This story takes place three years ago. This story actually happened. Please excuse the ocassional french, I did use asterisks after the first letter or two as not to offend anyone.
Downtown Tampa, FL. Four o'clock P.M.
"Quick run !"
"Quick the light's only red for two more seconds !"
Fast cars zoom by our ears. We run as fast as we can but still find ourselves inches away from a premature death at any given second. We climb between stairs and hand rails with the greatest of ease. This is our jungle, our American jungle.
We went to an art school in downtown. You could spend a lifetime there and still never end up with two identical pictures. You could spend an eternity there and still never meet two identical people.
We ride our skateboards when we need to go long distances, but running usually works best. We bring our lunches from school to the park where we all divide what we have with our usual homeless people. We feel the grass in the mini-park, perfectly green and scientifically flat. The nauseating feeling I get when I see suburban lawns bubbles up in my throat. We're in a drought... how does the grass get this green...
The homeless head over to the library, our cue to head out for photos. The cue to return to our worlds until tommorow afternoon when we can enter theirs again. They leave us with the advice that would later inspire me to become the greatest mind I was capable of, "EDUCATION !' They scream it and the business people step quicker along the sidewalk unsure of what the yelling is about.
We stop by a CVS to pick up cheap film and we all pitch in a quarter to get a gallon of iced tea. Not a day goes by that at least one of us doesn't drop our number on the cashier, hoping he's only twenty-something. With a life as fast as this god knows when our parents will get sick of our "shenanigans" for lack of a better word thats more than four letters.
We struggle to load our cameras blindly, we are passing by an alley and there is no way to cross the street when we hear someone to call out to us. No. We are not lost. No. We are not with our parents. No. We will not come over to you so you can give us directions. Yes. We will run away from you. Score. We get to live another day.
Our run turns into a slow walk when we get to a safe distance. Finally loaded, I am ready to document my world. I never want to forget this. I want to share this place with the world. I allow myself to soak in every aspect of my surroundings. I become pollution. I become business. I become a mediocre Jamaican restaurant. I'm an office. I'm an employee. I'm homeless. I'm a Subway sandwich. I'm a....
I'm about to run into somebody is what I am. To late. D*** it, AND he is beautiful. A tall man with a very professional looking appearance. Black dress pants. White button up. Knee length black mens pea coat. His clothes complemented his body, framing him quite correctly as he turned quick, obviously suprised. The darling was well shaven, clean cut, beautifully polished shoes. Corporate scum. Yet, there was something pleasing about him. I was mesmerized by his every breath.
I struggle to get up unsure if I can, not because of my lack of physical ability but because of the severe beating my self esteem just received.
A hand reaches out. Warm. It pulls me up. Strong. My sleeve slides down towards my elbows. No time to cover it. A mark. A tattoo. Branded on my left wrist. He sees it but shows no emotion. He stands with a blank stare. I know that stare. No. I don't know where the body is. No. I don't know who could have killed her. No I don't know why the city is painted red. The stare comes standard issue whenever you get into sh** you're not supposed to.
He whispers, "Change is coming, we will make it happen." Barely audible. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't believe what he just said. Which change ? Who ? Where ? How ? When ? Can I get your number ? Are you free Saturday ? Lets do lunch ? All that came out was a faint smile. He reaches up to rip a flyer off of a light post. The mark. The tattoo. Branded on his left wrist. He knew I saw. It's his time to cross. He makes sure his sleeve is pulled down a couple inches past the mark. The darling winks. He whispers, "For freedom ?" and I reply, "Yes, for freedom."
I want to run after him. All those questions put to rest in a single wink but I wanted more. I wanted his company. I wanted his hand again. I wanted a phone number.
He walks up towards the legal buildings that grace the city streets, the buildings where changes are made. He stops, fiddles with his briefcase, and enters.
The mark, the brand :
This whole TRUE story is to serve as a gentle reminder that no matter who you are or what you stand for you are NEVER alone in your beliefs. Have faith that ultimately good will prevail. If you want positive change, you will succeed.
No names where mentioned to protect the privacy of everyone in this story.
Only a few can understand the whole thing.
A few free thinkers who want change.
Who make change on a daily basis.
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By the way I don't promote young teenagers running around downtown in any way.... at least not anymore ; )