Chapter 4: I Stopped Only Once

While, still in high school I was instructed to write many pieces of literature. But this piece is by far what is believed to be my greatest achievement, of my entire high school career. Junior year, at Barnwell High, I was instructed to write a memoir and why that particular memory stayed in my head.

The sun was still not up and yet I was already sweating. Then again it was still summer time and my dad had turned off the air conditioner. Nightmares might have also come. My sixth sense was acting up. Actually it wasn't a sense, more like a feeling really. Basically it tells me if I'm going to see someone from school. Today it was exceptionally strong. My hear stopped twice and an adrenaline rush was hitting me like a hangover after drinking a couple of beers. A few minutes later my mom came into the living room where I slept on a couch and told me in Spanish to get ready to go to the Springfield flea market. Another burst of energy. I quickly answered yes and got my clothers on. That day I grabbed dark blue jeans and a shirt with headphones, matched with my Timberland shoes and Southpole hoodie.

Everyone except my dad went because he had to go to work. I didn't care. It has been this way for years so why should I care? The ride to the flea market wasn't all that pleasant. Like the other times, the family fought. But I sat quietly as the anxiety slowly ate away at me. "Who am I going to see?" I asked myself over and over. While I thought, my sister played her Nintendo DS and my baby brother whined. My mom consistently told me to give the baby his bottle and he always threw it away. That way I had to pick It up and give it to him.

By the time we got there my senses had grown to a whole new extremity. A professional Olympian runner would not have been able to outrun me, for now, my heart was pumping, my body was on high alert. My mom called me then and asked that I take care of the baby and gave me twenty dollars. The baby grinned then and asked me to get him a snow-cone, which I did. My body was becoming tenser by the minutes as I walked. At one point I found my mom and left the baby with her.

Now I was alone. The anxiety had now reached critical level. Any moment now I felt my body would burst. My hands were shaking; my legs made of rubber. I could feel that something was about to happen. I was right.

"Miguel."

I heard someone say while I was in mid-step. I knew the voice. It was unmistakable. It was hers and only hers. I turned and saw her. Her brown hair, her smile, the way she said my name. Her hair was in ponytail. She was wearing a purple shirt with black shorts and in her hands there was a wooden tray with a vivid flower design around the edges. She was shorter than me, yet taller than the year before.

"Hey," I said as she walked up. "How are you?" I asked, to which she said "Great!" She smiled so I did too.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Just walking." I replied

"I can see that." she said giggling. "That's all you've been doing."

I looked at her and then realized that she was right. All along since I had gotten there I had only been walking. Taking the baby wherever he wanted and never stopping to see what people were selling. "Yeah, I guess I have." I said. "Yeah." she replied.

"So are you going to play soccer this year?" I asked. "Yeah," she answered. "Are you going to try out?" to which I said "No, I'm no good." She then sighed and said, "I thought Hispanic people were supposed to be good at soccer," to which I said, "Well, I'm the exception."

She fell silent then and nodded. "Well exceptions are good. Exceptions are good." she said quietly. I felt pathetic. A Mexican that can't play soccer is turly pathetic. I looked down at the tray. I thought it curious and then remembered the old man.

She always came with an old man. For all I knew she might have started volunteering at the nursing home or maybe that was her grandpa. My feelings and stupidity only grew as I realized that she, this girl, from my high school, might have a tougher life than me. The sadness was quickly replaced by rage and anxiety. "What if her life was tougher than mine." I thought. I placed my hands into the pockets of my hoodie and balled them into fists. I wanted to cry and because I could, I didn't. No, not in front of her.

"Well I just wanted to stop you because every time I see you in the flea market, you're always just walking and not looking at anything." she said through the silence. I looked at her and she was smiling. "Thanks Emily. It really is good to stop every once in a while." I replied. "You're welcome." she answered. Emily then turned and frowned for a moment. Then smiled and looked at me. "Well, I have to go now. Bye, Miguel." She said as she turned to walk away. "Bye, Emily." I replied, "Good luck with soccer." She looked back, smiled and nodded. "Thanks."

I watched them go. They disappeared into the crowd of people and I realized that my sixth sense had stopped. I smiled and turned to walk again. I stopped only once to look back and see her waving at me. I waved back, feeling tears begin to well up in my eyes.t