New York City, New York
September 16, 2018
I spent all of yesterday trying to recover from my hangover. Now the only feeling that overwhelms me is hunger. I haven't had anything to eat in so long, but I feel worse for the dogs. They don't deserve this. One phone call could get me almost completely out of this entire mess, but this is my fault and I must accept the consequences.
The more days that go by I start to lose hope that Connor will never come back for me. Not that he would be able to find me even if he tried.
Tomorrow I am supposed to return to college, but I'm not going to. I have no reason to.
My dream of becoming a journalist is now down the drain.
I'm still in the same clothes as I was Thursday when Connor kicked me out. I feel disgusting, I smell disgusting, I look disgusting.
I slowly stand up, my body is so weak it hurts to even walk. The dogs follow me as I exit the building and begin to walk down the uncrowded side walk.
The people who are on the side walks don't give me judgmental looks, mainly because they're all under the same circumstances I am.
A small boy approaches me with a bag.
"Our family dog passed away recently. This is his food that we have no use in keeping anymore. Please take it for your dogs," he holds his arms out with the bag.
"Thank you so much," I can barley produce words after his small act of kindness.
I watch as he runs down the sidewalk and sits on a door step.
I sit on the ground against a brick wall, pouring some of the food on the ground for the dogs to eat. They ate it so quickly, they must have been starving.
After letting them eat, I continue to wander around the neighborhood. As I walk, I see the small boy on the door step with a sketch book in his hands, drawing a picture.
"What are you drawing?" I ask while walking up closer to him.
"Your dogs," he responds while looking up at me.
"Really? You must love to draw," I make an assumption.
"I do. Do you like to draw?" He asks.
"I am personally more of a writer, but I do enjoy drawing," I nod my head.
"Can you draw me a picture?" He holds the pencil and sketch book in my direction.
"Sure, what do you want me to draw?" I take the sketch book from his hands while sitting on the step beside him.
"Well have you ever been in the city? I mean around all the skyscrapers and stuff." He questions.
"Yes," I respond.
"Well I haven't. I only know what it looks like from afar. Can you draw what it looks like inside the city?" He asks and I smile.
"Of course!" I exclaim while beginning to sketch skyscrapers with Central Park in the middle.
"What's your name?" I ask while continuing to sketch the drawing.
"Michael, how about you?" He returns the question.
"I'm Harper," I smile at him.
"You're a very good artist Harper," he compliments me.
"Thank you! Do you want to be an artist when you grow up?" I continue to converse while working on the drawing.
"Yes! It is my dream to have my art displayed in the Metropolitan Museum of Art," he tells me.
"I believe you can do it," and really, I do. I believe anyone can do anything if they have the right mindset.
I continue to sketch out the drawing for him until it is complete.
"Wow," he says in awe.
"Thank you so much," he adds.
"No problem," I shrug.
"Michael come eat lunch!" I hear a woman shout from inside the tiny building.
"I've got to go, but will I see you again?" He asks.
"Yes, I promise I'll be back to visit you at some point," I assure him.
The dogs and I continue to walk until there is no more people in sight. Just broken down buildings and empty beer bottles.
My body begins to feel weaker and weaker, I stumble on my feet before falling down on the side walk. The dogs rush to my side, but there is nothing they can do.
I lay on the cracked concrete sidewalk as blood begins to poor from my skin after the fall. I hear my deceased grandmas words playing through the back of my mind,
"God is never blind to your tears, never deaf to your prayers, and never silent to your pains. He sees, he hears, and he will deliver."
YOU ARE READING
When Rich Meets Poor
Romance"Or you can pay me $15,000," he gives me a second option. "Hi, my names Harper and I'm your new nanny," I extend my hand for him to shake, which he doesn't. I quickly pull my hand away. Harper Aspen was majoring in journalism/creative writing...
