Free Personal Narratives: You Can Love a Thug

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You Can Love a Thug…

We sat in the back of a broken down Lincoln, his friend in the driver's seat, inhaling cigarettes like oxygen. His newfound friends influenced him, changed him--in the worst way. "You become the company you keep," I always used to tell him. They took all I knew of him away from me, all of what I yearned for, all of what he was. Yeah, he was there physically, but what he was went up with the smoke his friend exhaled. I was still attracted to him. I wanted to feel every inch of his caramel skin, run my fingers through the zig-zag braids1 in his hair, lusting for the touch of him, for the words "I love you" to roll off his tongue, for his lips to softly caress mine . . .

"Close your eyes and smell this," he said. I trusted him enough to close my eyes, not being aware of what was going to be presented before me. Besides I knew that he would never hurt me or upset me. I closed my eyes and sniffed. The sweet and sour aroma of mother earth tingled the hairs in my nose, making me yearn for what was before me--smelling what was supposed to be forbidden fruit. I wanted to taste its sweet nectar and I was perfectly okay with tasting it with him. His being there just made it better, made everything wrong turn out right.

"That's what good green2 smells like. Open your eyes and look at this!" he demanded. I opened my eyes, allowing them to adjust to the cloudy air from the cigarette smoke. I looked up and glared into his walnut eyes, awaiting the next set of instructions. He held up a clear, plastic, ziploc bag no bigger than my pinky and said, "This is what good green looks like!"

The bag contained bright green bunches with bits of red hair in it. As I looked closer in the bag examining every piece of the green, it sort of made me realize how he treated me. Those red hairs in the green were the color of my hair. He could seal me up when I wasn't needed, so no one else could have me, and could take me out when he wanted me.

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