WARNING: I curse a lot, so I’m sorry kind of.

Also drugs, but that’s about it, nothing too major.

New York may be an awful place to find work, but damn do I love Harlem.

I didn’t personally live there, but I felt like I have my entire life.

I never really fit in with the white majority of Westchester, but preferred to hang out by corner stores watching the colorful characters of the neighborhood. In fact, sitting at corner stores is what Rochelle and I did all day.

I really feel like Rochelle is my long lost sister, I’ve known her since what seems like forever.

That’s exactly why I won’t tell her that I’m leaving for Korea.

                                                       ~

As soon as the fiasco at Kennedy’s ended, I wanted to get home as soon as possible. I jogged to the nearest subway station, and began my long and expensive journey back home.

God I am so lazy.

I haven’t packed anything, and I was leaving in 3 days.

Surely this remembrance of my lazy attitude would make me want to go pack as soon as I got home, right?

Haha, nope.

As I sat on the disgusting subway seat and pondered my procrastination skills, my phone began to ring.

Oh , it’s Rochelle.

I can’t just hang up on her, she would know something’s wrong.

But I don’t want to answer, in fear that I might let the trip slip out.

What the heck?! Why are decisions so hard?

“Giiiirrrrrrrlll.”

I answered the phone.

“You need to come here, ASAP, wait until I tell you what this nigga did.”

I sighed and rolled my eyes, “Really Rochelle? I’m JUST leaving Brooklyn.”

“So? You can come to Harlem from Brooklyn. I see you have time for Kennedy, but not for your best friend, I see how it is.”

I rolled my eyes again, why do I know so any dramatic people? “Rochelle, I really need to go home…”     “Y’know I’m just playin’ T! But you really need to come here, we got that good lit the UP over here!”

Damn.

“I’ll be there.”

It’s not an addiction.

I swear to God it’s not.

I even read somewhere that pot doesn’t even carry the addictive chemicals coke and nicotine do.

I could live without it.

But why would I, when I can have it.

I’m not entirely sure when Rochelle introduced me to weed, but I’m glad she did. I’m pretty sure college would have destroyed me even more than it did if I didn’t smoke.

When I got to Harlem, I ran to Rochelle’s house.

She was sitting on her porch step, texting furiously on her phone. She looked up from her phone and waved over to me, “T, T! Get over here girl!”

Last time I checked, I was running. I swear people have no patience.

“Smell this!” She threw me a small little baggie. I opened it, sniffed it a little, and picked up the moss-like substance in my fingers. “ Rochelle, how’d you score this?” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, so-”

“What up, T?” I looked up to Rochelle’s balcony. It was her brother, Luther. I gave him a little wave as Rochelle got up from her spot on the porch. “Nigga get yo back inside, damn ain’t nobody want you here anyways!” “Damn Rochelle, you don’t let me do anything!” he shouted back from the window. Rochelle flipped him the bird as he slammed the window down. “Don’t slam things in my mothering house!” she yelled as she sat back down on the porch.

“So, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” she said as she flipped her braids towards her house. “Luther failed the 11th grade, so mama kicked his out and sent him to live with me.” “Oh damn,” I said as I threw the weed back to her, “That must .”

She clicked her tongue, “You don’t know the half of it. But it ain’t all bad, he was able to score me this.” she said, waving the little baggie.

“So, you ready to get turnt the up?”

I high-fived her, “My nigga.”

                                                                              ~

So, I managed to spend 6 hours at Rochelle’s.

My life is going pretty well, y’know pretty smooth.

Sarcasm, by the way.

I told Rochelle, and she may or may not hate me now.

She wanted to come with me, but I told her no, this journey was for me to make my own.

This is MY Eat Pray Love, damn it.

No one else but Tallulah Eclair (don’t judge) Smith.

And her brother Roscoe, and his wife Jay, but they don’t count.

Just temporary housing.

                                                                                ~

“Tallulah, you need to get back to your roots.” Rochelle said as she passed the joint to me.

We were sitting inside her kitchen, our hair in buns, looking like depressed housewives who take time out of watching their kids for a midday smoke and coffee.

“My roots?” I questioned as I grabbed the joint, “Haven’t you seen my tattoo?”

Rochelle tilted her head back and laughed loudly.

I loved when she laughed like that, she makes me feel like every comedian ever.

“Girl, you mean the big- Africa tattoo on your back? Not those roots, I mean THIS.” she said as she swung her arms out. “I mean Harlem, you’ve been living in that white neighborhood for so long I don’t think you’re black anymore.”

Now it was my time to laugh, “What the does that mean?” I asked as I took a drag.

She clicked her tongue, “You know what I mean, you uppity negroes think you’re better than the rest of us. Tea time at Kennedy’s and tandem biking in Time Square and all that bull.”

“Rochelle, c’mon. You have your own house. If anyone’s acting bougie, it’s you.”

We both laughed at this one.

“No joke though Rochelle,” I passed the blunt back to her.

“I’m living at my parents with a virtually worthless degree, I don’t really have anything going on in my life.”

“Damn, you sound like you about to die or something.”

Why does everyone think that when I talk about my life?

Am I really that depressing?

“No Rochelle, I’m not ing dying!” she passed the blunt back to me.

I took a long hit.

“Rochelle, I’m going to South Korea.”

She nodded and checked her phone, “When you coming back, in a week or something?”

I laughed nervously, “That’s uh, that’s the thing. I really don’t know if I’m ever coming back.”

“THE ?!”

She startled me, causing me to drop the joint on the tile floor. “I’m going to find myself, see what I can do with me life.”

She coughed, “I’m going with you.”

“W-what?”

She pushed herself from the kitchen table, “You heard me T, I’m coming too. When we leaving?” I tousled my hair sheepishly, “Well, I’M leaving the day after tomorrow.” “Then I’ll schedule a flight tonight.”

Jesus is she's stubborn.

I hate confrontation, absolutely hate it. I already told her no like what?

Twice?

I didn’t know what else to do.

Or say for that matter.

So.

I ran.

You guys, I love writing Tallulah, she’s like me, but not as sad. <3- whatimscared