I decided to take the long way home. It was still light out and I had time. I walked past the park and stopped. I faintly smiled as I saw families packing up to go home. Even though it was December, people still used the park; it was just one of those places that didn’t freeze or get covered with snow, even when it was well below freezing. The clouds were gathering overhead as I continued walking. By the time I got home, it had started to lightly snow.
“I’m home,” I shouted as I opened the door. I could hear chairs scraping the ground and frantic footsteps.
“Where were you?” my mom said, “We were worried sick!” she stared into my eyes and searched for any sign that I wasn’t alright. I stared back and searched her eyes for some sort of explanation, but as always, her eyes were unreadable. I could tell from the creases forming on her forehead that mine were unreadable too.
One of the advantages to being like my mom; we have the same weaknesses and strengths. My eyes were like hers; almond with long, dark lashes. She was a mix of Japanese and Thai and for some reason, her emotions would rarely show. Luckily for me, this meant that I was unreadable. Period.
“Mom,” I said, taking her hands that were clasping my face, “what’s wrong?”
Her face hardened, “What’s wrong?” she said softly, “You want to know what’s wrong? You have a curfew of eight on school nights. Do you realize what time it is?” now she was shouting at me, “We don’t want a repeat of what happened! The world is a cruel place, Lamai, and we don’t want you to get hurt,” My 13 year old brothers were sitting at the top of the stairs watching the drama unfold. I resisted the urge to scream at her. Calmly, I lifted the edge of my shirt to show my tattoo.
“You want to know where I was?” I said quietly, “I was getting a tattoo. With my friends,”
“You got a tattoo? Why on earth would you want one?” my mom said, she backed up and looked at it, “L4L, huh, you’re really going through with this whole ‘gang’ thing, aren’t you?”
“It’s not a gang!” I shouted, “We’re a group of misfits who now belong to something!”
“Well, that may be, but you still went out when you weren’t supposed to be,” my mom said calmly.
“Do you care that I got a tattoo?!” I said, “It doesn’t bother you that I got one when I shouldn’t be able to?”
“It’s your body, you can do what you want,” she replied, “but I do care about what other people do to you; you could’ve been attacked again,”
“Mom!” I screamed, “That was five fucking years ago! It’s old news! I’m not a little girl anymore! I can take care of myself,”
“I’m home,” I shouted as I opened the door. I could hear chairs scraping the ground and frantic footsteps.
“Where were you?” my mom said, “We were worried sick!” she stared into my eyes and searched for any sign that I wasn’t alright. I stared back and searched her eyes for some sort of explanation, but as always, her eyes were unreadable. I could tell from the creases forming on her forehead that mine were unreadable too.
One of the advantages to being like my mom; we have the same weaknesses and strengths. My eyes were like hers; almond with long, dark lashes. She was a mix of Japanese and Thai and for some reason, her emotions would rarely show. Luckily for me, this meant that I was unreadable. Period.
“Mom,” I said, taking her hands that were clasping my face, “what’s wrong?”
Her face hardened, “What’s wrong?” she said softly, “You want to know what’s wrong? You have a curfew of eight on school nights. Do you realize what time it is?” now she was shouting at me, “We don’t want a repeat of what happened! The world is a cruel place, Lamai, and we don’t want you to get hurt,” My 13 year old brothers were sitting at the top of the stairs watching the drama unfold. I resisted the urge to scream at her. Calmly, I lifted the edge of my shirt to show my tattoo.
“You want to know where I was?” I said quietly, “I was getting a tattoo. With my friends,”
“You got a tattoo? Why on earth would you want one?” my mom said, she backed up and looked at it, “L4L, huh, you’re really going through with this whole ‘gang’ thing, aren’t you?”
“It’s not a gang!” I shouted, “We’re a group of misfits who now belong to something!”
“Well, that may be, but you still went out when you weren’t supposed to be,” my mom said calmly.
“Do you care that I got a tattoo?!” I said, “It doesn’t bother you that I got one when I shouldn’t be able to?”
“It’s your body, you can do what you want,” she replied, “but I do care about what other people do to you; you could’ve been attacked again,”
“Mom!” I screamed, “That was five fucking years ago! It’s old news! I’m not a little girl anymore! I can take care of myself,”
