Who He Is

one

Jessa
October, 2017

They same home is where the heart is, but is that really the truth? Or is it only the truth for the people that are born lucky enough? I debated this often, because what about the ones without a place to call home?

I knew much about this after seeing hundreds of homeless men and woman around my city living under bridges and highways, each and every one of them having joy grown upon their sweaty faces at the sight of food, and even blankets for the cold nights to come this upcoming winter.

It's been three years since I've started volunteering in homeless shelters across my city, and I loved every second of it.

My mother told me to do it because it would make me look good on college applications. And honestly, hearing that as a freshman in high school seemed useless to me, for college seemed so far away. But I was now a senior and I finally fully understood what she meant.

My mother, a woman with strict rules and a love for that damned green paper that's taken over this world, preached to me as much as she could about how money, getting a good education, getting married and having children was all I needed to accomplish in life.

I nod when she tells me these things, but secretly disagree. Very much disagree, actually. Her mindset is very old fashioned, whereas now a days things are different. Times have changed.

I watched as she tucked a strand of her dark brunette hair behind her ear as she looked in the small mirror that hung on the wall beside the front door of our two story home. She ran her fingertips over the wrinkles that rest in the corner of her sleepy eyes, and I thought back to last night at around midnight when herself and my father were fighting, per usual.

My father owns a business, however he isn't exactly home all of the time. I only see him at dinner, and sometimes if I'm lucky I see him in the mornings as well before he went off to work. It didn't phase me, though. For others had it much worse.

"I hope you aren't going to wear that. You're showing a little, no, a lot." She said to me sharply, turning towards me before pointing a painted red nail in the direction of my chest.

I looked down at the light brown skin of my cleavage, not seeing what the issue was. I was wearing a tank top and god damn shorts for gods sake and was very confused at what the problem with it was. However at the same time, I was very well used to that sentence:
"I hope you aren't going to wear that."

"It hot outside, I'm fine." I replied, pushing my dark hair over my shoulder.

"And you didn't even bother to blow dry your hair knowing you had to volunteer today?" She complained once again, rolling her eyes with a frown plastered upon her thin lips that she attempted to make look bigger with lip liner.

I thought back to when I swam in our pool earlier, floating on my back and enjoying the warm weather before it grew cold like it was bound to in a month or two from now.

I watched the blue sky with the white cotton candy clouds floating above me, and pictured how my future was going to look. I'm very afraid at times simply because I despise knowing the unknown. I hate not knowing what's gonna happen a year from now.

"I'll only be gone for a few hours, it doesn't matter." I told her, ignoring her annoyed stare and following behind her as she opened the front door. But of course not before re-applying her lipstick for what seemed like the thousandth time this hour.