Just Wait For Me

   I come into my home to see my mom behind the kitchen counter. She is washing the dishes. I feel bad now. She always asks me to do the dishes but I never do it even though I have nothing else to do since its summer.

   “Hi momma,” she says, “Where did you go?”
   I put my keys on the living room T.V, “I went to McDonalds with Angie.”
   Who?
   “Who,” She asks.
   I knew she was going to ask that. She always does. You would think that after the five years that Angie has been my friend maybe she would remember her name already. It's pretty annoying, it’s like she doesn’t care enough to remember. “Angie, my dark skin black friend who’s skinnier than ever?”
   “Oh her.”
   Now my brother comes out from his room to put his dishes in the sink. He always eats on the computer while he watches anime. Well I do too since we don’t have a dinning room table.
   “Hey, where did you go with my car? You better not have gone far. I don’t have a lot of gas.”
   “I only went to McDonalds with Angie.” Gosh, do I hate repeating myself. I hate telling people what I’m doing and who I’m doing it with. I’m eighteen dammit. Why do you need to know?
   Into my room I go, throwing my self on my air filled queen sized mattress. I can’t afford to have a proper bed. I can’t afford a lot of things, well my mom can’t.
   She’s a Certified Nurse Assistant other wise known as a CNA. She’s basically a cleaner for old people; cleans their poop, puts them in bed, bathes them. To me it’s a job I can never do, but for her it’s a job that she can provide for us with.
   It hurts to see her like this. Working all day and all night, comes home for only six hours then goes back to work. It hurts even more when I complain to her that we never spend time together, when I know why she can’t. I’m an eighteen year old baby still yearning for attention. I’m not the ones who do drugs but, yah.
   We live in a two bed two bath apartment. My brother and I have to rooms and my mother and step dad has the living room. I argued for her to have a room for her privacy and that I’ll share a room with Christopher (my brother), but it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen. “I’m never home,” she says, “You two are growing kids,” she says, “You need your privacy.” I guess what she’s saying is true, but for you mom I’ll give up my privacy. You’re married; you need more privacy than me.
   Them sleeping in the living is one of the reason why I never brought any friends home. I mean sure there was a couple of time but less than ten for my whole high school years. I don’t want to say I’m embarrassed of the way I live but I can’t say that it doesn’t bother me. I’m accepting of the circumstances I live by, even if I have to force my self to.
   How can I change the way I live? How can I give my mom and brother more in life; Let my mom stop working and have money to give my brother instead of him always giving me? Well, to finish my book if not win the lottery. Still, even if I finished my book who’s to say that it will become popular enough for me to make lots of money? Hmm…I guess I’ll just have to write that good of a book.
   Just wait mom, I say looking unto the ceiling at its conjuring faces, the time for you to relax is coming soon. Just wait for me.