Selfish Dreams

I have a dream. A selfish dream, yes, but a dream all the same. I dream of being successful and loved by all people. I dream of being Anna Marie Albright, world conqueror. I dream of being Anna Marie Albright, superhero. Anna Marie Albright, richest girl in the world. Anna Marie Albright, youngest person to become famous. Anna Marie Albright, Nobel prize winner.
But, for now, I am only Anna Marie Albright, youngest of four. Anna Marie Albright, the smallest bedroom. Anna Marie Albright, eighth grader. Anna Marie Albright, dreamer.
I am fine with dreaming selfish dreams, but my father thinks otherwise. He thinks I should be the good child, the one as unimaginative as a rock. The one who dresses in gray like a librarian and does what she is told to do.
It is all because of my siblings. They are the bad children, the ones who can go wherever they want, and can think of any place they like. They are the colorful ones, the artists who do what they like. I am the last child. The only one left. Father once said, “I will not let my children become better than me.” He says it is an old Italian proverb, and he says it is true.
I disagree.
I think children should strive to be better than their parents, because when the parents are old and shriveled like a raisin, we, the children, will be the ones to take care of them. And if I am not rich by then, then father might have to go to an orphanage for old people, and eat porridge that tastes like mud, and sleep on a bed of rocks.
I told father all of this, but, “Stop being silly, Mary Anne.”
My name is Anna Marie, I say
And then he comes closer and I stare into his eyes that are like giants, and he says, “You are Mary Anne. Now stop being silly and go to sleep,” No, I want to shout, I want to say, father, it’s me, your daughter, Anna Marie!

But I don’t.


Raining
It rained today. It rained dreams. Rain isn’t really water that falls from clouds, but are hopes and dreams. Dreams that never came true, forgotten hopes, promises that were broken like you break your leg after falling off a swing. It hurts, stabs you, and shoots of pain rush through your body. It’s the same.
That’s why people don’t like when it rains. That’s why they say, “Oh, look, it’s raining again. Better bring the kids inside.” Because all the lost dreams and hopes are falling to the ground making people remember their own dreams that were lost, lost in the rain.
But my dreams, they stay with me, and I were them like a coat, shielding me from the cold, hard, bullets of rain. My dreams are loyal to me, and they will never leave, no matter how old I get.
My hopes, they might change form, but they won’t die. They shine like the sun, and keep me warm, they keep me going.
Today, My hope is to get a pet cat, but tomorrow it might be to win a goldfish at the fair. I will never lose all hope. I will never be without a dream.
The rain can’t hurt me. Not with my hopes and dreams protecting me.
So I get on my rain coat and step out, out into the rain, and I say, I am not afraid of you. You can not hurt me.
` Then I smile up at the clouds, the dark clouds that seem to frown at me, and I start to laugh. A laugh that is full of all the hopes and dreams that have not been abandoned, the dreams that are yet to come true.
Because, if you look up, up through the dark storm clouds,

You can see the sun.

a Friend
I came home from school today. I walked past Fourteenth Street, and then past Columbus Avenue, Eighteenth Street, Mango Street, and Hamilton Avenue. I walked past the Laundromat where it smells like soap. I walked past the Hair Salon on Fifth Avenue, where mother used to bring me even if I didn't have to get my hair cut, just so we could see all the fancy styles. I walked and walked until I got to my family’s house.
I walked there alone.
I wish I had a friend, so that the walk home wouldn't be so long, so that when I walk past Mr. C’s house, I wouldn't have to cross the street to avoid him making me do fifty push-ups because I’m, “To skinny for my own good.” 
My friend is the perfect friend, the kind of friend who stays with you no matter what you do, and will smile at all your jokes, no matter how bad they are. My friend is the kind of friend who laughs when you fall, and then asks if you are okay and helps you up.
Someday I will meet this friend. I might have already met her. I might meet her again in twenty years at an airport, and she will spot me from across the hall. She will squint her eyes, as if trying to remember who I am. Then she will open them  wide, and run towards me with her arms open, and she will shout, “Anna Marie! Anna Marie, it’s me! It’s me, your friend! I have missed you so much!”
I know that out there somewhere, she is waiting for me, and then, when our paths cross, we shall never be separated, so long as we both walk the Earth.
I haven’t met her yet, but I will.

And when I do, the entire world will rejoice, for another Dream has come true.