I hadn't been feeling that great when we met. I had been feeling sick, with a fever, a couple of days before. Maybe it was because of my father's death. 

I had been trying to grab onto whatever good aspect of my mental health remained, but it had all gone down the drain. Perhaps that explains why I looked so bad; smudged mascara from three weeks ago, smudged eyeliner from two weeks before that, very dark circles under my eyes, and cracked lips from not drinking anything for hours.

‘I'll be fine’ I thought to myself for those weeks that I lay in my bed. I didn’t check my phone. I didn’t even change or shower until my mother forced me to. The only reason that I ever got out of my bed was to stress eat. That made it feel as if everything would get better. As if my father would come back. As if he didn’t get shot in that lonely street corner where he could have been helped had there been a good person.

My legs hurt. But I should go and get some food. Perhaps walk down to the corner store and say hello to the nice old lady that’s been working there since before I was born. Yes, I should.

I pulled myself up from my bed; my legs felt like they were going to give up on me, and my back felt even worse. Maybe it was a bad idea to not move for weeks.

I changed out of my clothes to a hoodie and shorts. If I’m going to go outside, then I should at least wear something more decent than pajama pants that are falling apart and a ripped shirt from when I was twelve.

I trudged out of my bedroom and towards the staircase that I dreaded so much. I sat down on the landing and used my arms and legs to climb down. I ignored the stares from my mother and my older sister as I stumbled towards the front door.

The sun is bright as it hits my eyes; I squint them as I look at the sidewalk beneath me. I breathed in deeply, trying to keep my mind clear as I walked across the street to get to the small store. 

I greet the old lady sitting behind the cash register with the ghost of a smile. I stepped towards the read-to-eat section of the store and grabbed a small salad with chunks of ham and grated cheese in it. I walked back towards the register, my eyes wandering towards the many candies, snacks, and drinks in the aisles around me. I let the old lady scan my salad as I pulled a ten-dollar bill out of my pocket. I paid and left. 

The sun felt a bit warm against my skin, but that didn’t matter to me. I went towards a city park that was nearby. I sat down on a metal bench, which was burning against my bare thighs, and started to eat my salad.

It hadn’t been long after I started eating that a basketball rolled towards me. I looked up and saw a tall girl, approximately around five-ten, looking down at me. Her brown eyes were probably considered beautiful to any other person who looked at them. They had these specks of light brown around the edges of her iris, and she had some greens around the edges of her pupils, too, which enhanced the darker brown. 

“You dropped your ball,” I say, my face blank.

The girl smiles at me. “I know,” she says. She put a hand on the bench beside me, around five or six inches away from my thigh, and leaned down to grab the basketball.

“Cya ‘round,” she said before she left.