These Lonely Streets

Camden was not like other cities in the United States. It ranked up in the top five most violent cities in the nation, and that was an understatement. First hand experiences of the violence would make you believe, and again, outside onlookers would merely say Camden had nothing to it. They have no idea. They have never seen the bloody battles between gangs here. The ones that always made the news were the ever popular Bloods and Crips, but no one would ever turn the media lens onto us, the outskirt gangs. One would think of New Jersey as a complete hick state, which isn't entirely true. Sure, there are more corn fields and cows than there are tall skyscrapers and concrete jungles, but there are still more things in Jersey than just hicks. Call it hickville or whatever you want, but we will always know what goes on under The Garden State impression.

A colorful splatter of graffiti marked up every building wall in the city. We passed numerous murals, most exclaiming the name of a gang like Bloods or even the scarce Latin Kings. A few were in the process of being painted over, but that was a complete waste of time and money for the city. Everyone knew that a fresh coat of paint meant a brand new canvas for a gang or a rowdy teenage drop-out to sell their beliefs or membership onto. On every street corner sat a planted tree, their green leaves slowly shifting into yellows, reds, and browns. Some street corners housed a street light, the pinnacle of terrible traffic on these small streets. The old street pavements beneath the truck tires were worn, cracked, and in need of a good replacement or a streak of paint to indicate the two lanes. As old and trashy as Camden seemed, I loved the city and was glad to be returning.

"Almost home," James announced from the driver's seat as he turned onto a road that lead to a little less populated portion of the city. I smiled just a bit without really noticing, my eyes set on the top of an off-white apartment complex that I knew was mine. James would have just driven right over the grass to get to the complex knowing his crazy driving ways, but his knowledge of a cop car sitting almost always nearby made him stick to the pavement. I sat up a bit, running my fingers through my wavy chocolate locks so my grown out bangs stayed out of my face. Normally I enjoyed the way my hair shaded my face from the public eye, but Dr. Walker had weaned me from that.

"Now, Cory, no one can see your natural beauty if you're always hiding behind your hair," he'd explained to me one day in group talk, the topic being how we felt about ourselves. Bringing up my low tolerance for my appearance was not something I had done voluntarily. Michelle, a patient that I never had good ties with, brought up how I should not hide behind my hair, and Dr. Walker instantly pinpointed me for the next round of questions. How do you feel about your appearance? Were you put down about them as a child? Why do you feel the need to hide what can be so beautiful? All those bull-shit questions were fired at me, and I had no choice but to answer them in all honesty. The more honest and willing to accept the truth I was, the faster I could have left rehab. They fed me lies about how I was comparable to a diamond, sparkling and gorgeous in every facet. Not that I believed them, but I nodded on and smiled, my icy blue eyes lighting up with each compliment to make them believe.

"Welcome home, Cory!" Randy exclaimed. I looked over at him, another smile allowing itself to perk up the corners of my lips. Noticing my smile, Randy's natural grin seemed to spread to his ears, but he did not announce the news of my smile to those confined in the truck. It was good news, yes, but he knew better to draw all the attention onto me. It was not something in particular that I enjoyed.

James parked in the nearest parking spot to the door, immediately jumping out and everyone following. I hopped out on my side, slamming the door behind me a bit too hard. James shot me a look, my response being a frown in apology.

"I say we all go out clubbing tonight, y'know? Have a few dr-" Randy started to say after we all came face to face on the sidewalk, but Buster cut in.

"No," he said.

"What? Buster saying no to a night of partying? What's gotten into you?" Randy teased.

"Didn't you hear the doc?" Buster questioned. "He said she's gotta stay away from all that."

"Aw, c'mon. We'll keep our eyes on her."

"No, Randy."

Randy pouted as he leaned against the grill of the truck. I sighed quietly, knowing that if Randy continued his persistency that Buster would surely blow a fuse. Jaycee slipped her small frame next to mine, giving my arm a light squeeze. A hug, I assumed, for she did not want to throw her frail arms around me in front of everyone.

"Well then," Buster began, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. "Probably should get you all caught up with things, Cory. A lot has been going on."

"But you said everything was okay last time you visited," I protested. They brought the good news of no recent stand offs in their last visit to he rehab center. Although I should have known better that nothing was ever okay in Camden, I was making myself believe that the news was true. It was necessary to feel that the world was all fine and dandy in order to open our eyes to a world outside of getting high and drunk and inside one that revolved around being sober.

"Why would we tell you and make you paranoid?" Goliath snapped, letting the full intensity of his gaze fall onto me. I slouched back a bit, feeling like a puppy that had been scolded for eating the garbage or something.

"You think we'd let your little sober head worry about what's been going on here? Not likely, Cory. We had to keep you stress free for rehab, to make sure you got better," he added, only more politely.

"I would have rather known than be kept in the dark, Goliath. What, you think I would have relapsed if you told me? There weren’t any drugs within a hundred miles of me!" I snapped.

"Just knock it the hell off, okay? Really. Cory, it was for your own damn good," Goliath retorted.

"How would you even know what's good for me?"

"Apparently rehab didn't change your attitude."

I growled quietly, my fists clenching at my sides. I should have expected this from Goliath, but not this early in the game. He was cocky, yes, but on the first day of my return? Goliath looked away from me, letting the messy mop of shaggy blonde hair atop his head fall over his forehead. I wanted nothing more than to punch the indignation into his teeth, even though I'd been back home for a total of seven minutes at most.

At least my memory of him didn't change before my year in rehab.

"Alright, guys, shut up," Jaycee snapped in annoyance. "Is this how it's going to be from now on, or are you two going to kiss and make up?"

Well, /kissing/ and making up did not sound so pleasant, but I could settle for relieving ties. I glanced at Goliath, and his eyes were on me. I shrugged.

"We'll see," I murmured. Buster cleared his throat, obviously to dismiss the conversation. He did not care whether or not the two of us were at ease with one another.

"Look, why don't we just have a meeting at Buster's later and fill her in. It isn't exactly the safest discussing this out here," James added in. He sounded annoyed, like Goliath and me had become two toddlers he had to deal with and all he was getting from it was a headache.

Well, his reasoning did sound better than having all the information piled onto me now.

"That's fine for me," I stated. Jaycee shot me a look of disbelief, as did James and Randy. Were they shocked to hear me agree?