Brooklyn Bridge

The wind brushed against my cheek as we drove over one of the most famous bridges, the Brooklyn Bridge. It was long, with the most delicate view of the water that was moving in slow waves below us. A beautiful view of Brooklyn itself.

I was still not convinced though, that I would fit in on the streets' of Brooklyn, the people who lived there were surely not the same as those I encountered with every day on the streets of Boston. Sure, it's a new adventure, something my mom loved to remind me of ever since I put my ass in the car.

But can you blame me? For missing the days I spent with my best friends in the cafes around the corner of where our apartment lay? That I will miss my old apartment? Heck, I'll even miss the grumpy, rude old man that lived next door. He was not the most polite man in the building, he was simply an ass. He complained about everything and everyone, he didn't like when the children who lived in the building ran up and down the stairs and yelled while they were playing catch with each other. He would always open his door and yell out; "Shut up varmints! Before I come out and teach you all a memorable lesson!"

Yes, that was our own Mr. Grumpy-pants-next-door. You think I came up with that nickname? Wrong. It was actually a boy who lived on the floor above us. Richie Rolands. Also known as my old school's biggest prankster.

I didn't know him that well, I guess you could say he was my friend? Or not. We never really got the chance to label our "friendship" something. But he was the prankster of Boston High, every teacher's nightmare. He was the one lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect time to prank someone. I would lie if I said that there was one person on Boston High that didn't get targeted as Richie's new victim. He had pranked every single person in our school, even the janitor. And yes, he even pranked me.

But don't get your hopes up, waiting for me to tell you the story of how the biggest prankster in Boston pranked little miss Abigail Hall. No, you won't hear that story from me, and surely not from anybody else.

When we were coming closer to the end of the bridge, mom threw me a glance while biting her lower lip, hiding a smile. "Honey," she says, taking me out of my own mind. "are you as excited as I am?"

"Mhm," I reply, trying to not sound too rude but also not to happy.

She was ruining my life, what was I supposed to do? Dance a happy dance and thank her for making me move to Brooklyn? Hell no, I wasn't going to put up a facade towards my own flesh and blood.

She sighed, "Abby, come on, can you at least hum with a little more excitement?"

I let my eyes wander off to the side and meet my mother's eyes. Her eyes are gray, but not like those people from the Seam. Her eyes are very pale, as if almost all the color has been sucked out of them. The color of slush that you wish would melt away. They had a very long time ago, been a stronger color of gray, a beautiful kind. But that was before the lies of my father came crashing down on her world, damaging her and me.

"Mother," I sit up straight, folding my tanned hands together and letting them fall on my lap. "I don't want our relationship to be build on lies and us faking it to make the other happy."

She rolled her eyes, knowing where I was heading with my little speech.

"So I ask you, mother." I put my index finger in the air, creasing my eyebrows. "Do you really want me, your own flesh and blood," I began to raise my voice, making it louder and stronger with every word. "the little infant that you pushed out of your vagi–"

"Okay!" She raises her voice, waving her hand dismissively at me. "Shut up, please don't come with that line, Abby."

I shake my head, "No, mother–"

"Will you stop calling me 'mother'? You sound like one of those kids that were raised wrong and actually has manners."

I fake a gasp, clutching my chest. "Mother!"

"Abigail Hall." She warned.

That's where I couldn't hold it in anymore. A boom of laughter escaped and the car was filled with noises. I lean back in my seat, trying to catch my breath. Mom only glanced my way one time and then shook her head, looking back at the road before her. But I could see her lip tugging upwards into a faded smile.

I know my mom better than I know myself. I know all her secrets, all her dreams and nightmares. Her biggest fear and what she loves the most. She's like an open book when it comes to me, lets me read all the paragraphs, from start to finish. Hides nothing from me. I love that about her the most, the way she let's people in. Yet, it can be a little risky, letting anyone in, letting them read all of you, every part. But she was too good hearted and would never suspect anyone to be bad enough to use her fears and nightmares against her.

Unfortunately, I didn't get that from her. I suspect everyone and everything. It has always been hard for me to let people read me, find my biggest weakness and find that solid point in my youth. Instead of opening up all of these years, I've been closing myself up.

But it's hard, getting left by your own flesh and blood in a young age and then for 9 years letting people enter my life, giving them the opportunity to just leave me again.

"And we're here," the soft voice of my mom brought me out of my deep trail of thoughts. She turns to look at me as I let my eyes fall upon the streets of the dark and dazzling Brooklyn. "Welcome to your new home, sugarpop."

She gave me that nickname when I was three, and yes, I made her call me that. What are you gonna do about it?

"Woah," it was beautiful, honestly. I've only seen it on pictures and it never impressed me. But this? It's breathtaking. The tall buildings with the sunset in the background made one lose the breath, goosebumps covered the entire body, from top to toe. "How am I supposed to hate this?" I whisper underneath my breath.

Mom scoffs, "You aren't?" she said with an obvious tone. "Sugarpop, this part of New York is amazing, I know it and so do you. There is nothing to hate, literally, I mean have you seen the darn view?!" She uses one hand, gesturing over at the amazing view.

I shrug. She was right. The amazing view and the tall, dark buildings made it harder for me to express my hatred for Brooklyn. Especially the bridge. One month ago when my mom dropped the bomb of the move to Brooklyn to me, I started throwing hate at both Brooklyn and its' bridge. And trust me when I say, my mom did not give a fuck about my opinion.

But what parent does though? I mean come on, if I were a mom I'd make my kid do whatever I wanted to. I wouldn't let that peasant give an opinion after I make a decision. Hell nah, I'm the grown-up, I make up the rul-okay, now I get it.

I'm my mom.

"Oh, oh, we have to check out some dinner locations, sugarpop." she says, making a left turn after reaching land, away from the bridge.

I sigh, "Can't we do that tomorrow?" I pause, "Or never?"

Mom wasn't afraid to tell me her thoughts and opinions when I used an attitude or sarcasm against her. Usually, she'd throw me a nasty look and ignore me, or, sometimes she would give a comment back.

"I'm not afraid of turning this damn car around and go back to the bridge, young lady. So you better not start with your sarcastic comments because it's 10:45 PM and I haven't eaten for three damn hours."

I throw my hands up in surrender, "Sorry mom, won't happen again."

"Good."

–

"And we are here."

Putting down our luggage in front of the tall, brick building, I let my eyes wander off to the neighbourhood. The street was filled with buildings, apartments mostly I would guess. It didn't look that bad, I mean sure, it was almost midnight and the sky was pitch black filled with stars and the moon in the center.

There was a wind breeze that blew my long, brown hair, making it all cover my face. I didn't mind the wind, I just did mind the fact that it had to blow my hair in my face.

"God damn it," I utter underneath my breath, removing my hair from my face.

"You coming or what?"

My eyes move upwards until they land on my mom. She was standing at the top of the stairs, staring down at me with her head tilt to one side with a genuine smile.

I nod, exhaling before I slowly started making my way up the stairs. "Coming."

Walking up the stairs, I felt a pair of eyes boring into my skull, burning the inside of my head. It wasn't mom, she was too busy gazing up at the apartment, adoring the old building that was now our home. I tried shaking the weird feeling off, but I felt it coming again. The uneasy feeling, like someone was hidden in the shadows, watching my every step.

I follow my guts, letting my eyes search the place. They roam over all shadows, every corner and over the whole street. Nothing. There was no one there.

"Sugarpop?"

The voice of my mom brought me back to reality and I spin my head to meet her safe gray eyes that always made me stop and relax.

She smiled, "you ready to walk inside?"

I let out a breath, looking back to the street before turning back to face her. I give her one smile and nod.

"Never been more ready." I walk up to her and grab her hand in mine. "Let's do this."

"Me and you?" She asks, arching her perfect eyebrow at me.

I smile up at her. "Me and you."

"Okay,"

Slowly, filled with excitement, mom entered the key in the keyhole and turned the key until it made a click sound. When she pulled out the key she opened the door and we were welcomed with the scent of dust and wood. It was an old apartment, you could see it on the walls whose wallpapers were torn a little here and there. When you walked on the wooden floor it made creaking sounds and with every step you took, dust would fly before your eyes.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Mom said in pure awe.

I crease my eyebrows, drawing my hand over the torn wallpaper. "It's a little...." I turn to look at her, "torn apart, don't you think?"

Mom shrugged her shoulders, crossing her arms over her chest as she put a little more weight on one foot. "I guess so, but it's not something we won't be able to fix."

"Mm," I hum.

It wasn't bad. I will not lie and say that I hate it, because I didn't. The livingroom was on the left side once you walk inside the apartment. It was big, nothing too fancy with a small fireplace and two medium sized windows. Following the livingroom towards a big-sized opening, where you easily could see that there was once a door in its place, you reach what looks like a kitchen.

I walk slowly, catching ever glimpse of every corner in the place. The kitchen was the perfect size for a family – a counter in the middle of the kitchen, the length was high yet low enough to have stools there. There was yet another window over the sink with a view over the street behind the building.

I draw my hand over the sink, tilting my head to one side as I let myself explore the outside of the apartment, my eyes roaming over the neighbourhood.

I miss Boston, but I didn't want to say those three simple words to my mom. It would break her to know that I didn't want this, that she has made it harder for me, leaving my youth behind. It was hard for her too, she lived the life of a single mom for 9 years straight in that city.

I don't know much about the man I would call my father and mom doesn't like speaking of him. I get why, the old bastard left her when she needed him the most. The year he left was the same year my mom lost her beloved father, and my grandfather. I was only 9 years when he left, but I do remember a little of that day.

It was summer and me and my friends were on the small garden that surrounded the apartment we all lived in. We were playing with our bikes and footballs. We were laughing, giggling and having a fun time, until we heard yelling. It was mom and dad. You could hear the yelling coming from our kitchens open window. They had been fighting for weeks about something a 9 year old didn't understand. One day they would mention money and other days they spoke about lost love and alcohol, late night work and so on. But that day they brought up all of it; alcohol, love, money and dad spending late nights at work.

But I didn't react to it, they had been fighting for so long it made another fight seem normal and harmless in our small family. But it was far from normal and harmless. Because the front door slammed open and my dad rushed out of the apartment holding two suitcases in each hands. Mom just stood there by the door, red eyes and a wet face. The neighbours watching the scene from their windows.

"Daddy, where are we going?" I ask, letting go of my bike, running after him.

He walked past me as if I was thin air, not giving me one glance. So I continued running after him, screaming his name.

"Daddy! Daddy!" I scream, tears threatening rolling down from the corner of my big, dark brown eyes.

He threw his suitcases in the back of the car and before going inside the car himself, he looked back at me. One last look before he sat his disgusting ass in the car and drove off. No goodbye, no 'I love you' and no explanation. Nothing.

Mom spend that night locked in her room, crying quietly for herself. But she didn't know I sat right outside her door, crying softly with her. She still doesn't know. I never told her that and I don't intend on telling her that now either. It's better if she doesn't know.

"Oh, my God!" Mom rushed inside the kitchen, her eyes wide, just like the smile on her face. She started jumping up and down in front of me, squealing. "It's gorgeous!"

I laugh, "Yeah, it's great."

She stopped doing her happy dance and walked closer, pulling me in for a hug. She kissed my forehead, letting her lips stay connected with my skin for awhile before pulling away, resting her head above mine. "Have you checked out the second floor?"

I crease my eyebrows, "There is a second floor?"

"Mhm," she hums, a smirk tugging on her lips.

"Well, you know..." I didn't wait any longer but sprinted to the stairs that were in the hallway. How did I not notice them?

I make my way up to the second floor which was as huge as the first floor. When I reach the top I stop, gaping at how huge it looked. There were about three to four doors, one was obviously a bathroom. I didn't waste any time but started looking around, entering every room.

The first room was huge with a lot of space for a king-sized bed to fit in. There were two medium sized windows, just like the ones in the livingroom.

"Great," I heave a sigh, my eyes falling upon the boxes with the name 'Barbara' scribbled all over them. That's why it took her long enough to tell me about the second floor. She made jinx on the best bedroom.

I left that room and kept entering all the other rooms, waiting to find my new bedroom.

Soon, after I had entered the two bathrooms I came to the second bedroom on the second floor. It was big, almost as big as mom's room. Its' wallpaper was just as torn as the rest of the houses' walls. But like mom said, it's nothing we won't be able to fix.

I made my way through the room, observing its' corners. There was only one window in the room, a fire escape right outside of it.

"Hm," I nod, crossing my arms over my chest as I watch the fire escape with proud eyes. Looks like, I will be spending a lot of time outside my window the coming years.

It had an aesthetic view with the Brooklyn bridge hidden next to the building next to ours. The room was on the side of the building, so, the only view I was greeted by was the building next door. I guess it was good, I mean mom got a nicer view, she deserves it.

"And I got a view over," I scrutinize with my eyes over to the window over on the building next to ours, but it was no use, the lights in the room were out. "Great, a view of pitch darkness."

I heave a sigh, leaning my elbows on the window frame, resting my chin on my palms. My eyes roaming over the night sky, wandering over all the stars and over to the moon.

"Hello grandpa," I smile weakly, looking up at the night-sky. "How's things up there?"

Climbing out of my window, I make myself comfortable on the fire escape and exhale. "Things are okay down here. You haven't missed a lot since last time we spoke. We are in the new apartment, got here just thirty minutes ago actually."

He won't answer, I know that. I'm not completely insane. I just like speaking to him, as if he was right here, next to me.

"It's a little different from our old place back in Boston, but it's good. I would say it's welcoming, but we both know I'd be lying if I did." I say, chuckling lightly with myself.

"The neighbourhood is fine. I haven't seen one human soul since we came here, but it is almost midnight," I laugh, holding one hand up, pointing at the sky, "which explains a lo-"

I felt the uneasy feeling again, the same feeling as before when I thought someone was watching me. A pair of eyes, once again, boring into my skull, burning the inside of my head.

This time I don't wait to look around. My eyes snap in the direction of the eyes and just as I thought, there they were. The eyes that had been giving me the jittery feeling. The intense eyes belonged to a boy standing in the window opposite from mine. He was leaning all his weight on his arms that were resting on his window frame. His head slightly tilted to one side. He was wearing a white v-neck, but more I couldn't see.

I arch a eyebrow at the boy, not daring to show that I was feeling a little uncomfortable with his stares.

The buildings weren't that far apart from each other, which made it easier for me to notice his lips tugging upwards, turning into a smirk. The light from the night lantern below us was the only light surrounding us, except the dim light in my room.

"Welcome to the neighbourhood, suparpop." he said with a raised voice for me to hear him.

And with that, he left, leaving me with my mouth slightly open, my eyes still glued to his window.