Te Amo

The start of the day

   "The world judges with eyes and label them with their minds that make it permanently be tattooed on their bodies. Black, White, Asian, Muslim, Hispanic. The difference is our culture, but the similarities are endless. The similarity is that we all have flesh and bones, but that doesn't matter. In the eye of the society. We live in judgment. I live in a box, that's been passed around and stamped with words of what others see and think of me as instead of actually opening me up and knowing what I am." He whispered into the phone...and she let the line go silent for awhile...
"Te amo..." Her innocent voice reaching him...as the words cut open the tape that kept the box sealed and slipped inside the box he was in, ignoring the edge and wanting the inside.

     The sun was shining brightly, the sky painted with pink and a dash of orange across where the clouds were made, a perfect painting was placed in the sky. The sun lightly shines upon Angeles face;  he squinted his eyes and ran his tan hands across his face softly rubbing it, and through his black perfectly loose curled up hair, he gently opened his eyes as he stared blankly at the painting before him outside that was high above. The sun made the brown in his eyes turn into hazel. He rose to his feet stretching and yawned adjusting to the morning. He walked to the bathroom arching over to the sink to wash his face with some cold water, he stood back up 6 feet tall.
"MIJO! Rápido, what time you think is ?" His mothers Mexican accent was thick, she was cooking some beans and eggs: she slid them all perfectly on a paper plate and placed it on a small plastic table with some plastic forks on the side with steaming tortillas aside of the eggs. She hummed to herself as she swayed her beautifully big body side to side, her wrinkles were easily spotted on the corner of her chapped lips, because of how much she smiled through out her life and now permanently there; her brown short crazy curls bounced with her. She threw herself onto a chair letting her body rest, looking at the door with her oval brown eyes.

     Angel got himself in a white tank top and black tight jeans, the shirt outlining his muscular labor working arms, slipping his big feet into some old Nike shoes, and he put on a button up plain grey shirt leaving it unbuttoned. He stomped into the kitchen looking down at his mother with a pearly smile, a dimple appearing on the right side of his mouth- he leaned down kissing his mother on the head and then twirled around landing on the chair
"Buenos Dias," he looked down at the plate of food, as he picked up the fork and started eating.
"How did you wake up this morning?" She crossed her arms watching him eat happily, she was pleased when people ate her food.
"Tired." He chuckled softly as he leaned back into the chair. He's mother eyes sadden knowing how he worked hard, and then rested her arms on the table to hold her sons working hands.
"Mira hijo, you need to rest." She patted his hand, the man that sat before her shook his head and smiled once more. Under his eyes was the word work written on them, the big letters made the bottom hang low.
"Mother, I need to go to my classes now, no te preocupas." How could I not worry? she thought to herself, as he got up and grabbed his ripped up black bag and ran out the door into the real world. A world that frightened him, a place he had to avoid trouble.

     He put on a cap and stared down to his phone plugging in his headphones blocking the noise of the outside and trying to seem and feel invisible. He sat down on a bench that was four blocks away from his small home. The neighborhood felt sketchy but also had people that understood the feeling of being on edge on this soil in the United States, everyone here has their own story. He sat there waiting for the bus to go to his Adult classes in this school that provides a chance to learn.

     The bus hissed as it stopped and opened the doors allowing him to enter, he swiped his card and tipped his cap to the driver as a greeting and walked to the back of the bus and sat down. The bus was half full with people trying to get somewhere, children frustrated wanting to get off, others dozing off as their head bounced with every bump the bus hit, others avoiding eye contact and glued their fingers on their phone or to their ear talking away. But he, he just sat there listening to his music looking around the bus and then out the window waiting to arrive.