falling in leaves

forty

"empty"

Shit's been hard— well, harder than usual. I've been adding days onto my usual work week and even working through my occasional physical pain in order to regain the $2,000 I contributed to Juwan's bail. I figured that my hard work would pay off eventually, especially since I'd been taking on more responsibility at the salon. I was learning the ropes of owning a business and regulating a usual day and making sure everyone was paid adequately.

Hopefully, in a year's time, I'd be ready to take on the same responsibilities for a place of my own. I've even started mapping out a business plan to pitch, and with Marlo's over-the-phone assistance, it was coming together nicely.

But for the last three weeks, I've been stuck. Marlo and I have been playing phone tag since he's started the process of shopping around his portfolio and I've extended my work schedule. I missed him a lot, and I was getting really low in spirits.

It'd officially been over a year since Juwan and I met— an entire year since I began building the rest of my life. It was October, meaning that it'd been only three months since our future came crashing down like Jenga blocks. I wondered if he was doing well, and, every day, I thought about the upcoming art show he invited me to. The last thing I wanted to do was put myself in the predicament that would end with me in his grasp again, but I also wanted to let him know that I do support his endeavors. Although we will never end up together again, I do still have love for him— after all, he was my best friend at a certain point.

I thought about calling him and catching up a bit. After all, it'd be nice to hear his voice, especially in the absence of Marlo, but I didn't want him getting any ideas. . . and I surely didn't want these calls to become regular occurrences.

I just needed some solace. It felt as if I've been on a treadmill for nearly a month, running fast and heading nowhere. I knew my work would pay off, but I had yet to see results. I was growing impatient and stress was enveloping me because of it. I wanted to turn to Sweets or Keisha, but I knew it wouldn't give me the same boost that talking to Marlo would. I thought about resuming my therapy sessions, but money was tight, especially since I was actively setting aside money for my own business now that I'd finally regenerated the $2,000 that were initially sitting in my savings.

So, instead, I turned to books. It wasn't often that I had off time, but when I did, I was nose deep in novels that I'd pick up from a cute little local book store in Harlem. I was currently sitting at Sweets' kitchen table, enthralled in a story about life in a post-apocalyptic world. There was a living plague, strong female leads of color, and a mysterious and a little suspicious aura around this character named Boogie.

I had some jazz playing softly on Sweets' living room stereo while eating an apple and reading. It was relatively cloudy outside, but that only made for a perfect mood to read and relax. Apparently, Sweets didn't think so since she left earlier in the morning to "run some errands." I didn't know what the hell that meant, seeing as though I'd just gone grocery shopping and last I checked, her car was fine. . . but I wasn't complaining as long as I had some peace. . . or at least I thought I did until I heard the doorbell ring.