse they experienced from the former doctor. She also gave an impact statement during the trial. Shortly after, Raisman filed a lawsuit against the U.S. Gymnastics saying that they knew or should’ve known about the ongoing abuse.

In 2018, she stood alongside other survivors and received the Arthur Ashe Courage Award for speaking out. ESPN called them “sister survivors”. Upon accepting the award, Raisman said, “My dream is that one day everyone will know what the words #MeToo signify. But they will be educated and able to protect themselves from predators like Larry so that they will never ever, ever have to say the words, ‘me, too.'”

Now, she has teamed up with Aerie for a body positivity campaign that advocating against Photoshop.

Yara Shahidi

You may know Yara Shahidi from Freeform’s Black-ish, or the spin-off, Grown-ish. However, Shahidi is not just an actress. She is using her platform to inspire and encourage young voters. She says, “There are two major problems: information dissemination and voter registration.”

In 2017, Shahidi founded Eighteen x 18 with social media influencer, NowThis, to help Gen Z to understand the importance of their voice and voting. Her work was brought to the attention of former First Lady, Michelle Obama. Consequently, she wrote her a letter of recommendation to Harvard University, where Obama’s eldest daughter, Malia, attends, as well.

Shahidi also has a partnership with the Young Women’s Leadership Network— Yara’s Club; it is an organization that provides online mentorship to help end poverty through education.

Shahidi is a passionate and outspoken young woman with a bright future ahead of her— on screen and academically.

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Women’s History Month has come to an end, and it’s bittersweet. I am so happy that we have a month in which we can come together and commemorate the woman who’ve made strides to get us where we are today. I am so grateful for the strong woman who came before me and the ones that will sucede me.

Happy Women’s History Month! I hope everyone learned something that they didn’t know before and got a chance to honor an incredible woman who’s influenced them.

Hi all! As we sit in quarantine and twiddle our fingers, I have decided to share one of my flash fiction stories with you all. I know some might not care, but this is one of my newer pieces and is more on the traditional side of my work. I toned down the dramatics and wrote a story like none of my other work. Give it a read, leave some edits, provide some feedback! Enjoy this little “quarantine read.”

Bremont’s Farm

My daddy always wanted me to come visit my grandaddy’s farm. He would tell me stories upon stories about the things he did on that farm. My favorite story was when he almost cut half the harvest crops because he got to drunk and thought they were little goblins in the field. Oh, the whoopen my grandaddy laid on him must’ve been so great. Now that I have reached the able age of 21, I’ve decided to take up the offer and stay at my grandaddy’s farm for a few weeks before coming back here to work. I’ll miss seeing the bright, shining lights outside my window when nothing filled my room but darkness. I’ll miss hearing the obnoxious chatter of whatever poor, New Yorker passed by my window. I’ll miss the city. Albeit, I won’t be gone for long, but this will be my first time out the state since I was a little girl.
Traveling down south won’t be an easy trek. With the distance between New York and Louisiana, I’ll be sitting on this train for hours. I have some activities to keep my interest, but I know at some point I might just lose my marbles. The old lady behind me keeps asking me questions about my hair and how I keep it so clean. Everytime I think I’ve ended the conversation with her, she somehow comes up with a brand new question. Once I heard the voice over the intercom call out, “We will be arriving in Louisiana in 10 minutes. I repeat, we will be arriving in Lousiana in 10 minutes,” I damn near jumped out of my seat.
Stepping off the train, I suddenly yearn for the smell of gasoline and cologne. I see no tall buildings, barely any people, and the silence around me slowly fills my entire body. I miss home. I miss everything about it, but I suck it up and begin my journey to the Bremont Farm.
After walking for what felt like 2 hours but was really 20 minutes, I see my grandaddy standing tall while leaning against the “Bremont Farm” sign infront of the driveway.
With open arms, I gather him in a hug. “Hey there grandaddy. I missed you”
His deep, southern accent filled my ears and my heart at the same time.
“There’s my little blackberry. Here I’ll take your bags while you go freshen up for dinner. Your Aunt Claudia is in the kitchen breaking down her roses for her homemade jam. She said she could use your help.”
I simply smile and nod my head while trying to remember who my Aunt Claudia is. I vaguely remember hearing about her, but nothing to match a face to.
As I finish cleaning myself up, I walk into the kitchen and saw a woman I’ve never seen before.
“Aunt Claudia?”
She turns around with a wide smile on her face.
“There she is. His little blackberry. Come, come!”
I laugh and walk further into the kitchen before she shoves a knife in my hand.
“Start cutting down these rose petals into their smallest size. Put them in the jar and shake!”
I do as I’m told and get to work. I spark up the conversation to end the deafening silence in the room.
“Why does he call me that?”
She lookes at me puzzled. “Call you what sweetie?”
“His little blackberry. Why does he call me that?”
She lets out a wide smile.
“Have you ever heard the saying, “the blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice?”
I think for a minute.
“It sounds familiar, yes.”
“Well, when you were born, you had such a rich, dark skin tone. It was flawless. He said it looked like the color of a little blackberry, hince why he calls you that.”
I smile at myself and at the new found information. I look up to the window infront of us and see grandaddy walking with my bags. Like he sensed me watching, he turned to the window and sent me a bright smile. I look down to the rose petals and smile ever wider. I’m glad I chose to come here. I see what my daddy saw and I intend to make some great memories here.