Nydia Wilson lives on the wrong side of the tracks in a predominately poor neighborhood that the rest of the city doesn’t like to think about. The African American teenage girl has her father looking after her, and that’s helped keep her from falling prey to drugs and prostitution, but what really keeps her going is her art. Some dabble in graffiti, but Nydia tells whole stories with it. She’s strewn whole scenes on the side of white freight trains depicting a poor man seeking a job and getting nowhere but not giving up. She’s shown images of a soup kitchen on a warehouse wall, glamorizing nothing, but somehow making sure none of the hope in the moment was lost. She’s depicted ugly, sometimes, when she felt the city was ignoring it too much. A murder of a hooker on a sidewalk wasn’t looked much into, until the sidewalk where the prostitute fell was found with a blood red silhouette of paint and the word ‘care’ catching the moonlight.
And no one knows Nydia is the one doing it. To her schoolmates, the sixteen year old girl is the brain case, the ‘wanna be white girl’ mocked because of her good grades. Her father wants her to be a doctor, or an accountant, something that’ll make good living and always be in demand. Nydia doesn’t know how to tell him what she really loves is art. More than loves, she can’t stop it. It’s her way of holding out against the despair of her neighborhood. It’s what she’s called to do. And while some folks are starting to notice her work, and she loves the praise, she is really worried someone will expose her yet, and she’ll be forced to disappoint her father by not being what he wants her to be.
Spoiler (Highlight to read)
QUOTE: “Uh, yes. It’s okay I guess, the art I mean. No, I don’t know who did it officer. I was on my way to the library.”