RIPE: Fruit of Life

My little hands pushed away the tight coiled hairs from her teary-eyed face. I see an older reflection of me broken by familiar hands like rocks to a glass house. Made in her image, she gently grabbed my hands from her face.

“Don’t be ever be ripe enough for a man to eat you”
“What do you mean, mommy?”

Her caress pulled me in close to her chest, playing with my hair that she made in her image. Seeing the living impression of her she continued,

“Baby, you have are made by mother nature. Skin dyed by the sun, kissed by its rays. In you contain mothers nature. You are the fruit of it,” she smiled and grabbed my tiny nose.

I giggled, “Can I be an apple mommy, I like apples?

“You can be any fruit you want to be honey. You contain the seeds of life. You are the soil that forth the flowers. You have tears that cleanses me, you are joy, you are the smile on my face. You are power. You are black. Let no one, no man, nobody take it away from you. You have a power to move worlds and they know that. You are a woman.

I shot her a look of confusion, unaware of anything, “I just want to be an apple because they are sweet!”

Beneath The Benevolent Sun

It started with one phone call from an unknown area code, then over the next few days the calls became relentless. Twice a day, seven days, from two different numbers on both my cell phone and home phone. With every missed call followed a voicemail on each device. Usually, I don’t bother to listen to voicemail’s, however, I decided to be an obedient twenty-three year old and follow up. That’s when I realized it was her! She has been notoriously known for decades as dark gray clouds looming beneath the benevolent sun. As you see, what was once a shadow ingeniously creeping from behind when I nourish my face in the warm sun is now hazing every corner of my being. An inevitable event when one chooses to follow the ideal path of society. The grave rumors about her power, a power that can cast a vanishing spell on you financially, weekly or bi-weekly. If you haven’t figured her out yet, her name is Donald Trump–I mean Sallie-Mae. She found me.

I had just freshly showered when the time neared a half hour past eight. The morning sun still young yet strong with her rays illuminating my messy room when the unknown–well, now, well known area code appeared on my cell phone. I cursed the air before I answered, “Hello?” This time her voice was deep and masculine trying to ask if it was I who was on the other end on the phone. Like, don’t play stupid with me. This ill-famed monster has been tirelessly sending her minions out to harass me every chance she gets. She know’s who I am. I know who Sallie-Mae is. Let’s cut the crap!  Of course, the topic was about a payment I was unsure of, in fact, I did not even know a payment had past let alone start! The new voice asked for my way of paying, either debit or credit. I should’ve said stripping, prostituting, occasional drug dealing. Sniffing coke to cope. “Debit,” I said. I forward all of my information when it occurred to me he may possibly be charging my card immediately!

“Wait, are you charging my card right now?”
“Yes.”
“Wait a minute, damn did you even see if I can pay right now! I don’t have the money at the moment.”
“I can push the date back until the thirtieth, but you need to pay before you mess up the co-signers credit score.”

Fuck. That means my mother. I hung up the phone, sat on my bed to pace my breath before I wet the tip of my fingers. fixing my posture, trying to be a big boy, I starred into the morning sun about to hide behind the building. It was something I wanted to do a the moment. Crawl and hide. Yeah, it sounds very immature. You’re probably saying how I need to man up, deal with it, it’s life, and all the other evasive sayings. The matter is, I don’t believe in that way of living: Suffocating under loans and debit while making income that barely scratches the surface, because I want try and find myself, solidify my identity the past six years. I’m only twenty three. I’m only twenty three.

I am only two decades and three years in and already I have IRS and his wife Sallie-Mae down my throat choking my prime years and other bills…Yes, other bills. Food, grooming, clothes, hobbies, school, phone, transportation. In other words, I see how depression is very profitable to the Big Pharma. Not saying I am there….yet. On a positive note, there is always good food. That will always be there.