Once the morning had went through day and found it's position at night, Stef had been laying in her given bed, attempting to catch a night's sleep, but couldn't. A dispute that took place right next door to her, kept her very much awake.
"Escucha chica, this is the last time I'm gonna confront you," those words—trapped in a strong Spanish intonation—fell from the mouth of one of the girls that slept in the room next to Stef's. The girl, Sofía, had been arguing with her roommate like she had done just about every night as if it were a priority among her schedule.
Each full time member of Women's Inc had been given a provided room and whatever else that they needed in reference to shelter. If they had been registered as part time, that meant they had lived elsewhere but still spent a few hours at the group home. Stef, was a full time member. But, with her neighbors' reoccurrence of bickering, the thought of relocating often visited her mind.
"Where's my money?!" The girl continued, her words caught in a stern tone. "¡deja de robar!"
"Your money?!" In response, a girl of an east coastal dialect had been taken aback. No matter how long she and her roommate had been accompanied by each other, she still found herself in awe of every accusation made against her. "Yo, for one, you know I don't understand none of that. And secondly, why would I need any of your money?!"
Stef, feeling each word slip through her ears as if she had been in the exact presence of the girls, allowed her eyes to roll to the rear of her head. She understood that being around nothing but women would mean endless conflict, but to have to hear it every night was incredibly annoying.
"Maybe 'cause you need a job!" Sofía replied back, raising her voice. "I know you have it because it's only you and me in this room, always!" She then held out her hand as if she had been reaching for what she desired.
The New Yorker breathed a heavy breath. "You know what? First thing tomorrow morning, I'm askin' to get the hell out'ta here because everything around you is dead crazy and I want no parts of it!"
Stef sighed. "Oh my gosh!" All she craved was a sleep that she needed just like everyone else. "You've got to be kidding me," she then rose from her bed and sat with the palms of her hands upon her forehead.
"Oh no, chica," Sofía mouthed. "You're the crazy one! And leave, please! Go back to Africa if you want! ¡Dios mío!"
Stef's lips formed an open, rounded circle. She could not believe what she had heard. If she loved anything about the group home of which she resided, it was the diversity it held. Everything of Sofía's words were absurd.
"Yo, what did you just say to me?!" The roommate responded, anger settled within her pores. "You tryin' to go that low tonight, Sofía?!"
Sofía released a short and ironic laugh. "No, no. I didn't try, I did."
"Yo, shut up! Soon you're gonna be deported anyways 'cause ya not even legal in the states. Trump sendin' you and all ya visa-expired-family back." The New Yorker responded. "You got the right one today, son. I will—"
But, before she could continue on, Stef had had enough and exited her room. She found herself marching through a hallway that was far enough from where she tried to rest, which muted out any other words the girls sounded to each other.
Stopping in front of a maroon colored door, Stef placed a knocking with her fist until she received consent to enter what took place on the other side of the door.
"Stef," Lena, seated at a wooden desk with her hands upon a black pigmented laptop, rolled that name from her tongue once she had seen who had entered her office. "What can I do for you?"
