She's A Rainbow

3. the world will remember us🎙

I crack open the door, toss my keys in the bowl, and lock it shut.

"Kiara? Is that you, baby girl?" the raspy voice of my mama says in the living room.

"Yeah, Mama," I say as I drift into the dark living room. I see her resting on the couch. The TV light illuminates her puffy, tired face. The dark green curtains I've known for years cover the frosted glass windows. I hop on the couch and slide my arms around her to snuggle her.

"What movie is this?" I ask.

"Catch Me If You Can," she replies.

"Again?" I joke.

"You know how much I love Spielberg," she reminds me. "I had to do an essay on this movie for my college film class back when it first came out."

"Have you listened to the broadway musical with Aaron Tviet yet?" I suggest.

"Nah. That's your thing. Hey, I missed you, baby."

"Missed you, too. When did you get home from work?"

Her mouth gapes open to let out a yawn. "Uhm—probably four o' clock. I'm just...tired. But, it's all for you."

Mama works in a mailroom. She always waltzes in with a smile on her face, even as she stands on her aching feet under artificial lighting all day (and/or night if she's closing). She constantly watches other people pass by, other people whose jobs are regarded as higher-end. And she's expected to take the constant stream of micro insults from them with kindness and understanding. She's expected to take care of them, to soothe their stress because poor them sitting on their ass in a comfy swivel chair, working a stable nine-to-five job! It's the "mammy" trope coming into play irl, and it fucking kills me.

"But, I'm getting two jobs now. I can help you."

"About that, I don't think it's a good idea."

"Why?"

"You're only a sophomore in high school. You should focus getting good grades and theatre and your friends. I'm fine with you having that little side job with the Riley's, but the new job is going to wear you thin. Leave the rest to me, we're not struggling just yet."

"You're not sick of the job?"

"Not really. I've got friends there that make it worth while. It's comfortable," she reasons.

"But are you happy?" I persist.

"I'm comfortable, and that makes me happy. No shame in that. How are lessons, by the way? Did you find your, uh, what do you call it, Caracticus...whatever?"

"Nah. Ms. Katerina says I shouldn't worry about it since I'm only just learning this song. But, I do. I feel like I have to."

"Well, if she says not to worry then don't worry. Simple."

It's not that simple, I think. Not with my brain.

"Go on to your room now. Start your homework."

And I do just that. I get up from the warm sofa and walk to my room at the end of the hall, gently closing my door. I pick up a small, slender remote, point it to the sky, and press the button to turn on the long, bright, LED lights sticking to all corners of my ceiling.

I walk past my beige walls, decorated with vintage sixties musical posters, green vines, and vinyl records. Then, I step over a flood of school papers, sheet music, and binders to get to my desk.

I glance at my undone bed, sitting a few feet away from the window. The gray rain drop shadows drip down the sheets. If only I could time travel to tell morning me not to do it.