Mixtape

Fast Car- Tracy Chapman

In Memory of Galaxy Hartwood

((a/n sorry this is a repeat from my poetry book. this was actually a project for my writing class orz))

My memories of Galaxy Hartwood are firm but sparse. She's inside the back of my mind constantly, always lingering with her tired eyes and leather jacket, yet other than her personage I can't seem to see anymore of her than this. I guess that's just the way it is.

Knowing Galaxy Hartwood wasn't simply knowing a person. It was like reading a book. In the end I'm not sure if she was a suspense novel, a series of historical fiction and romance, or the script of a tragic one-act play, but either way she was a person who was read, not known.

When I think of her I see her walking, sometimes away from me, sometimes beside me, always blank-faced and so deep in thought we could never hope to drag her back up from inside of her mind. Now that I think about it, when I looked in her eyes that first day of school, I saw music playing behind them. A song. Just one single song.

That song, I discovered, was Fast Car by Tracy Chapman.

I figured this out on a breezy September day, a little less than nine months ago. The five of us- me, Galaxy, Leonard, Elaine, and Ronny- all hopped into Ronny's Grand AM Pontiac and cruised down the side of the Potomac to the docks across from the National Harbor. It was a chilly Saturday in the DC area, but it was the first time in awhile we all had the chance to get together for a picnic, so we took it gladly.

We headed for the open grass to play some frisbee and set out the basket Elaine and Leonard had put together for lunch. Autumn was in full swing at this point; the trees were wildfire colors of luscious red, orange, and yellow, and they swayed in the gentle breeze. Fallen leaves crunched beneath our feet as we traversed the path, passing joggers and old couples with sweet little dogs.

Even as Elaine, Leonard, and Ronny chatted idly around me, I couldn't stop glancing back at Galaxy. She was trailing behind, as had become custom, and she watched the ground rather than us. She wasn't particularly our 'friend,' but we invited her out today in hopes of breaking her out of her shell. She was the new girl, and seemed to be suffering the new girl syndrome; barely speaking, sitting alone at lunch, rarely ever smiling. We felt obligated, as the nicer kids of the school, to cure her of these awkward traits.

It was proving to be far more difficult than we thought. She was weird. She never wore anything but black, for one thing. On that day, she was wearing a knee-length black dress, black tights, black boots, a black bow in her hair, and, of course, that black leather jacket that wouldn't come off even for a heat wave.

Other than that, the not-smiling thing seemed to be more than just a social defense- it was an instinct. Her tan-toned face was always a blank slate painted over with eyeliner and shielded with rectangular glasses. She didn't laugh at jokes, and her voice was always quiet. Strong and intelligent, but quiet. As if she was only used to speaking in silent rooms.

She was from somewhere up north. The state of New York, and I'm pretty sure New York City itself. I know people from there are pretty weird, but I always assumed they were the extroverted kind of weird.

I stopped looking back at her once we reached the open grass. Elaine tossed the picnic basket onto the grass and set out a blanket as Ronny tossed a frisbee to Leonard, who leapt in the air to catch it. Elaine ran over and took me by the arm, cooing something flirtatious about sitting with her on the blanket that I wasn't paying attention to. I looked back at Galaxy again. She was watching something in the trees, like a bird or whatever.