I remember when I had it all; when I woke up every morning with no worries. It had to change when I did the actions that had consequences that could change any man. All I could do now was keep my head up and remain loyal to myself. I tell myself that everything will be okay but the truth is that my soul is a glass house, that the Devil laughed and shattered. People look at me, as I look back with no emotion, and they wonder what was my story.
So the story goes, I was 12 years old chilling and smoking weed before I went and chose my fate. I hit the streets of Stockton with only one homie beside me. I had something to prove, so it wasn’t time to take me lightly. It was cold, about two in the morning on what I thought was a friday night. It wasn’t very long until I saw some scraps in sight, there was one standing outside and one in the liquor store. We had to do it fast before they noticed; we pulled up on them, jumped out the car and set it off.
We heard the clerk in the background calling the cops; but we still continued beating on them until we saw blood was being spilt, and at that very moment I knew this was for reals. I wasn’t really tripping or felt no kind of remorse. When I fled from the scene, I was laughing as I saw them bleeding on the floor. I knew it wasn’t right but i couldn’t help the way I feel because I knew it was kill or be killed. Now on this day, I wake up thanking God that I’m living another day and ask for forgiveness for the sins I might have to make.
I wonder about the choices I made and then the alternatives I could have done. I can only go on with life by showing no emotions, as I remember what my life was and think about the road I have chosen. My memory goes back to when I was living with the family that I had to turn my back to; just because I wanted to protect them from the choices I’ve done. The choices that made me grow up too quick. With these thought in my head I get up and put on the shirt that some people say is too big, the jeans that I sag, and the shoes some people wish they had.
I then get my wallet and my items; just like any other day. I look at my wardrobe and notice that I have more clothes that when I lived with family. Then at my bed, when I remember when I had to share one with my two brothers. I then walk over to the mirror and see the scar on my face that my father gave to me. I looked into my eyes and I see that I don’t care, that I am better off this way. I head out of my small apartment that is under my neighbor, Jose’s name.
I walk over to his apartment, knock on his door, and when he comes out he tells me, “The zip of yay is in my whip. Get it and dip to, he paused, pulled out a paper, and resumed, “to this address. Google it if you don’t know it. I did what he told me and I drove off in my 69 Malibu. I saw all of my homies posted around doing their job as I did mine. In this ghetto neighborhood, in which everyone knew who’s who and lives in broken down houses. I pass by the leader’s house and it just stands out and I wish that one day I could be just like him.
Everyone had nothing on their lawn but the leader, that we call Jefe, had flowers, bushes, and a baby lemon tree. I drove onto the next block, which is identical to mine and controlled by the same guy. I passed by the old gray public high school in which I might even graduate from. Everyone says that I have the grades to change, that with my 4. 0 GPA I could do anything I want. So I tell them that I rather trade in scholarships for hollow tips. But deep inside I truly believe that why I’m doing this well is because my inner goal is to change the way I live.
