Every night in our neighborhood was calm, especially during the fall when all you could hear were the leaves blowing through the trees, except for that one night that it was too calm. It was an early November night, and even though I had school the next day, I was scheduled to work late at Don Ramon, the local convenient store in neighborhood. It was election night, so the neighborhood was pretty empty and we were all anxious of the outcome. My coworker Luis, came to me and said “she better win. My wife and I are undocumented and I am not ready to leave just yet.” I would have to admit, I was just as scared as Luis, but didn’t let it show. I had hopes that everything would turn out just fine, just like Mami always told us. “God wouldn’t let this happen. Not this way. Everything is going to be fine mijo.”

I clocked out at 11:03 p.m. and just thought about how much homework I had due the next day. If I’m being honest, I wish I didn’t have to work such crazy and long hours, but ever since Papi has been sick, I’ve noticed Mami staying up late and worrying about not being able to pay the bills. I told her I decided to get a job just for the sake of experience, but all I can ever think about is the look on Mami’s face when our first bill came; I’ve never seen her so troubled. That look was enough to know I never wanted to see her worry that much again. My younger siblings are too young to understand that we might not always be able to afford new bikes, family dinners and nice things, but I’d rather they don’t know. I want them to remember a great childhood; I mean they already have enough to deal with with our Papi being sick and all.

I decided to walk home instead of taking the bus because I wasn’t sure if I was ready to get home and watch the news, but as I walking, the neighborhood laundromat had their TV on and as I passed I could see glimpses of blue and red; I walked even faster. On the long walk home, I saw the old playground Mami used to take me to a few years after her and Papi had came here from Mexico. She says she likes it so much better here, that “all things seem possible.” I always wonder what it would be like if my parents stayed in our small neighborhood in Mexico. The majority of our family lives down there, but my parent’s say the reason why they decided to come to the states is because Papi was a farmer, and after three bad harvest seasons they were tight on money. With the news of my mother being pregnant with me, they decided they couldn’t afford to raise a family down there, so they came to the states. They have never been this worried about their lives here in the states, but when the news came around that Trump was running for President, they began to worry. They saw the changes that he wanted to make, the wall he wanted to build and that he wanted deport immigrants, and again I saw that troubled look that I never wanted to see on Mami.

The rest of my walk was quiet; no one was on the street because they were all anxiously waiting the results of the election. I know who my parents supported, and I assume the rest of our neighborhood that was eligible voted for Hillary too because we lived in Little Village in Chicago, Illinois and the majority of our neighborhood was filled with undocumented families. I grew up with them;I knew them by name. Luis, my coworker from Don Ramon, lived down the street from us. He had a family with two young girls, around 5 & 6, and a wife whom he came here with when their were in their late 20’s. I see them at the playground that Mami used to take me too, playing with their girls and I just think what would happen to them if Trump became president. What would happen to their girls? The whole neighborhood was worried, but we were all hopeful. I remember the quick glimpse I caught of the TV; Illinois was blue. Yes.

I was hopeful the rest of the walk home because I knew the way my state voted, and I was hopeful that the rest of the country cared enough to vote the same way. I would like to think that our country has compassion for those who came here illegally and those who are part of a marginalized group. Yes, I think again. I’m hopeful that tomorrow will be a good day for America.

I reach the steps of our small house on 49th Street and I see our living room window open – I guess my parents are still awake. I walk through the back door and it’s calm, calmer than usual. My house is always so energetic and loud, but tonight was different. Time seemed to stand still as I walked through the kitchen and into our living room. Before I could even say a word, I heard the announcer on TV, “I’d to introduce our new President Elect, Donald J. Trump.” My face was glued to the TV as I voiced, “Mami is everything going to be okay?,” but as I turned to her I saw the same troubled look I never thought I’d see again, so I closed my eyes.