Categories > Original > Drama > Chicana0 Reviews
A Mexican American girl loses her mother and is forced to live with her bitch of a stepmother. She hate's life. Until a new Chicano in her art clas takes the seat next to her. Will she change her p...
"Look here, puta. My daddy loves me, and would never leave me. Not even for a fat ass gringa like you. So get over yourself and don't talk to me." I warned as I fixed myself some chorizo con huevos and home made tortillas. These were the times when I wish my real mom was here. She would have never let this bitch get away with anything. But Mom is in a box underneath the green grass at some cemetery I can't remember the name of.
"You have no right to talk to me like that!" Sydney slammed her cup of coffee down on the marble counter.
"Just shut up and leave me alone." I said as I got a small plate from the cupboard and emtiped the pan of chorizo on it piling my tortillas onto it. I put away the pan and got a bottle of water from the fridge and headed back upstairs to hoard myself away in my room. "Don't walk away from me!" Sydney demanded. I just slammed my door and sat myself at my desk. "Carlos!" She whined as I heard her stomp passed my room and to her's and my dad's master bedroom. I heard some mumbles and harsh whispers, and footsteps.
"Just leave her alone. If you don't bother her then she won't bother you." I heard my dad's accented voice from the hall.
"So, your just gonna let her treat me like this!" She questioned. I heard my dad sigh heavily and then footsteps to my door.
"Raquel?" I heard him ask and knock.
"What do you want?" I asked, wolfing down my chorizo taco in anger and hunger.
I heard the door open. "What are you doing?"
"Studying." I pushed my empty plate aside and put my history book in my lap.
"We need to talk." I heard the door shut softly. I just stayed quiet, ready for my dad to lecture me on how to treat Sydney. I learned to block everything out and agree when I had to. Blah, blah, blah. Nah, nah, nah. "Okay?"
"Yeah, sure." I stared at my textbook.
"Bueno pues." He smiled and kissed my head. "I'll be back later." I just nodded not asking where he was going. Just as long as he kept her away from me I was fine. And on the other hand, I didn't care where Dad and her went. They weren't kids anymore. They could look after one another. Or just themselves.
Monday rolled around and I was ready for my exams. The time went by and it was the end of the day already. My hand was exhausted from all the writing that it just flopped down at my side.
Driving home was a blur and once there I dragged myself upstairs and crashed on my soft comforters.
"Mama!" I screamed. My mother was laying down in the middle of the street. I saw the man shoot her. Her body falling to the pavement and cries of the people around. I was only three.
Walking to her I saw her dead eyes. I saw the blood leaking from a small hole on her chest. Why could anyone do this? How could they do this? What did she do to them to make them so angry at her to shoot and kill her? This was not right.
My dad came running. He held her limp body in his arms. Crying. Kissing her face and hands and lips. My dad screams were unheard on my ears. His lips moved, but nothing sounded.
I sat on the curb until the police showed up. They asked me weird questions I didn't know the answer to. Then, my dad carried me to an empty home. There was the smell of my mother's tamales in the air. He put me down and went to sit on the couch. I followed and sat next to him. He was crying again.
"Daddy, don't cry." I grabbed his hand. "Mommy will come back some day." I said. But he just shook his head and hugged me for the longest time. For weeks we moped around the house, until my dad packed everything up and we left. I didn't know where we were going, but I felt that Mom was still in that house. And we were leaving her behind.
I woke up crying. Another memory.
I just turned over and stared at the ceiling. From then on I couldn't sleep.
The alarm sounded and I just turned it off. I got up and showered. I didn't feel like going to school, but I needed to. I couldn't miss any school. It was one of my New Year's Resolutions. I know your only supposed to have one, but I made a whole list.
I ate some toast and yogurt before driving to school. I entered my first class of the day. PE. I loved a morning jog in the mist. It was refreshing and woke me up for the rest of the day. On to my second class. Art.
For art, I sat in the back by myself. I don't like people. And people don't like me. But that's okay. I like working alone. It's how I learn.
Class was about to begin when a tan Mexican junior walked in. He was the cholo type. Creased Dickies, baggy white shirt, rosario and Chuck Taylors. He handed Mr. Ereckson a paper and he welcomed him to the class. "You can sit next to Rachel." He pointed to me. The seat next to me was the last seat left. And I didn't like the idea of it being occupied by some travieso. I wouldn't tolerate it.
He nodded and made his way to the seat next to me. He didn't say anything. He just glanced at me and sat. The whole time I felt awkward. It felt unusual for someone being so close to me. But breathing in his cologne was enjoyable.
Once Ereckson started us on our new project we had the whole class period to work. And, like ususal, Mr. Ereckson came over to the young man and gave him a sketchbook. "Here is your sketchbook." He smiled. "So, where did you come from?"
"Arizona." The man's voice was deep.
"That's cool. And what school did you attend over there?" Ereckson asked.
"Yuma High School."
"Oh, well I hope you like it here at Glencoe. And Rachel, here, doesn't bite. She's one of my best students. And a great artist." Ereckson smiled. The guy looked at me. His eyes a golden brown. He didn't smile. He didn't do anything but look at me. "And smart too." Ereckson added. "If you ever needed help with anything Rachel would be the one to come to." The guy nodded and Ereckson left. And after he left, we just sat there in silence. It didn't bother me much because I'm use to not talking to anybody, but it did bother me when he was sitting so close to me. I could feel his body heat warming my arm, and I could smell his cologne. There was something about him that made him come off as a good kid. But the way he looked made him look like a bad kid. But I don't see it. There was something about him that told me that he had a heart and a mind of his own. Yes, there was something about him.