Labeled Love
Copyright © 2015 Danielle Rocco
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
First Edition
ISBN: 978-0-9965850-0-2
My husband Jeff
My children Jeffrey, Joseph, DanniElla and Sophia
We live by the motto given from above
All things are possible for those who believe
This is for you
I wrote a story
I believed and I did it.
Mark 9:23
Do you remember the day we met, baby?
I remember every single moment I’ve ever had with you.
I fell hard. I fell fast.
I loved slowly.
God, baby, I love loving you slowly, and now time is going to kill me slowly.
I can’t breathe without you…
I won’t be able to breathe without you.
I just want you to know how I feel.
You’re everything to me…
I love you, baby…
I WAS NEVER
taught to love, but I was taught at an early age to defend myself. That’s why I don’t even think twice when I step in to help harmless Bart Phillips from being shoved around by some wannabe gangsters in front of our middle school. I should walk away and let him learn to defend himself the way I had to, but I can’t because somewhere deep inside me I don’t want him to have to put up with that shit.
My eyes roam the area before I walk up to them. No one is paying any attention, as usual. With my backpack slung over my shoulder, I make my way over to Bart, whose buck teeth are ready to pierce his lip from how hard he’s biting down on it. The guy towers over him. Not only is Bart skinny, he’s also shorter than most kids in our grade. The wannabe tough guy has two friends standing there like his bouncers. I know them. They like to pick on the wallflowers of the school to make themselves look like the tough guys on campus.
“Bro, are you seriously picking on this kid?”
The wannabe turns to me, and I stand tall. One thing I learned at an early age was not to let anyone punk me. “Mind your own fucking business, pretty boy.” That one statement is all it takes. I look over at Bart, nodding with a tilt of my head for him to walk away.
Every day I watch this kid walk with his head down, afraid to make eye contact. Nervous and unsure of himself, he barely looks at me now. It’s sad. That’s why I can’t let him sit here and get an ass beating, when I know he tries so hard to go unnoticed.
Because their dads and older brothers are gangsters, the wannabe and his friends think that’s the life, but I won’t let them pick on innocent kids that can’t even swat a fly.
“What has he ever done to you?” I ask the wannabe. The kid looks at me. His expression tells me what I already know. Nothing. Bart has never done anything to him. “Then leave him alone.” I turn to Bart. “Let’s get to class.”
Head down, he reluctantly follows me. As I turn to walk away, I get pushed hard. “Don’t fucking walk away from me, Jace.” That’s when I snap. I pounce forward with a balled fist slamming into the side of the wannabe’s face. A small crowd gathers, garnering the attention of the security guard who breaks it up and quickly drags us to the principal’s office.
After a thirty-minute lecture and Bart too scared to be honest about what caused the fight, I am sent home for the day. I guess I don’t blame him. Bart knows it will just make it worse for him if he talks. As I walk down the hall, he calls after me.
“Thanks, Jace. I didn’t stand a chance. They would have for sure beat my ass.” I just nod and start off for home.
THE WALK BACK
to our apartment doesn’t take long. The first thing I come across is a junkie with her baby in a stroller. I try to walk past her without focusing on her, but a part of me sees my mom in her, so my eyes stay transfixed. She looks really young, like she belongs in school. I can’t help but wonder if this is how my mom looked with me: young, alone, and just trying to get by. Her hollow eyes look up at me, and it’s like a train wreck.
“Do you have a couple of bucks? I need diapers for my baby.”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t have any.” It is the truth. I probably would have given her some if I had. She turns away from me, as her baby starts crying. Walking past her, I glance over my shoulder, curious as to what she’ll do next. Just like I figured, she’s already asking the next passerby. I turn back around and just keep walking.
I look up.
Ahead, there’s a huge billboard for a television show that’s releasing soon. I’ve seen the commercials while switching channels. They are the picture-perfect family—the mom that always has a loving smile on her face, the dad that walks through the door sweeping her off her feet, and the kids that can do no wrong—all walking into the living room to have a family meeting while sitting on the pretty furniture. Everyone walks away happy and tucked safely into bed. The actors in the ad are all sitting there on a couch, hugging and falling on top of each other and laughing. I wonder if their real lives are that good.
The sun bounces off the billboard, hurting my eyes, so I look down. Straight ahead is my reality, which is a far cry from the image on the billboard. My apartment building comes into view as I cross the busy street while there’s a break in traffic. A horn beeps.
“Dumb ass!” a guy that can barely speak English yells from his car window when I get to the curb. I guess I didn’t get across quickly enough for him. I ignore him and continue to make my way home. My shoes crunch down on the dry grass that has now become straw from the lack of water.
I make it to the back of the building and stare at our door, never knowing what I’m going to walk into. I picture that girl with the baby on the street again, hoping she can figure out her life before it’s too late, so her baby doesn’t have to grow up like me.
The cloud of smoke is thick when I walk through the door. I was hoping she wasn’t here. Even though she is, she’s really not. She’s passed out on the couch. As I head to my room, I hear her faint voice. “Why are you home so early?” I guess she’s not passed out after all.
