•͟U͟N͟D͟E͟R͟S͟T͟A͟N͟D͟ ͟c͟a͟r͟t͟i͟u͟z͟i͟•͟

PROLOUGE

LVL -A$AP Rocky

SYMERE:

Interstate 285 Expressway: Atlanta, Georgia

Most don't realize what a wonder interstates are. Like, how are you going to drive anywhere that is more than an hour a way? How would you get the the heart of the city that anchors your local metropolitan area? How would the goods that occupy your store shelves be transported by road cross-country? Most use the interstate for travel, but on this night, I was using it for something else.

My gray Acura was pulled over on the side of Interstate 285, affectionately called the Perimeter within my hometown of Atlanta, Georgia. Well, I lied; Atlanta isn't my original hometown, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania is. I spent the first five years of my life in Philly, until dad left. Momma was unable to afford the high cost in Pennsylvania, and we moved down south; I've lived here since.

Anyways, I stood alongside the freeway, just a couple of miles from the airport, not knowing what I was waiting for. I didn't care what it was; it could be a car, pickup truck, SUV, or if I'm lucky, an 18-wheeler. All I knew was that when one ever got in the far-right lane, I was going to jump.

Some people always wonder how you know you're gay. For some, they go on PornHub's esteemed LGBT section and find themselves aroused. For others, they find someone they love in unlikely circumstances and settings; others just know they are, for no reason at all. The latter circumstance was my situation. Ever since I was 14, I knew I never liked girls the way friends did, and I was tremendously ashamed of it.

Later on, it really started to get to me; nobody but myself knew about it, and I wanted to keep it that way. It had gotten to the point that I disapproved of myself so much, that I felt that I didn't have the right to live. So, on a warm August night, I left the house upon the story that I was going to hang out with friends, and drove to the interstate from my neighborhood in Mableton.

All of a sudden, I heard a loud roar come from the curve in the interstate ahead of me. I turned to see the high beams of an 18-wheeler barreling my way, unable to stop for anything in its way that wasn't a vehicle. I began to inch closer to the lane as the truck roared towards me. This was it; this is what I wanted. Except, it wasn't. I chickened out at the very last moment, not having the balls to do what I so desired. The truck flew past me, blowing its horn in the process.

Following behind it was a familiar black coupé; it played familiar 90s West Coast rap at a familiar loud volume. It slowed down as it approached me, and eventually pulled over within the breakdown lane. I walked up to the passenger side door, while it's window rolled down.

"Hey there, little one." both Amala and Rakim announced simultaneously.

Rakim was my best friend, he had been for as long as I remember. While I was only 17 and he was 19, we still managed to be in the same grade, and still managed to hang out weekly. He was someone who managed to understand everything; he was a person who was the type that you could talk to in times of stress and worry. Although the above were strong qualities I found within Rakim, not even he knew my secret of my sexuality.

Amala was his girlfriend. They banged each other all the time, and while Amala was far from a virgin, she still managed to give off virgin-type vibes, acting innocent quite often, and not brining her sex life into her personal life. She, unlike Rakim's previous partners, was well-liked by me, and managed to keep a stable, well rounded relationship with Rakim and even his friends.

"What are you up to, my son?" Rakim questioned, using his nickname for me, "Seems a little bit dangerous to be walking on the Perimeter at night."

"I-uhhhh, uhmmmm," I stammered, thinking I was caught in the act, "ummmmm, I just wanted something to do, I guess."

Rakim gave a puzzled face, "Bruh, you know that we could've hung."

"Yeah," I replied, "but I wouldn't want to be a third wheel to y'all."

"My child, we love having our son around." Amala replied, smiling. The joke was that Amala and Rakim were my parents because they were both older than me. The fact that I was only 5'4" as a 17-year old didn't help, but I actually kind of liked the terms of endearment, I suppose.

"I don't know," I continued, "I just needed something new, ya know?"

"Understandable," Rakim stated, "you'd better get home soon though, my son. Curfew for minors is midnight, and while you may think you're hot shit for hanging with 'adults', it doesn't change the fact that you're still a minor, and look even younger than you are."

"Yeah, yeah, Rakim looking out for me, what's new?" I replied, rolling my eyes.

"Aye, if you end up in the back of a cruiser tonight, don't say I didn't warn you, bruh." Rakim said, with a stern face and a finger pointed at me.

I leaned forward, with an over-exaggerated face, "Fineeeeeee, I'll go home." I complained.

Rakim nodded, and Amala shouted a goodbye from the window, as they drove off, further down 285. I took what Rakim said to heart, and began to approach my Acura.

"What was I thinking?" I thought to myself.

Beginning to think that killing myself wasn't a solution to my problems, but rather just more problems, I started my car, and drove off. Home wasn't too far away; no more then 10 minutes. I returned home to a darkened home, signifying that Momma had fallen asleep already.

I fell into bed, exhausted from the dramatic Friday night that I had just spent alone. I began to cry into my pillow, feeling guilt over what I had just done. I didn't know what to do, but after all of it, I was still upset with who I was.