1st Person Narrative

November 30, 2009
By Anonymous

“So what’s good?” I say as I talk to my friends.
In the 1980s, neon tights, big gold chains, unexplainable hairstyles roam around the streets of Brooklyn. Now more than twenty years later, the 80s fashion is back in style; here to stray through the Brooklyn streets again. My friends are unique. There are eight of us; Tina, Titi, Marly, Danielle, Ayanna, Nia, and Shennel. Tina is the retro chick who mix-matches but still can be color-coordinated and look great at doing it. Titi is the shortest but the loudest; opinionated and her style is just as great as Tina’s. Ayanna is the Black Muslim, tall and skinny and she’s always getting straight to the point. Danielle is the boisterous Jamaican Christian. Marly and Shennel are the quieter ones but yet can still get shrill when necessary. Nia is somewhat like Ayanna except for the fact that she is just Jamaican. Her style is one of a kind. And me, I’m the mixture of all personalities that make up my group.
Sitting on park benches we talk and scream in a weird harmonic tune. We laugh and joke about strangers or admire their footwork and attire.
“I’m feeling her Pradas,” Ayanna says as she points to the girl with the purple walking past us.
“Word. I feel you on that. They look mad nice. I’m finna cop those,” I say as I stare at the sneakers.
A lady over heard us talking and randomly says, “A Wolf found great difficulty in getting at the sheep owing to the vigilance of the shepherd and his dogs. But one day it found the skin of a sheep that had been flayed and thrown aside, so it put it on over its own pelt and strolled down among the sheep. The Lamb that belonged to the sheep, whose skin the Wolf was wearing, began to follow the Wolf in the Sheep's clothing; so, leading the Lamb a little apart, he soon made a meal off her, and for some time he succeeded in deceiving the sheep, and enjoying hearty meals.”
We go along our way, walking to the Avenue M train station all asking each other what did that lady mean as we gaped at the girl’s sneakers.
“What in the heck was wrong with that lady,” Ayanna says.
“That lady dead got sum issues.” Tina says.
“Word. On the reals…she needs help.” I say.
We stop at one of the stores next to the train station, owned by a Chinese man and woman.
“If you’re not buying please wait for your friends outside”, the Chinese woman asks while we all go into the store talking.
We all ask each other who’s buying what then we go outside and waiting and talking for the rest of our members. As we wait a couple of guys attempt to talk to some of us. Although I one of the youngest in the group I look like one of the oldest. They try to talk to me, Tina, or Shennel.
They start with a “What’s good ma? How you doing? So what your name is?” or sometimes it’s“Hey beautiful, what’s your name? So how old are you?” or they even say “Aye yo shorty with the [color of our shirt or jacket on]! Aye yo ma with the Betty Crocker butt.”We find them demeaning and ignore them while we laugh at their stupid pick-up lines. We’re all jailbait; appearances are deceptive.

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