The Bright Side

Two

After skipping all the way to my house I finally come face to face with my front door.

Yes, I did indeed say skipping.  Some people may think it's strange for a seventeen year old girl to be skipping down the street, but I don't give a fuck.  It's fun and faster than walking.  I think it's good exercise too.

My brother Mateo told me to stop skipping once because he said I looked like an idiot.  I told him to fuck off.  Then I skipped away.

My house is small and shabby, but I think it's cute.  The exterior paint is starting to chip and the front door has a few scratches on it.  The house is a dull yellow color.

This house holds many memories.  Some of which I wish I could forget.  Except instead I try to focus on all the good memories I've made in this home.  I think of my mom and I playing dominoes together late at night on the dining room table.  I think of cuddling with my little sister because I got scared of a horror movie when I was thirteen. I think of all the wonderful food my mother makes in our kitchen.

One thing I've learned over the years is to not let the bad memories outweigh the good ones.  If you do they will eat you alive.  From a young age I learned that the good memories are the things that will make you smile in the morning, the bad ones will make you never want to get out bed.

The front door makes a creaking noise as I push it open.  I can hear my mom humming the tune to a Colombian song in our small kitchen.

My mother is a petite woman, with curly black hair and dark eyes.  She is gorgeous.  I don't understand how she is forty yet has no wrinkles.  I hope I inherit that trait.

Sneaking up behind her I wrap my arms around her shoulders and squeeze.  She jumps and hits me with the back of her hand.

"Hi ma!" Her face relaxes once she sees it's me, I offer her a warm smile.

"Dios mío, you're gonna give me a heart attack one of these days." She places her hand over her heart. (Translation: Oh my god.)

I smile brightly down at her as she continue speaking, "Well hello my little weirdo." She gives me a side hug and continues cooking. She is much shorter then me.  I'm 5'7 while she is 5'3. I get my height from the man who took part in making me.

The smell of delicious food makes my stomach grumble in hunger.

I slump my shoulders, "Are you almost done? I'm starving." My voice purposely comes out whiny and irritating which I know will annoy her.

I love being annoying, not too much to the point of the person wanting to kill me.  Except just enough to the point where they want to step on my foot, or pinch me.

There is no harm in irritating the people you love just a little.

"Cállate." I sigh and throw my head back at her famous words. (Translation: Shut up.)

"Fine." I respond, dragging the 'e'.  Another thing I do that I know my mother hates.

While strolling to my room my seven year old brother runs into me.

"Watch where you're going estupida." He looks up at me with a scowl on his face.

"You're the one who ran into me!" Mateo rolls his hazel eyes at me and walks off to the dining table.

Little pendejo.

Before I get to my room Camila walks into me, but not before shoving me into the wall. My shoulder and head make a thumping noise as I fall.

She laughs at me and starts running to the dining room.  She expects me to chase after her.

She is twelve and thinks she can push her seventeen year old sister into a wall and get away with it.