My Mask ~ Samantha Mendez

I am a book judged by its cover. I am judged by people that don’t even know me. They make accusations by looking me up and down and sideways. Those people look at me with a face that I’ve seen time and time again. People judge me by how I talk, act, who I hang out with, what I dress like, and what I look like.

            When I am talking with my friends or my cousins or my little sister and my brother, people look at us with stupid, messed up, funny faces. But when I stare back at them when I know they’re looking at me or whoever I’m with, they turn their head in the other direction so fast I think they’re gonna get whiplash. But before they turn away I see their faces. The faces of those people who listen to us either have those messed up faces that are stupid pr they have their face blank with their lips curled in, and their mouth in a straight line with the corners tipping up at the ends trying not to laugh because me and whoever I’m with will be making up whatever, clowning on each other.

            People also judge me on the way I act when I’m with somebody else. They judge me and whoever I’m with because we’ll make a bet against each other to see who can give the other a “dead-leg” or a “dead-arm” first. And each time we hit each other we go a little harder. Then we pretend we’re boxing or something and if I’m with my brother he’ll get me in a headlock and I’ll start tickling him, or if I’m with my sister we’ll be racing through the store running as fast as we can go until one of us finds our mom and wins while we catch our breath and laugh until our sides hurt.

            I am also judged by who I hang out with. They judge me sometimes because we might be somewhere where we stand out. We stand out because of our skin color and our clothes and the way we act. For example if we walk into a store that seems really expensive or something like that almost everyone in there except for whoever I’m with will be wearing some kind of name-brand clothing. But when they see us walk through the door they automatically look down on us because we aren’t wearing any kind of things they wear. But when I see someone of my color and heritage I try to be nice and calm and peaceful. But when I finally ask me something or I ask them they act stuck up like they’re better than me and my family. And when that happens my mom puts her hand on my shoulder and tells me to go wait in the car before I really start talking back to them, and before I get myself into a fight, and cause any trouble.

            Some people judge how I dress because I might be in a tight shirt with baggy pants, when I’m not in school. Or if I’m down with my cousins and we’re gonna hang out somewhere I might be wearing a low-cut shirt with an undershirt with some of my favorite jeans that fit me nicely. And when I’m walking with my cousins or friends to somewhere (because we don’t have a car yet) a car passing us might honk and a guy will stick his head out and do some perverted gesture to me and my friends or cousins who are girls. Then that’s when my cousins and friends get protective over us. By flipping the guys in the car off and shouting something unintelligent at the top of their lungs. And if we pass some older women about the age of my mom or older they go “mmm….” And say something under their breath that I can’t hear. And if they speak loud enough for me to hear like “Mmm, I remember back when I was little I was never allowed to dress like that” then I say “Just because I’m not flat-chested and I don’t like my chest strapped down to the front of my lungs doesn’t mean I have to go back to the dinosaur age and strap them down.” Then they walk off with their feathers up in a bunch. 

            And one of the first reasons why different people judge me is because they see my face. When people look at my face ,they see my mask. When people see my mask that I have on and that I hold high they turn away. When they judge me with that first look and then glance at me sideways, it makes me suspicious and uneasy. When people judge me when they look at my mask they see some pretty chola with eye-liner and mascara on some pretty chineta eyes, with lip-gloss on a pair of full lips. Face tan with my Hispanic curly hair, tied back into a high ponytail, with my silver hoop earrings on. Then their eyes start to wander down on how I am dressed. As to see if, to count me as a gang  member, someone to stay away from, to keep an eye on their purse if I stood next to them. Someone dangerous.