You Found Me

By Kayaleah Bradley

 

When two unsuspecting strangers meet in the most unexpected way, their lives will never be the same. Cheyanne Taylor has grown up in a lifestyle of comfort and luxury. It's easy to assume she's never faced many hardships throughout her life. Growing up mere miles from Cheyanne, Jacob Lee has only known violence, poverty, and struggle, in his neighborhood, comfort and luxury are practically a myth for those who reside within. What no one realizes is just how much their status contradicts who they truly are beneath the surface. When they are pushed together by fate they will be forced to reckon with just how different their lives truly are from one another when it comes to race, gender, status, and community. They will be forced to question what they thought they knew, and who they thought they were. Fight the system, question everything, and never judge a book by its cover. What can happen when you are pushed together by fate in the most unexpected way?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rosebud Press
• Release date: Apr 22, 2021
• ISBN: 9781734677195

Book preview

Trigger Warning

This work contains potentially triggering or sensitive material. Depictions of domestic violence, and gun violence are some topics covered in this work.

This book may not be suitable for all.

...Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves.

- Plato, The Symposium

Chapter One

(Cheyanne)

Senior Year has been stressful. I pretend like everything is fine, but the truth is it's barely September, and I’m already freaking out and overwhelmed. I let out a sigh of frustration and set my pencil down on my desk. I rub my eyes for a few minutes before finally letting my headrest in my hands. Between college applications, AP homework, and waiting for SAT results, I’m never going to finish this year; it’s just too much.

Cheyanne! My father screams from downstairs, jolting me from my moment.

I stand from my place at my desk, my knee cracks from sitting down for so long. I cross the room and head down the hallway. My house isn’t huge, but it isn’t small either. I walk down the hallway, my feet sinking into the crisp, white plush carpet like they do every time, drowning out the sound of each step I take. The entire upstairs consists of crisp, white plush carpet, except for the bathrooms. I take in all of our family photos, which take up residency on the wall. I head downstairs and make a sharp right turn at the bottom. As soon as my feet hit the maple wood floors, they make a squeaking sound-they’re sweaty from sitting at my desk for so long, overwhelmed, and honestly, freaking out. I head down, yet another hallway that leads to the living room and kitchen. Like upstairs, the downstairs walls consist of pictures, family portraits, individual pictures, and selfies from our many adventures.

The picture lined hallway soon ends, opening up to the living room. On the right side is the kitchen; the kitchen is gourmet. It boasts these top-notch stainless-steel appliances, granite countertops, and black cupboards. A giant island sits smackdab in the middle, giving a home to three cherry-stained barstools. There used to be four, but now there are only three. I can only imagine how much it cost to have the kitchen look like this. From my time watching HGTV, it was probably a pretty hefty price my parents paid. On the other side of the gourmet kitchen lies our formal dining room, consisting of a long mahogany table with ten chairs, although there are only three people in my family... I guess my parents were planning ahead for the grand dinner parties that we’ve never had. The living room has always been one of my favorite places in the house, though. Believe it or not, more family photos that hold memories frozen in time line the walls, patiently waiting to be seen. There’s this generous glass door that gives way to the backyard right off of the living room that I’ve always loved it. There have been times where I’ve sat on the couch for hours, watching the day go by, losing myself in the sky and the clouds and the soft green grass.

I turn my attention from the glass door to my father, who sits on the couch watching TV, what’s new.

Did you need something? I ask.

My father cranes his neck as far as he can, struggling to see me.

Yes, He says. Can you please go to the grocery store and pick up some birthday candles for Cecilia?

I’ve always found it strange how my father has always referred to my mother by her name, rather than calling her ‘mom.’ Even when I was younger, she was always Cecilia or Cel. Come to think of it; my mother has always called my father by his full name, Brian or B, as opposed to ‘dad.’

I let out a sigh and reply, Why can’t you do it?

My father turns the rest of his body around to turn his full attention to me.

Because it’s Cecelia’s birthday soon, and she’ll be very pleased to know that you put effort into the occasion... for once...

But it’s my birthday too, I remark. And I always put effort into Mom’s birthday. By some weird coincidence, I was born on my mother’s birthday. We’re precisely twenty-six years apart, and because we share the same birthday, that means we have to share the same party, as well.

Just please go get the birthday candles, my father asks. If you do this for me now, I will make it up to you. I promise.

Yeah, I retort. That’s what you always say.

My father ignores my comment, turning his distant dark green eyes back to the screen in front of him so that all I can see is the top of his head. I swiftly turn around and head back down the hallway towards the front door. I snatch the keys to my car, slip on my black Nikes, and head out the front.

The door slams behind me unintentionally, I swear. I make my way down the driveway towards my royal blue 2018 KIA Forte: my parents bought it for me, fresh off the lot, for my 16th birthday. So, I’m not saying that I don’t like sharing a birthday with my mother, but I’m not crazy about it either. Birthdays are the one day of the year you get to claim as your own. Sharing that day with not only someone else but a family member takes that small moment of selfishness away.

I’ll never have one day that was meant for me. As selfish as it sounds, I just wish that I could have one day to myself. Thoughts swirling, I start my car and speed down the road. There’s hardly any traffic, which is surprising considering it's 6:00 PM on a Monday. Though there’s no traffic, I still want to be done with this trip as quickly as possible. I turn down Avenue Road, which will get me to the grocery store five minutes quicker than taking Berkeley Street. The sun is beginning to set, casting an eerie orange glow over the horizon. Autumn will be here soon, and I can already see a hint of color-changing within the trees; my favorite part of living in Colorado is getting to experience all four of the seasons that not every other state gets to enjoy.

As soon as you turn down Avenue Road, the houses begin to change; they seem to be falling apart. The paint on the front of some houses is chipped, peeling away. Other homes, the ones that are made of brick, consisting of giant cracks stretching from one side of the house to the other. The sidewalk is also messy, with massive cracks and dents destroying the concrete. The road laid out in front of me is covered in potholes, so much so that I have to swerve every second it seems to avoid blowing out my tires.

This isn’t the nicest neighborhood in town, that’s for sure, and the city refuses to pay for the resources necessary to fix it. Instead, they waste their money on the neighborhoods that don’t need the help, like ours. I’m not sure I can see the logic in that, but it is what it is. I’m sure I’m not the only person who can’t seem to understand the reasoning. Every time I drive through this area, people stare. They stop what they’re doing, whatever that may be, and glare in my direction. They don’t know me, not personally, but they recognize my 'type.' One look at the brand-new car on the road, and they understand. To this neighborhood, I’m 'one of those people,' the people who live on the other side of town, the people who don’t need help. I don’t belong here.

I usually Ignore them. I keep my focus on the road in front of me. When you drive far enough down Avenue Road, it eventually curves around a giant field. The grass is dead, where patches of dirt take up most of the land.

Usually, the field is filled with kids of all ages, playing soccer or football. Today, it’s empty, void of any sort of activities, void of life. Something catches my attention to the left of me, and I can’t seem to help but look in that direction. I’m greeted by nothing but an open field, except for a mass of trees lining the edge of the grassy area farthest from me. At first, I’m not sure what captured my attention, but then I see it: a shadowy black figure standing at the center of the field. Suddenly that black figure turns into two, and then three, and then four. I realize that those four figures are people, and they’re not just standing in the field...they look like they’re hitting something.

Then I realize that they’re not hitting at a thing, but they’re hitting someone. I pull over to the side of the road closest to the field, but I’m not sure why. What am I , of all people going to be able to do?

Suddenly the someone that they’re hitting drops to the floor. The four shadowy figures that I realize are men begin to kick at the other man. He’s no longer moving. Finally, the shock starts to fade, and now

I’m only angry. They need to stop, or he’s going to die.

I grab my phone from the cup holder beside my seat and open my door.

Hey! I shout, standing from my seat. They don’t stop, and maybe that’s because they can’t hear me or because they don’t care. But they’re going to care soon enough. I’ll make them care.

Stop! I shout, louder this time. One head turns, searching for the noise, but the others continue to beat the unconscious man into the ground.

Stop, or I swear I’ll call the police! That seems to get their attention. They stop what they’re doing and take off towards the trees lining the edge of the field.

Instead of getting back in the car and leaving before those men change their minds and come back, something inside of me is screaming, urging me to help the man, now alone in the field.

I quickly undo my seatbelt, grab my phone from the cupholder, dial 911, and sprint towards the blur in the field.

This is 911; what is your emergency?

Hi, I say, attempting to sound calm. I’m in a giant field on the corner of Avenue Road and Washington Lane, by the grocery store.

Ma’am, what is the emergency?

I’m not two feet away from the man when I’m stopped in my tracks. He’s covered in blood, and it looks as though he is merely a heap of bones, and nothing else... lifeless.

Ma’am? I hear on the other end of the line, but I can’t seem to speak.

Ma’am, are you still there?

Yes, I reply finally, no longer able to remain calm. Please hurry! There’s a man in the middle of the field; he’s badly beaten and unconscious.

I’ve already tracked your location and dispatched it to the police. They’re on their way, the dispatcher says. Her voice is calm and sweet,

like honey. Can you please tell me what happened?

I was driving, and I saw them, they were beating him up, and he just dropped, and he hasn’t moved since, I try to explain, though I’m not sure I’m making any sense. Just the sight of this man has sent me into a complete frenzy.

Okay, the dispatcher says. An ambulance is on its way, but I need you to remain calm. Can you do that?

I take a few deep breaths in an attempt to fulfill what she’s asking. I breathe in deeply through my nose and then release it slowly out my mouth.

Ma’am? the dispatcher says, her voice soothing to me, for some reason.

Yes, I say, finally. I can do that.

Good, she says. Now I need you to tell me if he’s breathing.

I look closely at the man in front of me. He’s flipped over on his stomach, his face down in the dirt. I watch closely for any signs of movement. His back slowly rises before falling back into place.

Yes, he’s breathing, I confirm.

Very good, the dispatcher says. Alright, the ambulance is only a few minutes away, but I need you to stay with him, okay? Okay, I nod, though she can’t see me.

I somehow find the courage to drop to his side. Up close, he looks much worse. He’s covered in not only blood but bruises and dirt as well. I’m not sure what to do, and honestly, I’m scared, not just for this person in front of me, who could be dying, but for myself as well. There is a genuine chance that those four men could come back to finish off what they started and hurt me in the process. I’m not safe here. I’m too exposed. My thoughts are racing, and I can feel my heart in my throat, but I can’t leave him, and not just because the dispatcher told me I couldn’t, but because I would want someone to stay if it were me, face down in the dirt.

I pull his hand out from underneath him and take it on my own. I begin to stroke his skin with my thumb, in the pattern of a small circle. My mom does that to me sometimes, to comfort me. He may not be able to feel it, but if he can, I hope the motion soothes him, the way it soothes me. Minutes pass, though it feels like hours before I can hear sirens in the distance. They’re faint at first, but the noise soon grows until it’s all I can hear.

I whip my head around to see two police cars and one ambulance racing down the road. With one hand still grasping the man’s hand, I raise my other hand high up in the sky and begin to wave, signaling that we’re here. The police cars stop just past my car, but the ambulance takes a sharp left turn and begins driving down the field. They stop a few feet in front of us and start pulling out equipment from the back of their ambulance.

I’m just about to pull away from the man when I feel a tight squeeze around my hand.

I look back at the man, confused. Is he... awake? Stupid; he hasn’t moved since I got here. It must’ve been my imagination.

Ma’am, One of the paramedics says. He has dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. His voice is deep.

Can you please take a few steps back so we can take a look? He starts towards the two of us, while his partner-who appears to be built much narrower than him- hauls the gurney through the grass.

I stand from my place, releasing the man’s hand, and take a few steps back.

The paramedics' crouch down to take a better look at the man. On the first paramedics' count, they roll him over to his back, and I see now that he’s not a man, but a boy, probably no older than I am. His skin is dark brown, but the bruises on his face still stand out, despite the little visibility from the almost wholly darkened sky.

I’ve got a pulse, the second paramedic says.

Lift him on my count, the first paramedic demands. 1...2...3...

The two paramedics quickly lift the boy from the ground, attempting to place him onto the gurney gently.

Then they’re racing back to the ambulance.

I know that my part in this entire situation is over, but I can’t seem to walk away now. I need to know that he makes it out of this alive.

Wait, I say, following the paramedics back behind the ambulance. The second paramedic is already climbing into the back of the vehicle with the boy.

Can I come with you? I ask, hesitant.

Are you immediate family? the second paramedic asks.

No, I admit as if it weren’t obvious.

Then you can’t come, the first paramedic says, slamming the back doors shut, separating me from the boy.

The second paramedic compromises, But you’re more than welcome to follow us to the hospital.

He quickly makes his way back to the front of the ambulance, climbs back inside, and just like that, their racing down the field, sirens blaring.

I half walk-half jog back to my car, keeping an eye out for any suspicious behaviors. I can’t shake the feeling that those men could be watching me now, waiting for the opportunity to silence me before I can say too much about what happened here.

Once safely inside my car, I lock the doors and let out a deep, shaky breath. The last few