Choose the Right
I peer out my aunt’s window and see two men who’ve been visiting me the past several weeks. They wave. I wave back to the end of the driveway.
My eyes shift to the left at the piano I still can’t play. “What am I going to say?” I ask myself. I’m very appreciative of my aunt’s family and I’m not sure I’d be finishing senior year of high school without them opening their home to me.
My commute is longer but that’s nothing compared to waiting in line for soup kitchen meals. Waiting to hurriedly shave my legs with the illusion of privacy behind a flimsy, shower curtain. Or waiting for the curfew to barely sleep in the top bunk in a temporary room with my family. I couldn’t live through that chaos again while completing my classes, extra-curriculars, and FAFSA. I knew I would break down. So I chose to break away.
Now I sleep alone in my cousin’s old room and have home cooked meals. In exchange, I say “amen” with my aunt’s family. I was used to doing that as a guest before.
It’s the end of another journey. After several weeks of meeting with the men, I must make another difficult decision. How much further I can take politeness and gratitude?
The men in white short-sleeve button-downs with black name tags are finally at the door. I decide I can’t go through with it. If my body is dunked under water and a CTR ring placed on my finger, I know I won’t be true to who I am.
The doorbell rings. I swing it open with a deep breath. “Hello, Elders.”
This post is part of my WriteMarch series, a commitment to write daily for a month.
