Chapter 1:
Destiny
Delayed:
The
Trip Down Memory Lane
Summer
July
19th, 1963
The
sun began to rise as I woke up in the backseat of my dad’s car after crying
myself to sleep. The day was dismal, and the summer air was deprived of oxygen.
An air conditioner from one’s car or home was the only thing that could provide
a cooling reprieve in California during the summer of 1963. I opened my eyes
and reunited with my unwanted fate. Slowly, I lifted my head off the backseat
and wiped the morning crust from my eyes. While removing potato chip crumbs
from my blue jeans, I adjusted my dark green T-shirt and my pigtail hair style,
that was becoming for a child with my round face.
I
stared out the back window. My heart inched farther away from my true love as
my dad increased his speed. I sighed. My dad should really slow down and turn
around so that I can get back to my boyfriend. Just look at him up there, he’s
driving me away from my man. I slammed both of my fists against the backseat as
my emotions erupted. “This year is by far the worst year of my life. My day
couldn’t get any worse. Perfect timing, Mom and Dad. Brilliant idea! Just pack
up and move two days after I lost the California State Spelling Bee. Now
everyone is going to think we moved to a new city because I’m a loser!” My dad
slightly turned his head to his right and side-eyed me. My mother just scoffed.
My
mother and father glanced at me through the rearview mirror. As the sun
radiated through my father’s light brown skin, his smooth oval-shaped brown
eyes accentuated his unblemished skin. He looked at my mom and she smirked
while staring into my dad’s eyes with a countenance of trust. I exhaled and
folded my arms while rolling my eyes. I would love for my mom to do something other
than always following my dad’s lead. My mom turned away from him and leaned
back into the car seat. My mom’s perfectly symmetrical face resembled the Mona
Lisa. Her long eyelashes jumped out onto an onlooker’s eyes, and her lips were
positioned atop a wonderful physique, one that displayed the anatomy of a
perfect woman.
They
continued to sit in silence while I wrestled to filter through my heart’s
broken thoughts. I laid back on the seat, then suddenly rose again, eager to
resolve my plight. I breathed in deeply and released a boisterous sigh. My dad
glances at me through the rearview mirror, raising his eyebrows. I hated to say
goodbye and leave my best friend alone, with all our secrets buried in the
midnight forest. I can’t believe my dad is forcing me to move away from
everything I love. I wish my parents could read my mind. I’m trying my best not
to think about everything I’m leaving behind as we travel across this stupid
bridge. I continued to empty out my emotions while crossing the Golden Gate Bridge
from Marin County to head toward our new abode in San Francisco. Filled with
rage, I said, “Dad, this isn’t fair! You know I didn’t want to move.” My dad
stared at me, but he was silent.
While
listening to the luggage move around in the trunk, I couldn’t help but think:
Why did my dad allow the broken community of Novato to force us into exile? My
father delivered the news that we were moving six months ago during a family
meeting. I felt like I was mentally prepared to move, but as this dreaded day drew
near, I realized that my heart wasn’t ready to leave my best friend. My dad ran
over the leg of a chair, and the bump jolted our heads into the air like a
rocket. I frowned and held back the rage that was rushing toward my lips. I
felt like screaming. I positioned my right foot in front of me, ready to kick
the back of my dad’s seat, but I changed my mind. Geesh—Dad. Why can’t you see
that I am in love? I really wish things could stay the same. I miss him so much
already.
When
my father delivered the news that we were moving, I stood up from the kitchen
table as my mom and dad stared at one another. The chilling glance they gave me
was too much to bear. Instantly, their stares filled my heart’s eyes like a
machine gun’s relentless onslaught. I felt their intense disappointment in me.
During that moment I discovered that the human heart is more powerful than
the-all- encompassing human brain. Sammie is my addiction and my emotional
high. I reacted to their stares with a sprint as my dad shouted, “Sophia, get
back over here!” What a memory.
This
is a bumpy car ride. I frowned while thinking of my love, looking at the back
of my dad’s head. I should’ve kicked his stupid seat earlier. I looked up at
the wagon’s ceiling before proceeding with my thoughts. My parents aren’t aware
that their synchronized voices interrupted my resolve to revisit the thoughts
that only the love of my life knows. I can still hear his gentle but maturing
voice like it was yesterday, whispering in my heart, “Sophia, get down, don’t
jump!” His earthshaking voice saved my soul. I sighed. The reality of losing
Sammie pushed me to entertain thoughts of executing an idea, one that the
racist community of Novato would have been proud of. Since we are apart now, I
wish he’d let me finish what I started in the midnight forest.
I
shook my head and smiled. Exactly who was I trying to fool? I couldn’t resist
Sammie’s piercing blue eyes; they complimented his curly blonde hair extremely
well. He has the cutest little cheeks I’ve ever seen. I especially love how
they rose whenever he used to sing to me. The night he rescued me, he looked at
me like I was the most important person alive. I placed my hand over my
heart. I never got my chance to tell him that I love him too. My heart
compelled me to stare out of the back window at the life I was leaving behind.
I was grief-stricken with my first heartache.
I
dried my eyes with my hand. I could feel my tears drop out of my pupils every
second that my dad’s car inched away from Sammie. I scoffed. My face looked
like a waterfall. I rolled my right hand through my hair to feel the gentleness
of my curls. Love will make you do some crazy things. I really need my Sammie,
and no one is keeping me away from him. I screamed and pleaded for my dad to
turn the car around. I forced them, especially my dad, to recall the despicable
reasons why he decided it was best for us to move. Before I could say my
brother’s name, my dad turned around to straighten me out. We swerved into the
middle lane as my dad lost focus and said, “Don’t you dare accuse me of not
being fair ever again! My job is to protect my family, and besides, your
brother would have been a little more supportive than what you’re
demonstrating.”
I
scooted forward while sliding my butt against the car’s backseat, with both of
my fists clenched together like I was ready to battle. I’ll regain my happiness
by force. I grabbed onto both sides of my dad’s car seat. “I beg to disagree,
you’re totally wrong Dad! You didn’t know Timmy like me.”
My dad
immediately reacted. He lost his cool after his eardrums embraced the painful
thump of my brother’s name echoing throughout his memories. He slammed on the
brakes and stopped the car in the middle lane of the Golden Gate bridge,
turning on the emergency lights and parking his car right in the middle lane
like it was a parking lot. My mother screamed.
“Anthony,
what are you doing?” He ignored her. Several people stared and passed us
by, gazing with perplexed eyes. My mom placed her left hand on the glove
compartment and rolled the window down to expunge the saliva that sank into her
throat from an adrenaline rush. As sweat broke through her skin, she quickly
observed the awkwardness of our family scene.
My
mother was frantic, but she calmly asked my dad to put the car back into drive.
My dad
chuckled, pressing down onto the gas to antagonize her. He politely uttered a
word my mom hated to hear. My father said, “No.”
In
silence, we listened to the sounds of cars pass us by at sixty to a hundred
miles an hour. It seemed like we were trapped motionless in time, then I heard
my mom’s predictable words. She placed her right hand on her heart, as though
she was executing the pledge of allegiance, and stared at my father as he
rubbed his hands down his face, with what appeared to me to be enough force to
tear his own skin.
Then
my mother erupted like a volcano. “You know, I was going to try to just move
forward without addressing this with you. But now, I see that we need to have
this conversation right now.” My father glanced at her. “Don’t give me that
look like you’re an innocent child. I know you very well, so I know what you’re
thinking.” My mom shook her head. “Yes, Anthony, we’re having this talk right
now in the middle of this freaking bridge!” My dad looked at her with a look of
reticence as she continued in a lower tone, “Yes, we’re having this
conversation. It’s been a year since his death, and we still haven’t addressed
it as a family.” She faced my dad, and in a nonaggressive way, pointed her
finger at him. “You can’t keep telling me you don’t want to talk about it.” My
dad sighed, tapping on the steering wheel. “Anthony, you didn’t even come to
your own son’s funeral. Why? Because you’ve convinced yourself that his
murder was your fault. You can’t keep blaming yourself.”
It was
rare to observe my old man in silence. But on that fateful day, my mom was
letting him have it.
They
continued to argue over the next ten minutes while I recalled the final four
weeks of my brother’s life.
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