My Perfect World Is A Dull Colored Asymmetrical Bricked Building

On the eve of my twelfth birthday, my father sat me down to have a talk- He says, “Mary Amelia;” his using my full name and not what everyone usually calls me had me paying attention right away. “You’re my only daughter and you’re about to become a young woman. I don’t know much about what I, as a father, should tell you; however, with your momma gone, I feel it is my responsibility to say something in the way of trying to prepare you for womanhood…

“Mija look at the buildings, they are so tall and see those lights they shine very strong at nighttime.” The happiness I had when I came to America was enormous, I never in my life felt as happy as that day. As a girl of seven, my imagination was radical. I could not wait for the morning to arrive to go to school and meet new people. When we arrived at the house where we were going to live, I wander around and for me it was an elegant mansion. Never in my life have I imagined living in such a beautiful house. That day was one of the best childhood days that I ever had. The day

I walked silently, my converse crunching on the wet sidewalk. I zipped up my jacket and took a sip of my coffee. I slowly walked towards my school when someone's shoulder slammed in to me. My coffee flew out of my hands, the lid came of as it hit the ground, spilling all over the sidewalk. I stumbled as I tried to regain my balance. I hate this small town I thought to myself. When I returned home I arrived to both of my parents sitting at the table. I looked at them with a confused look, “Ava why don't you take a seat,” Father said “we have something to tell you.” I took a seat not saying a word just giving them a confused look. “Ava honey your father got a promotion,” Mother stated “and we are going to be moving to California!” Fireworks were going off in my head thinking of all of the new things I would get to experience.

When I woke up in the morning, my mom had left for work. My dad was singing in the kitchen, banging pots around. I got up, tiptoed down the hall, washed my face. A neatly wrapped present lay on the bathroom counter. It was addressed to me. I stuffed it into my robe pocket, and rushed back down the hall. Under the covers, I opened the package. On the first page of a small, leather notebook, an inscription read: to a writer, love your mother. I never wrote anything in the notebook. I could never think of anything good

Night, with mum and dad huddled on either side of the kitchen table, scribbling on pads of paper, and dad punching in sums on the calculator with his clumsy, blunt fingers. Night, with long discussions in low voices that stopped if we into the room. Night, dad with a fresh beer at his elbow and an empty on the floor beside him, holding onto a flake of chocolate like a cigar, twirling the thing between his thumb and forefinger, crunching onto it and shards flying everywhere. Night, when Mum and Dad had sank what was left of the insurance money and all their savings into a little old town house and a car franchise, signing all the leases, contracts, papers. Night, when Dad was his own boss, answering to no one. And overnight, when the journey abruptly turned its direction. Down in town, a high speed railway station had emerged. But dad couldn’t go anywhere, he was trapped by the crossroads. Juggled a few part time jobs, handy work around town limping in pain. No more notions of independence. All he could do was try his best to make it work. And he did. We even did some paper runs with

I woke up and rustled all my things together and jetted down stairs. I see my mom across the room eating her favorite cereal, Lucky Charms. I slugged around the kitchen still half-awake trying to find a bowl, cereal, and milk. Then I heard a whistle and realized she had my breakfast ready on the table. I sat across from her on the table. The scent of perfume hit my nose, it smelled fruity. Her hair was combed back into a sleek bun. She was wearing a formal white shirt and a black skirt and some heels. I slurped the last of the milk as she was almost out the door. I walked outside and ran to the car. I opened the door and got inside. It was 7:59 am.

Looking back at my past, I recall my mother and father’s relationship as if it were yesterday. I am only four years old, small and curious; I tended to walk around my home aimlessly. I would climb book shelves like a mountain explorer venturing through the Himalayans, draw on walls to open windows to my own imagination, or run laps around the living room rug because to me I was an Olympic track star competing for her gold medal; however my parents did not enjoy my rambunctious imagination. My parents never punished me for it but would blame each other for horrible parenting skills; at the time I did not understand their fights, but instead was curious about why they would fight.

I didn’t know what I would do without Mother; she was my rock, the only thing that was constant in my life. She was my generous advisor, unmoving and strong. I pushed these thoughts away from my head; that was in the past, I couldn’t change it, and it could never be undone. Finally reaching my destination, I sprinted up the front steps, grabbed the brass knocker, and slammed it onto the giant wooden door. The door creaked open, and an annoyed voice spoke through the crack. “Adi, I’m busy right now, please come later.” The door was starting to close before I spoke, “Elle,” I said, my voice cracking, “please, Mother has died, and this act has been passed, and Father doesn’t know what to do, and I don’t know what to do.” The door flung open, and Elle started running in the direction of our house. I ran after her, and when we reached the house, Elle pushed the door open, and yelled, “Father? Father? I’m here!” When she finally found my father, sitting at the table, head in his hands, she embraced him from behind. “I’m here,” she whispered. “Girls, sit down, we have matters to discuss.” He

My dad was getting dressed nice in a collared shirt and slacks. My aunt Keziah was on her way over to watch my brothers and I was going to a friend’s house. Today the court would decide whether or not we live with my mom or dad. I finally understood. My dad loved my mom. He left because he had too, not because he wanted too. I heard him on the phone saying that it is best for him but not for his children. What was good for us was being where there was no abuse. No aggression. I do not blame you, dad. I believe you have changed. And he did.

It was a late summer afternoon in Crenshaw Los Angles. The sun is setting and I was sitting at the stairs of the two apartment building I lived at. I was waiting for my dad to return from work. Down in the street gust of wind blew torn paper into spirals. The sun was shining through the bright blue empty sky making it hard to see through the distance as the light shines through my eyes. My father was walking towards me with the harsh light of the sun outlining his body. As my father began to come closer to me the sun began to set even more. Light fading away as soon as my father stood in front of me. As he stood in front of me I was able to smell the fresh paint that was stained on his pants all the way up to his neck. He then squats down in

Having my dad around all the time wasn’t my everyday routine. I’d see him once or twice a week so I wasn’t very much used to see him every day. One day I came home after school and he and my mom were on the balcony talking, the notice I was staring, they both looked at me and called for a family meeting by the tone of their voices I could tell there was

“That’s fine.” I said realizing there was something familiar about this man. Maybe it just all in my head. I stared at the note mom had left and eventually remembered that mom loved to leave clues that were obvious but hard to find. After 15 minutes the man next to me feel asleep and i realized down the side of the poem it had a sentence that said, “Daddy did it.”

Every night, as I sat on the table with my younger brothers assisting them with their homework, I hear a familiar sound at the door. As she walks her heels click, and I can hear her searching her bag for her keys, the next thing I know the keys are in the lock and as it turns me and my younger brothers’ jump. We run to the door and indeed we scream in unison “Mommy’s home”, one by one she gives us a hug and a kiss. My mother asks us how our day was, and if we finished our homework, she then looks to me and said “did you cook and assist your younger ones with their homework”; I replied “yes mom”. As I warm the food, I take my mother’s purse, jacket, and shoes put them away and prepare the table for her to eat dinner. As I glance at the

“Wow, time flies when you are having fun.” She looks at me and says, “Well I guess this is goodbye for now.” “I could never say goodbye to you” I say. Her eyes are glossy for moment, but she does something unexpected. She brushes her lips faintly on my cheek. I caress her face and rub the tears from her eyes. “I will see you sometime tomorrow.” “Okay,” she says. I walk to my mother and I kiss her goodnight. She glances at me and says, “Goodnight son.” I lie in bed tossing and turning because I do not feel at peace without her. After an hour of no sleep, I finally was able to shut my eyes and

In the following day, I got up early, rain still poured that makes road muddy, missy like a chocolate. Mamma and Papa called me, Maribel, come on over here, I replied, yes Mom, handed a money, she said, budget it wisely, don’t bought that is not necessary, I said yes Mom and thank you. Words that comes our in my father mouth is that “I don’t want to heard that you got a boyfriend, it will destroy you, you went to school to get education not have a boyfriend. I replied quickly… no… no… I will not do that… I saw my Papa’s face worried and fear like a sunflower turned leaves to brown and some are black. Trust I never seen in his face.