My abuelita was inside of the apartment, taking a nap, and I knew that this would be my chance to go out and roam the streets of Los Angeles. Even though I knew that going outside when I´m not supposed to would get me into a lot of trouble, I still wandered outside. Slowly opening up the door and sneaking down to the first floor, I had finally made it. I walked down Olive Street for hours and hours, looking at the buildings as I passed by. I noticed that most of them were made out of hard rigid bricks and that most of them were just small apartment complexes.
However some buildings seemed as if they had touched the clouds, and these buildings were gigantic. But one building was completely different and looked a little futuristic. I saw people in nice suits and dresses coming in and out of the building. Some rushing to leave and hopping into vans, others inside of the building were typing on typewriters. Some were out on the streets where I was with big cameras pointed at them while they were talking aloud.
I was so amazed to see what the reporters were doing that I tried rushing inside, but bumped into one man standing at the bus stop.
“Hey! Watch it beaner I just got this suit!”
“Sorry!” I was too excited to realize what he had said or to give a better apology. I ran into the building amazed by the design on the inside and how clean the marbled floors were. Just a few seconds later I was approached by the two guards standing by the door.
¨ Only people with a green card can make it in here kid, and plus you´ve got to be a somebody and not some beaner from the streets.”
Those words made my enthusiasm drop to a zero, I was stunned as to why they thought that people who had immigrated from Mexico to Cali would never be successful. And even still I had plenty of money, thanks to my father also being a reporter.
Later that day, I found my abuelita walking around in the street, most likely looking for me, and went home. She must’ve told my parents that I had run away because I saw that my mama and papa’s cars were in the garage. I moped into the apartment because I already knew that I was about to get in a lot of trouble. When I walked in my mama was consistently hugging, kissing, and smacking my face. My papa did not look so happy either. While being scolded I was in my mind, still so shocked by what the guards were saying.
“Are you even paying attention!” My papa said.
“I want to be a reporter.” I said.
“Don’t be trying to get yourself out of trouble.” He said because he knew that I wanted to be an engineer which made him mad because he didn’t want me to be seen as a typical mexican mechanic; but with me becoming a reporter he of course would be happy about it because I would be “continuing the Salazar’s name in being famous.”
“Lucy!” my papa said.
“¿Qué?” my mama replied, annoyed.
“Your son wants to be a reporter!”
“And!”
They went back and forth arguing while I was still bummed out on the table with my head down still wondering why people are so racist in our world when we all have equal rights.