Always Has Been

July

Remembering you is like waking up to the first day of the month of July.
The cool summer breeze in the morning, and the sense of rush prickling my skin when the sun hits the blinds of my white bedroom. The smell of pancakes floating through the crack on the door side, tickling my nose as I flutter my eyes open.

July. I remember the day clearly.
I am Maxine Tanner, currently a sixteen-year-old in Chicago. I sit up from my comfy warm bed and swing my feet and let it graze the soft carpet before planting it down on the ground and walk to my mirror. My messy auburn hair cuts just past my shoulders, eyes dark brown that melts softly when taken in with my semi-tan skin and tall hooked nose. My father's 1/2 American and a proud Cuban, my mother's pure American, so the contrast of my genetic outcome makes me look like a 5'5 tall, seventeen-year-old tan American.

I let my hair stay as is as I walk out of my room and downstairs to the dining table. Matthew, my fifteen-year-old brother walks past me, his sandy gold hair messed at the side.
He looks just like me, except he's a shade lighter and sharper features.
"Max, I need you to help me convince mom to let me go to this house party at Connor's tonight," Matthew says. I pour the coffee set on the table, turn over the mug on the table and pour.
"Party? You're a freshman and you have a house party?" I ask.
"It's an open party and it's pretty chill... Why don't you go with me! You'll finally have something worth bragging about when you're in college," Matthew replies, smirking to himself.
I take a sip of my warm coffee, eyeing him. It's the truth, I never really go out to parties, I've only been to two in the past three years. Maybe I should.
"And this party is tonight?" I ask, hiding the curiosity in my voice.
"Yeahp, so will you help me convince mom?"
"Fine."
"Thanks Max, see you,"
"Where are you going?" I ask.
"Baseball practice."

Oh yeah, it's a Saturday, I think to myself.

"Please tell mom, I kinda need a new shirt before the party," He says, picking up his baseball cap and bag before walking out of the door.