Cecillia

Part 1 Jaded

Honestly im so bipolar. Its not a hard thing to admit for me, nothing is hard for me to admit. Except it all changed. I guess this is how all stories start. They tell you a little bit about themselves and then they tell you what happened that made their story so interesting. But i mean theres nothing special about mine. Actually it might even be boring for some. But ill tell you anyway.

"Cecillia!" My mom yells from underneath me.

"Im coming," i yell back, muttering "oh my god."

"Whatd you say?" She yells.

Wow. So my mom can hear something from a floor above her but she cant hear me when im right in front trying to talk to her.

"Nada!" I tell her, smiling and shaking my head at the thought.

I run down the stairs as fast i can missing a couple steps on the way.

"Dios puedes poner más maquillaje Cecillia," my mama scolds me.

"Im getting older mom," i tell her rolling my eyes cause its not even a lot.

Just like the basics of makeup, honestly. Are there even basics of makeup? I meant like mascara and stuff.

She starts tearing up, "Pues get to school. Have a fun first day mija."

Damn all these emotions really got me thinking. Ive always been a good student but the older i get i start to realize that i really dont have a plan after school. I have no idea what im doing with my life.

Im a junior so i just ride in my dads old beat up truck. I dont mind. My parents were never the wealthiest so i dont push it. Ive never been spoiled.

"Cecillia you look great!" A familiar blonde bounced her curls up and down.

"Hey Dulce," i tell her.

Shes probably the only friend i have thats a girl. I met her in my freshman year. She was there for me when it all started. im grateful to have her.

"I told you id take you to the mall but you never called me back," she tells me with a frown on her face.

"Yeah i guess i just lost track of time, my summer has been busy (partially true)" i try to convince her. I helped my dad a couple times at his mechanic shop with simple things.

Why i didnt want to go shopping? I just rather stay home.

The bell rings, and i thank god. I dont feel like explaining myself.

The week went by and I had to go to church. My mom is trying this whole being godly thing, but i didnt mind. Except for the whole dressing up part. Jesus shouldnt care what i look like, its my presence that matters. So why do people praise Jesus or God in their Sunday best?

****

The church was very small, but beautiful. Breath taking even. To my right there was a small section full of doors with colorful signs on the front door. It was Sunday School but they were seperated by grades. Straight ahead was the actual chapel but in the middle was a courtyard full of flowers and people lounging eating breakfast.

My mom pointed to the left of the church, "Mamas how bout you go over there i see some kids your age!"

"Mom no its fine ill just stay with you," i practically begged her not to. It was already too late, she started walking over to those people.

I was not going over there with her so i just watched from afar. She shook hands with one of the boys . Then she gestured over to me. Honestly i dont get embarresed easily, but i felt my cheeks flush, and somehow i found myself walking up to them.