simply existing.

January 2, 2020

Every year, people start off saying, "New year, new me!" Honestly, that's so dumb. You're the same exact person as you were last year, for all you did was make the same goals you make every year. Sorry to break it to you, but you're not going to work out every day. I give it a week, tops.

My mom always asks me, "Leiana, why don't you make a resolution this year? We can set some goals together!" She's such a sweet, humble person. I often ponder upon how an astounding person like her could give birth to someone like me. A girl with no ambition to engender an admirable living. A disappointment.

You know what else is dumb? Harrison. Harrison, Arkansas. The most racist town in America. Every morning I open my weary eyes, wondering how many nasty, unaccepting looks Eliza, Leo, and I are going to get. My mom and I are two of the small, Puerto Rican population, and my best friend, Eliza, is among the fifteen percent of African-Americans here. Even worse, there's my second best friend, Leo, who's practically the only Indian-American. Leo's non-binary also, which means they get even dirtier looks. This town lacks so much diversity, it's disheartening.

When I think about Harrison, I think about how I could be in Louisiana right now, happily living with my dad and my brother, Lance. Of course, my parents decided to divorce and left me here to rot. Now that I think of it, if they hadn't split, I wouldn't have met Eliza when I did. Plus, all my dad cares for is alcohol. Lance only heeds for basketball and his fifty girlfriends. He never texts me either, and I'm his only sister. Asshole. We used to be so close, but not anymore.

"Leiana! Will you stop procrastinating and get your butt down here?" Mom shouts.

Ugh, it's the first day back to school from winter break. All I can expect is a mouthful about Minneapolis from Eliza, and who knows what from Leo. Leo's been acting so strange lately.

"LEIANA?!"

"I'M COMING, MOM. PLEASE, JUST GIVE ME A MINUTE."

I throw on a hoodie and sweats, struggle to put my curly hair into a bun, and tumble downstairs. The stairs are old and rickety, which would make it nearly impossible for me to sneak out if I wanted to. As I near the bottom, a familiar, decadent aroma warms the air.

"Good, you're here! Come have some cremita. Made it just for you!"

I swear, my mom's the best. Cremita's my favorite breakfast in the whole world. She always makes it perfectly warm, and of course, what would cremita be without her signature cinnamon professionally seasoned on top.

"Delicious as always. Thanks, Mom."

"No problem, muñeca. So today's the first day back of the year! New decade! You nervous?" She questions, cleaning the cinnamon off the countertop.

"Nah, I'm meeting up with Eliza before school cause she wanted to walk with me."

"Oh, tell her I said hi. Let me grab myself some...shit," she looked down at her phone, "My boss wants me at work. Lock up on the way out!"

"I will."

My mom works an office job trying to sell useless products to the wealthiest people, but the way I see it, her boss just takes advantage of her because he knows everyone despises her. He has a whole floor flooded with African-Americans and Hispanics, and don't think these floors are luxurious. They're the homes to millions of dust families. The white people, however, get two floors coated top to bottom with the finest coat of polish. I don't know him all too well, but he's never given me a good vibe.

I stir my spoon around the bowl. The cinnamon gently glides along, following my spoon. I remember what my mom used to say, "Start from the outside and work your way down to the middle!" Those were the simple days, when all my worries consisted of not burning my tongue and choosing the right hair bow for school. Sometimes, I wish that, with just a blink from the eye, I could release myself on a long fall. Kind of like Alice from Alice In Wonderland, except this time, I would go back to my simple days. My happy days.