The Art of Breaking Her

Bad Decisions -- Chapter 6

Bad Decisions

Hamza Musa-Ali

            For once all my homework is done. I can’t really believe it, because I keep looking at how clean my desk is. No papers piled in stacks everywhere, no binders open, no textbooks out of their place on my shelf. My backpack is actually zipped up and ready to go for tomorrow morning, and it’s only nine.

            Alicia missed the mark on this one, I think to myself. I’ve never liked Eiliyah. I mean, come on. It’s Eiliyah. There’s something so small town about her. Like, who the hell likes someone they met in middle school? That’s like a one-way ticket to living in the same town all your life, going to a local college, moving out of your parents’ house only to move a few minutes away, marrying someone you’ve known forever, and having a bunch of kids who all go to the same schools that you went to. No fucking thank you. Just the thought of a small town life like that makes my skin break out in sweat even though my fan is on the fastest setting and I’m lying right below it on my bed.

            I groan in frustration. The damn thoughts won’t stop clouding my head. Alicia is wrong. She’s wrong. She is so, so wrong. That’s my new mantra. My new approach at life. There is no way that I actually like Eiliyah. I just hate her because she’s so—she’s such a damn know-it-all. Like those annoying ass kids in middle school who thought they were above you because they were already thinking about the meaning of life and shit while you were just waiting for the new FIFA game to come out.

            That was Eiliyah, actually. The serious, studious type, all throughout middle school. It figures though. The non-hot girls are always like that. I turn to my left side—the side I prefer to sleep on—and stare out the window. I wish a thousand times that this was New York City—the commotion, the lights, the sound of the traffic even in the early hours of the morning. That’s what keeps me alive. That’s what keeps me going, the existence of a place on this earth that I’d actually love to be.

            I’m thinking about Times Square when Hidayah swings my door open. Saying that I’m pissed is a massive understatement. “Mom says to pray,” she announces.

            I snort. “How about no?”

            “Hamza…”

            “Just tell her I prayed and that I’m going to sleep.”

            “I’m not going to lie and cover for you” is her reply.

            “Well then leave and this never happened.” She rolls her eyes and slams the door. At least she shuts it. God damn it, I can’t wait to leave here. I can’t wait to be out of this house, living life on my own terms.

            I get up to turn off the light so that no one can bother me. When everything is black, I lie back down and tuck my hands behind my head, thinking more about the future. I started doing it as a kid. Like a coping mechanism, I guess. I’d just shut my eyes and try to imagine a month, two months, a year ahead. And I guess in the last few years, I’ve been thinking about New York, where I want to make a future.

            Alicia was wrong, I chant again when I find my mind wandering there. The hell was she talking about anyway? Me, liking Eiliyah or some shit and then her warning to act on it before some guy swept her up off her feet? I think Eiliyah is the last person I’d ever have feelings for. It’s just so…weird. So anti-climatic.

            The thing is, I started dreaming about New York in ninth or tenth grade. It’s the only hope I let myself have because, hell, if you hope for anything else that involves other people, eleven times out of ten they’ll disappoint you. But New York is different. This is all on me and what I do, and I trust myself enough to know that if I get down to it, I’ll make it.