Us Against The World; A Nelena Story [Part 6]

Nick [part 6]

He was tall. He was strong. He was angry. And he wasn't afraid to fight.

--------Nick's P.O.V
I strode down the streets of Cincinnati on that January day, coat collar not doing much to cover my ears from the twenty-degree winds, boots unlaced, my fists thrust into my pockets, numbed from the cold. The only thing that kept me warm was my anger. Anger at my parents for bringing me to this cold, gray city. Anger that the sky for being harsh and uncaring. Anger at myself for being scared and shivering in this ugly place. If somebody, anybody, had spoken to me now, I might have yelled at them because I was so angry at being in this new town. I wanted to destroy a wall or the sky.

But the sidewalk was empty this January morning. Everyone with sense was on a bus or in a car, or inside a heated building. But the bus I thought I was supposed to take never arrived, so after thirty minutes of freezing in the winter wind, I started walking. The school was three or four miles down the road, I figured, so feeling warmer because I was so angry,I headed down the street to a school I had never seen, in a city I had just moved to, to sign up for classes in the second semester of the eleventh grade.

I had just moved from Corpus Christi, Texas. I hated Cincinnati with a passion. To me, it was cold and dreary and everything seemed to be gray. There was dirty snow all over the dirty sidewalks. Everything seems tight and enclosed, like nobody breathes here, I thought. I want to throw paint everywhere out my window and color this place up! They expect me to LIVE here? Do these people ever have any fun? Not likely. I bet you can't even get a good enchilada here. As I walked, my toes losing their feelings inside my boots, I glanced at the few trees, without leaves that line the street. Mostly I was fast-food places and liquor stores next to storefront churches. Piles of trash to be collected. Recycling bins with beer bottles and unread newspapers. A few pigeons. My mood grew darker.

There are no big, sweeping magnolia trees, I thought, only trees without leaves, skinny branches, no leaves - all naked an stupid looking. The river here is dirty and dull, not like the beautiful Nuess River, where I learned to swim and sail and fish. Papa said something about going fishing in the Ohio river in the spring. Not me! Probably just catch some old beer cans. No fish with any sense would live in that nasty water!

I had seen the Ohio River as me and my family flew in over the city. It was brown and thick, and looked more like oozing mud to me than refreshing water. I could not imagine why anyone would want to swim in such filth.

I loved to swim. I probably learned to swim before I could walk. Water was like my second skin, soothing and relaxing after a hot day in Texas. I was on a swim team once, and the coach tried to get me to think about training for the Olympics, but I figured it would take the fun out of swimming. I also liked to sail with my uncle on his boat. I was a good sailor, and had been planning to buy a little sailboat of my own next year. Sailboat races were held every Wednesday, and last year I had won junior division. Kids in Corpus Christi get boats instead of cars when they turn sixteen.

Thinking about home made my anger return. Right thee on the Gulf of Mexico, swimming and boating were second nature to me. But all that was gone. Nothing remained but flavor here. Just about everybody in Corpus Christi spoke English and Spanish fluently. Most of the people there had relatives in Mexico, across the Rio Grande. The music on the radio, the conversations on the bus, even the breezes that blew there had Spanish melodies floating from them. Here everything was different. I muttered to myself, " May as well have No habla espanol! posted in large gray (of course) letters on every dull brown building here."

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[VaNeSsARoX0]

really good actually brilliant

Continue....really

xoxo VaNeSsARoX0