"It was saturday morning I can remember that. I remember it was saturday morning because I felt like shit. So that meant the night before was friday and I got my freak on, whatever that means. The thing was that I got lit the night before so it had to been friday because when I woke up I felt like shit which meant it was saturday morning.
"I wouldnt say that the hangover or the binge was one for the books but it really put a dent in me and as I tried to get my muscles mobil again and trying to keep my stomach from puking up whatever it was that I ate or drank, I actually made a promise there while my body was in total pain. I promised that I would not drink for the rest of...the month. Who am I kidding the liquor thing has me licked.
"I eventually get up and into the shower and things start to look up a little seeing as there is cold water running down my body. Just what this hang over needed some cold water outside the body and inside as well. After Getting out of the shower things seemed to get better and I thought to myself...'It's not such a bad hangover' I mean even my stomach was calming down by this time.
"I head downstairs of my very overly priced cheap imitation of a luxury town house and go into the kitchen. Since things after the cold shower were picking up I thought to myself...'I'll skip the alkaseltzer' so I went ahead and got some eggs out and some sausage to make breakfast. I turned on the stove and put in some butter and cooked the eggs. I had not realized how hot the kitchen got when you turned on the stove. I cooked the sausage next and the sweat started to beed at my forehead and on my back. After the sausage was done I put some bread in the toaster and for all my effort went to the fridge and poured myself a nice glass of orange juice.
"For a moment I wondered if I had any vodka to make the orange juice into a screw driver but as soon as the thought crossed my head my stomach turned a little. The message was very clear 'Dont you dare throw more of that shit down here', so I put the thought out of my head and avoided looking like a pregnant woman, throwing up in the morning and all. I took my sip and waited for my toast as my eggs and sausage lay neatly in a plate.
"The toast comes up. I butter it and pick up my plate and drink and head for the table. I sit down and start to eat. I sudenly notice how much I'm sweating. Its awful hot, after all it is summer. I wonder if the air conditioning is not on. Then I feel a tug in my stomach and something racing up my throat. I get up and run to the rest room. I should have taken the alkaseltzer.
"After a few dry heaves I felt pretty sure that the demon was out of me. I got up feeling a little dizzy. For about half a second I thought about finishing my breakfast, but apparently the stomach was closed for business. I could still taste the little bit of orange juice that I had just drank, and then I thought I was going to throw up all over again. I got it under control though. I got some cold water and got the alkaseltzer. Who was I kidding, I wasnt a 17 year old waking up from his first night out drinking.
"I went to the living room and sat in a spot that I knew that the air conditioning would hit my face. I drank the seltzer there. I felt like getting in the shower again but that was just a temporary fix. I didnt want to have a little hair of the dog that bit me and putting anything in my stomach was out of the question. So I sat thinking which is not an easy thing when all of your insides want to burst out of your body because of what you put into it the night before.
"Suddenly I had a thought. On a previous ocasion in which I was begging for death in exchange for the hangover, I got so desprate that I went to the modern god that has all the answers...the internet. Surely the net would have a cure for a hangover. I went to this page that gave several solutions many of them so repulsive that I would take the hangover. There was one that said that Native Americans in previous centuries when confronted with a hangover situation would run a distance and sweat it all out and then lick the sweat off their arms. At that moment it seemed to be the right thing...the running not licking the sweat off my arms.
"Next thing I know I'm in my shorts and at the comunity college campus where they have a running path all around the campus. I was there with my soccer shoes a white shirt and torquios shorts and my sunglasses. It was a hot day and in the distance you could hear the locust sounding off. There were some people getting into their cars with their dogs. This was a popular place to walk your dog and to run. I adjusted my sunglasses and started off.
"Right off the bat I started sweating and I could smell the liquor gushing out of my pores. I tried to remember who much I had drank the night before. Im trying to keep a good pace not too fast and not like I'm dieing on my feet. My white shirt was really getting soaked with the hangover sweat...I just hoped that the run would not provoke me to hurl.
"I was turning a corner and saw a long straight stretch. On my right side there were some bushes that had grown to eye level. Then through my sunglasses driping with sweat from my forehead in the distance I saw a fine specimen comming towards me. She was really good looking even at the distance that I saw her. She had on black tight running pants and a orange color tank top. I kept my sight up because with every step her breasts bounced. They were not too big but they were noticeable. She had great hair as well that bounced with her speed.
"I kept my sight up as we ran at each other and noticed that she was wearing sunglasses. I was surprised I hadn't tripped over a rock or something at this point. I inflated my chest out to look like a bad ass and made more confident strides. As she got closer you could tell she wasnt out here curing a hangover, she was a healthy person. She wasnt a faker like me. Well Im not a total faker there was a time when I was in shape. I started to wonder if I should just smile at her or say hello or something else.
"She got closer and I started to panic that I would not take an accurate shot at her. I was trying to think of a line. Things were so much easier in High school. Damn she is almost right in front of me and she looks so good and I can't even find the sylables in my mouth to say 'Hello'.
"At that moment I felt a twitching near my right eye. It all happened much faster than how Im talking. The twitch suddenly turned into a little tickle near my eye. Then I realized that a bee or a yellow jacket was trapped inside my sunglasses. I started to loose the coordination in my strides. I started to sway back and forth while I ran. Then I felt a great pain in my upper right cheek near my eye. HOLY GEEZE, that really hurt. I screamed in pain and fell into the bushes and grabed at my face in hysterics trying to get the bee or whatever off my face. I was rolling in pain as the beautiful girl jogged by just looking at me like some weirdo.
"I noticed that there was a hornets nest in the bushes and got up and went to the other side of track. My right eye area was swelling up. This sucked. I waited for the girl to get a real ways off and put my sunglasses on again and headed to my car. I looked around with my left eye in the hopes that no one else but the most beautiful girl on earth saw me.
"I finally get in my car and look at the hidious deformation on my face. The swell of my face actually made my sunglasses all lopsided. I started my car and checked the money in my wallet. I had enough. I peeled out and headed in a familiar direction.
"A bad hangover that had not passed with the run, the puking session and the most beautiful girl on earth just running by you when your on the floor screaming bloody murder and leaving you to suffer...I think I deserved a drink. This is what I really should have done in the first place instead of fucking with the routine that I know works.
"I got a twelve pack of beer really icey cold. I walked to the check out and people are looking at my face by this time with my lopsided glasses a sweaty ass shirt, soccer shoes smelling like ass mixed with vodka. The clerk looks at me all wierd; like he wants to say something and some yuppy looking chicks behind me are giggling and I think they are having a laugh on me. I pay the clerk who I can feel staring at me as I walk out of the store.
"Im finally home and I get in the shower. It feels good all over my body except my face. I get out and dry off. The afternoon is setting in and I notice that there are a few messages on my machine. All the messages are from friends inviting me out. Not this weekend...the Thing has to rest, reflect and drink. Rest becuase a hangover like a night of drinking, it takes a lot out of you. Reflect, to try to see where things went wrong not only today but in life in general. Drink, to forget about it all and start to feel good again. I sit down in my chair, kick back and open a cold beer, one of many.
"I wonder what tomorrow morning is going to be like?"
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Hielo Sobre Una Estatua
Desde lejos extiendo mi angustia
Busco alcanzar sueños
Despierto en el descontento de la media noche
Hace frio en la soledad
La luna me señala con su luz
Solitario en la oscuridad
Esto es mi condena
Soledad, soledad brutal
Soledad que comprenden las estatuas
Miedo en la noche
Indiferencia a la luz del día
Cien años de sueños negados
Ahora cierro los ojos
Con la vana intención de volver a soñar
El hielo afuera
La nieve cae en la ciudad
En la calle estoy parado analizando mi camino
Mientras a mí alrededor pasa la gente y la vida
Indiferencia de millones
Únicamente para mí
Todo el frío solo para mis huesos
No existe lugar calido en este invierno
Refugio esta escaso
Lejos como el ayer
Aquí estoy
Tratando de alcanzar sueños
Brazos extendidos
Aquí esta mi angustia
Busco alcanzar sueños
Despierto en el descontento de la media noche
Hace frio en la soledad
La luna me señala con su luz
Solitario en la oscuridad
Esto es mi condena
Soledad, soledad brutal
Soledad que comprenden las estatuas
Miedo en la noche
Indiferencia a la luz del día
Cien años de sueños negados
Ahora cierro los ojos
Con la vana intención de volver a soñar
El hielo afuera
La nieve cae en la ciudad
En la calle estoy parado analizando mi camino
Mientras a mí alrededor pasa la gente y la vida
Indiferencia de millones
Únicamente para mí
Todo el frío solo para mis huesos
No existe lugar calido en este invierno
Refugio esta escaso
Lejos como el ayer
Aquí estoy
Tratando de alcanzar sueños
Brazos extendidos
Aquí esta mi angustia
The Fence
Haven't seen the sky like this in a long time
We were only kids then
You from one side
Me from another
Together at the fence
Just looking and smiling
It was cold then
Your jacket
My skimpy sweater
Songs and friends
Booze and parties
Cars down the same street
In that dream I lost you
I didn't wake up for a long time
When I awoke I was far away
Or was it you
Too far to reach
I walked my own way
I saw you again the other day
The sky was like when we were kids
At the fence once again
On different sides
Laughing at what we once were
Smiling at what we are
We both ran a long way
Going in different directions
Chasing dreams
Holding memories
Some day we will be at the fence again
Maybe on the same side this time.
We were only kids then
You from one side
Me from another
Together at the fence
Just looking and smiling
It was cold then
Your jacket
My skimpy sweater
Songs and friends
Booze and parties
Cars down the same street
In that dream I lost you
I didn't wake up for a long time
When I awoke I was far away
Or was it you
Too far to reach
I walked my own way
I saw you again the other day
The sky was like when we were kids
At the fence once again
On different sides
Laughing at what we once were
Smiling at what we are
We both ran a long way
Going in different directions
Chasing dreams
Holding memories
Some day we will be at the fence again
Maybe on the same side this time.
The Phone Call
So there I was just minding my own business. Actually I had problems with my sleep pattern, which has now developed into insomnia. So let's start there. As I was saying I was just passed out sleeping after coming home from school; 10th grade to be exact. I was big shit now, no longer a freshman, but a sophomore with sleeping problems.
For sometime now I had my own phone line in my room. You see I was blessed with having a stepfather and the sack of shit tried to start trouble with me for anything I did. Thank God the air we breathe is free otherwise I wasn't chipping in or pulling my weight with the air I breathed. Anyway, the phone had become my Gettysburg with him. People called me, I was 16 at the time and he was always bitching that I was always on the phone. So I would get off the fucking phone and guess what, no one called for him.
So I'm sleeping, my after school nap and the phone, or my private phone line rings. (Gotta make this sound good) I'm half asleep when I hear a voice, this chick is asking for me to get my cousin Myra on the phone. Did I wake up in another universe or house? So it went something like this:
"Hello"
"Hello, is Myra home?"
"Myra?"
"Who is this?"
"You called me, who is this?"
"I'm M……….Erika Smith. (Not the actual name of the girl who called me. The smith part gives it away I think.)
"Okay. I'm Luis. (That's my actual name.) You got the wrong number. Myra is my cousin however, and her phone number is a lot like mine. You dialed 446-1740 and her number is 466-4017.
"Luis right? What school do you go to?
"I go to Turner."
"What year are you?"
"Sophomore."
"You might know my sister. Her name is L…Mandy Smith."
"Yeah, I know her." Then I had a confession, I was sleepy and when in that state I will say just about anything stupid. "I'm kind of into her."
"Oh so you're the Luis she mentions?"
"She talks about me?"
"Not much. But she has mentioned you."
"Oh."
"Well I'm going to call Myra. Thanks for the number."
Click. Click.
I thought that was the end of that. The fact was that I was into her sister. I thought that her sister was into me as well, but as in the case of alcohol, that was not for me. I would call asking for Mandy and every once in a while I ended up talking to Erika.
Mandy and Erika have teacher parents. Parents that are teachers for the school district, so Erika was a little younger than me and she was a great person to converse with, she was very smart, so I liked talking to her. She eventually started calling me and we became good friends over the phone. I felt really close to her. Even though I had never met her in person, I thought she was just about the greatest thing going.
The phone thing went on for about a month and then an opportunity to meet in person came up at this party. So I went with my friend Emilio. As chance would have it, Emilio's girlfriend was friends with Erika. I was pretty excited to finally meet with this person who by chance I met over the phone. By the time I met her we had established a special friendship and based on what we spoke about. I was interested and I really didn't care about her looks, or what ever she turned out to look like.
So here I am, in the car with my friend Emilio, and we pull up to the house where the party is at. It was cold that night as I remember. We walked in, and Emilio's girl just jumped on him, she really was into him. They were in front of me, and I was trying to get them out of my way so I could see this mystery person and at least shake her hand. Being that we were at that teen age, teenage, they had set up the party with something like a red light in the primary room.
I looked around and I don't remember what she was wearing, but I do remember seeing curls. Curls, nothing but curls, heaven had dropped to the earth in the form of curls, her oval face and her smile. Yeah, it was at that moment that I fell in Love. Not only fell in Love, but in Love for the first time. I hadn't really tried booze up to that point, just a swig or something you know, but I felt drunk just standing there looking at her as she got up and walked towards me. I guess I was frozen in place, so when I wouldn't move she got up and came up to me, which was great. Well actually it kind of sucked that she came up to me because I saw she was slightly taller than me. What was nice, was that she hugged me.
So we talked and I think it was at this party that she asked me to stand up in a 15th with her. That means I was going to be her escort when one of her friends has her 15th birthday which is a big deal in the Latin culture. It might have been that she had already asked me but the thing is that I said yes. I don't remember too much about what we talked about that night, but I do remember that I asked her to go outside with me. We were outside alone and she was talking away and that's when I just dived. I kissed her and she kissed me back. It sounds corny now but, that was it. I don't know if to stop the story here because after this, some things happened that are not worth mentioning. Or I could skip that and get to another part.
Anyway we were interested, me more than her. She saw it as another guy I think, and I saw it like, this was it. I think the age difference came into play there. It didn't come to a relationship at all; she lost interest as a boyfriend pretty quick, but not as friends. So we kind of made things that we were friends, although I wanted to be more. The 15th she asked me to came and went. That night I she told me she wanted to get with one of my best friends which was extremely heart breaking. I told her that she could do what she wanted and but not to parade in front of me. Well at the reception she paraded with my best friend. Okay let's fast forward a little.
She asked me, after parading with my friend in front of me, if I could give her a ride home. Yes, there were other girls there. Yes, they were beautiful and yes I told her "yes" I would give her a ride home. You see I was devastated and all those other girls didn't matter, it was her I wanted and I couldn't have, and I knew my best friend would not see all that I saw and would not appreciate her.
Now that I think of it there was this beautiful girl that was there that night, and she was really throwing her panties at me that night, but I was caught up in something else. I hardly paid attention to her. For the rest of the night I really didn't speak. I didn't have words. I wanted to be alone but yet there I was at a party with dozens of people. See, that's life for you, you want something and it gives you the exact opposite.
That night when the time came Erika asked me if could take her home so I did. On the way home she tried to start up a conversation, but I wasn't there. I was somewhere else. When we got to her house I said something to her but I can't really remember what it was. It wasn't anything nasty it was something about say hi to your parents for me or something. I drove home and that was it.
When ever I tell this story to someone they always ask me, "That's it?" "You never spoke to her again?" Of course I spoke to her again. After the 15th I shut myself off from the rest of the world. Erika could do whatever she wanted, I wasn't going to watch. It was hard enough to accept the situation. I dreaded that fucking phone line I had which got this story rolling. It was about 2 months I think that Erika and I didn't speak. Every once in a while I would call her house and hang up when she would pick up. I missed her terribly.
It was summer now and I wasn't at school. I was out with a lot of time on my hands to think about how I would never be happy. Of course this wasn't true; I came to be happy again when I really discovered booze. So there I am, asleep again and the phone rings. Now, back then the big thing was three way, not the sex thing, the phone thing. So you were like the bomb if you had three way. Your the bomb if youve done the three way sex thing too. A friend of mine calls me up, it went something like this:
"Hello"
"Hey man, what's up?"
CLICK
"Hello? Hello?"
"Yeah man I'm still here, dammit, let me call you back."
"Who was on your three way?"
"No one man just let me call you back."
So I hang up. I was still kind of sleepy so I laid down. The phone rings again and it's this friend, by the way his name is Saudi, and he starts talking to me:
"Hello?"
"Hey man, what's up?"
"What was all that shit about? Who was on three way and hung up?"
"It was Erika."
"What?"
"Yeah she has been calling me and telling me how she wants to talk to you?"
"About what?"
"Well man, I know you've been feeling like shit since the 15th. So I thought it was a good Idea to call you. I didn't tell Erika that I was calling you, so when she heard your voice pick up she hung up?"
"Doesn't sound like she really wants to talk to me then."
"Man she wants to talk to you, but she thinks that you hate her, and I know that ain't true."
"I don't hate her."
"Well call her. Wait, you're not going to tell her to fuck off or anything right?"
"I don't know man. Doesn't sound like a good idea."
"It's her birthday today."
"Okay, I'll call her. She ain't going to hang up on me is she?"
"Dude no. She wants to talk."
"Okay, I'll call her now."
"Cool."
"Later."
"Later."
Click. Click.
So I call her and it was kind of weird. It wasn't too long before we were talking like the first time. Then she told me it was her birthday and that she was alone. I thought that was weird, why would she be alone? She sounded sad. In the two months that we didn't talk she told me she would call my phone to hear me and then hang up. I confessed the same thing. We talked about other things. Then eventually she asked me if I could come over. I wasn't going to say no to that. So I got my mom's car and went off to her house. She was waiting for me outside. I got out of the car. Now this sounds really corny but it happened. I got out of the car and she started walking towards me and we hugged on her front lawn.
We sat there in her front lawn for a long time talking. I told her what I felt hadn't changed, and she told me that she cared a great deal for me, but it wasn't in a boyfriend kind of way. She didn't budge neither did I. We kept on talking and we established the ground rules that we were friends. My thinking was that it was better to have her in my life as a friend than not at all.
There is really nothing more to tell about this. I carried the torch for her for a long, long time. I threw a lot of booze on that fire and it grew more and more. I wanted to burn in it so I wouldn't feel that pain.
A lot has changed since then. I fell in love the second time. Same thing again, but not as painful as the first time though. That one isn't worth writing about. That came and went. Since then I haven't fallen in love again. Since then I have taken some opportunities that were kind of like jobs. I have risked my life for ideals. I have been shot at. Some friends have died. Some friends have killed themselves. I drank a great deal. I drank and almost got my head shot off for my political affiliation. I got sober, 4 years now, and fixing to be 5 in November. A whole lot of pain, but all of it put together didn't match that first time.
Some of the things that have caused me pain I wouldn't do again, but if I could go back in time and know that when the phone rang it was going to be Erika on the other line, I would pick it up in a heartbeat. Even if I had to go through all that pain again, I would gladly pick up the phone.
I didn't use Erika's real name because it's not anybodies business you know, her identity. I write this with no regret at all. I still correspond with her. She lives very far from me, and I live in the third world. I haven't seen her in 10 years or more I think. I hope if she reads this, that she is not offended and can smile like I am smiling now. My Favorite Mistake.
For sometime now I had my own phone line in my room. You see I was blessed with having a stepfather and the sack of shit tried to start trouble with me for anything I did. Thank God the air we breathe is free otherwise I wasn't chipping in or pulling my weight with the air I breathed. Anyway, the phone had become my Gettysburg with him. People called me, I was 16 at the time and he was always bitching that I was always on the phone. So I would get off the fucking phone and guess what, no one called for him.
So I'm sleeping, my after school nap and the phone, or my private phone line rings. (Gotta make this sound good) I'm half asleep when I hear a voice, this chick is asking for me to get my cousin Myra on the phone. Did I wake up in another universe or house? So it went something like this:
"Hello"
"Hello, is Myra home?"
"Myra?"
"Who is this?"
"You called me, who is this?"
"I'm M……….Erika Smith. (Not the actual name of the girl who called me. The smith part gives it away I think.)
"Okay. I'm Luis. (That's my actual name.) You got the wrong number. Myra is my cousin however, and her phone number is a lot like mine. You dialed 446-1740 and her number is 466-4017.
"Luis right? What school do you go to?
"I go to Turner."
"What year are you?"
"Sophomore."
"You might know my sister. Her name is L…Mandy Smith."
"Yeah, I know her." Then I had a confession, I was sleepy and when in that state I will say just about anything stupid. "I'm kind of into her."
"Oh so you're the Luis she mentions?"
"She talks about me?"
"Not much. But she has mentioned you."
"Oh."
"Well I'm going to call Myra. Thanks for the number."
Click. Click.
I thought that was the end of that. The fact was that I was into her sister. I thought that her sister was into me as well, but as in the case of alcohol, that was not for me. I would call asking for Mandy and every once in a while I ended up talking to Erika.
Mandy and Erika have teacher parents. Parents that are teachers for the school district, so Erika was a little younger than me and she was a great person to converse with, she was very smart, so I liked talking to her. She eventually started calling me and we became good friends over the phone. I felt really close to her. Even though I had never met her in person, I thought she was just about the greatest thing going.
The phone thing went on for about a month and then an opportunity to meet in person came up at this party. So I went with my friend Emilio. As chance would have it, Emilio's girlfriend was friends with Erika. I was pretty excited to finally meet with this person who by chance I met over the phone. By the time I met her we had established a special friendship and based on what we spoke about. I was interested and I really didn't care about her looks, or what ever she turned out to look like.
So here I am, in the car with my friend Emilio, and we pull up to the house where the party is at. It was cold that night as I remember. We walked in, and Emilio's girl just jumped on him, she really was into him. They were in front of me, and I was trying to get them out of my way so I could see this mystery person and at least shake her hand. Being that we were at that teen age, teenage, they had set up the party with something like a red light in the primary room.
I looked around and I don't remember what she was wearing, but I do remember seeing curls. Curls, nothing but curls, heaven had dropped to the earth in the form of curls, her oval face and her smile. Yeah, it was at that moment that I fell in Love. Not only fell in Love, but in Love for the first time. I hadn't really tried booze up to that point, just a swig or something you know, but I felt drunk just standing there looking at her as she got up and walked towards me. I guess I was frozen in place, so when I wouldn't move she got up and came up to me, which was great. Well actually it kind of sucked that she came up to me because I saw she was slightly taller than me. What was nice, was that she hugged me.
So we talked and I think it was at this party that she asked me to stand up in a 15th with her. That means I was going to be her escort when one of her friends has her 15th birthday which is a big deal in the Latin culture. It might have been that she had already asked me but the thing is that I said yes. I don't remember too much about what we talked about that night, but I do remember that I asked her to go outside with me. We were outside alone and she was talking away and that's when I just dived. I kissed her and she kissed me back. It sounds corny now but, that was it. I don't know if to stop the story here because after this, some things happened that are not worth mentioning. Or I could skip that and get to another part.
Anyway we were interested, me more than her. She saw it as another guy I think, and I saw it like, this was it. I think the age difference came into play there. It didn't come to a relationship at all; she lost interest as a boyfriend pretty quick, but not as friends. So we kind of made things that we were friends, although I wanted to be more. The 15th she asked me to came and went. That night I she told me she wanted to get with one of my best friends which was extremely heart breaking. I told her that she could do what she wanted and but not to parade in front of me. Well at the reception she paraded with my best friend. Okay let's fast forward a little.
She asked me, after parading with my friend in front of me, if I could give her a ride home. Yes, there were other girls there. Yes, they were beautiful and yes I told her "yes" I would give her a ride home. You see I was devastated and all those other girls didn't matter, it was her I wanted and I couldn't have, and I knew my best friend would not see all that I saw and would not appreciate her.
Now that I think of it there was this beautiful girl that was there that night, and she was really throwing her panties at me that night, but I was caught up in something else. I hardly paid attention to her. For the rest of the night I really didn't speak. I didn't have words. I wanted to be alone but yet there I was at a party with dozens of people. See, that's life for you, you want something and it gives you the exact opposite.
That night when the time came Erika asked me if could take her home so I did. On the way home she tried to start up a conversation, but I wasn't there. I was somewhere else. When we got to her house I said something to her but I can't really remember what it was. It wasn't anything nasty it was something about say hi to your parents for me or something. I drove home and that was it.
When ever I tell this story to someone they always ask me, "That's it?" "You never spoke to her again?" Of course I spoke to her again. After the 15th I shut myself off from the rest of the world. Erika could do whatever she wanted, I wasn't going to watch. It was hard enough to accept the situation. I dreaded that fucking phone line I had which got this story rolling. It was about 2 months I think that Erika and I didn't speak. Every once in a while I would call her house and hang up when she would pick up. I missed her terribly.
It was summer now and I wasn't at school. I was out with a lot of time on my hands to think about how I would never be happy. Of course this wasn't true; I came to be happy again when I really discovered booze. So there I am, asleep again and the phone rings. Now, back then the big thing was three way, not the sex thing, the phone thing. So you were like the bomb if you had three way. Your the bomb if youve done the three way sex thing too. A friend of mine calls me up, it went something like this:
"Hello"
"Hey man, what's up?"
CLICK
"Hello? Hello?"
"Yeah man I'm still here, dammit, let me call you back."
"Who was on your three way?"
"No one man just let me call you back."
So I hang up. I was still kind of sleepy so I laid down. The phone rings again and it's this friend, by the way his name is Saudi, and he starts talking to me:
"Hello?"
"Hey man, what's up?"
"What was all that shit about? Who was on three way and hung up?"
"It was Erika."
"What?"
"Yeah she has been calling me and telling me how she wants to talk to you?"
"About what?"
"Well man, I know you've been feeling like shit since the 15th. So I thought it was a good Idea to call you. I didn't tell Erika that I was calling you, so when she heard your voice pick up she hung up?"
"Doesn't sound like she really wants to talk to me then."
"Man she wants to talk to you, but she thinks that you hate her, and I know that ain't true."
"I don't hate her."
"Well call her. Wait, you're not going to tell her to fuck off or anything right?"
"I don't know man. Doesn't sound like a good idea."
"It's her birthday today."
"Okay, I'll call her. She ain't going to hang up on me is she?"
"Dude no. She wants to talk."
"Okay, I'll call her now."
"Cool."
"Later."
"Later."
Click. Click.
So I call her and it was kind of weird. It wasn't too long before we were talking like the first time. Then she told me it was her birthday and that she was alone. I thought that was weird, why would she be alone? She sounded sad. In the two months that we didn't talk she told me she would call my phone to hear me and then hang up. I confessed the same thing. We talked about other things. Then eventually she asked me if I could come over. I wasn't going to say no to that. So I got my mom's car and went off to her house. She was waiting for me outside. I got out of the car. Now this sounds really corny but it happened. I got out of the car and she started walking towards me and we hugged on her front lawn.
We sat there in her front lawn for a long time talking. I told her what I felt hadn't changed, and she told me that she cared a great deal for me, but it wasn't in a boyfriend kind of way. She didn't budge neither did I. We kept on talking and we established the ground rules that we were friends. My thinking was that it was better to have her in my life as a friend than not at all.
There is really nothing more to tell about this. I carried the torch for her for a long, long time. I threw a lot of booze on that fire and it grew more and more. I wanted to burn in it so I wouldn't feel that pain.
A lot has changed since then. I fell in love the second time. Same thing again, but not as painful as the first time though. That one isn't worth writing about. That came and went. Since then I haven't fallen in love again. Since then I have taken some opportunities that were kind of like jobs. I have risked my life for ideals. I have been shot at. Some friends have died. Some friends have killed themselves. I drank a great deal. I drank and almost got my head shot off for my political affiliation. I got sober, 4 years now, and fixing to be 5 in November. A whole lot of pain, but all of it put together didn't match that first time.
Some of the things that have caused me pain I wouldn't do again, but if I could go back in time and know that when the phone rang it was going to be Erika on the other line, I would pick it up in a heartbeat. Even if I had to go through all that pain again, I would gladly pick up the phone.
I didn't use Erika's real name because it's not anybodies business you know, her identity. I write this with no regret at all. I still correspond with her. She lives very far from me, and I live in the third world. I haven't seen her in 10 years or more I think. I hope if she reads this, that she is not offended and can smile like I am smiling now. My Favorite Mistake.
The Basement
Every once in a while as I walk by the door of the basement I stop and search my gut to see if I have what it takes to go down there and satisfy my curiosity. I think it was a Tuesday when I was walking by with a can of mineral water or club soda depending if you're at a country club. There must have been a breeze or something. What ever it was I don't think it was just chance that I got a whiff of the mildew smell that the ground has.
I stopped, looking to my side, and there was the wooden door. Once painted white and now with the stale off white of time and things that have passed. I searched my gut and there was nothing there, so I turned my body towards the door that seemed to be cracked. I was invited in and there was no fear in my gut to stop me, all I needed to do was open the cracked door and move my feet.
I clicked on the light and made my way into the mildew smell. Underground everything was a neat a button. In the middle of the room was an old lazy boy that seemed to be put there for me many years ago just for me. All around me there were boxes with labels. Winter blankets…Winter clothes…Goodwill box… our clothes from when we were children. Then there was the box with nothing written on it. In my gut something started poking at me. It was in a corner. The box had been placed so that you couldn't see it if you just walked into the room. Something that was meant to be forgotten but could never be thrown out. In faint volume I could hear outside the children play in the late summer afternoon.
The basement was well kept no water filtrated in it was dry but the smell of moist was evident. I found myself in front of the standing there with my gut poking a little harder by then. I pulled the box close to the lazy boy. I opened the top and there was an album with old photographs. Photos I hadn't seen in a long time. I love the way humans make things in such a way that by looking at the object you can tell the time frame when it was made. I looked at the photos I came across the one of two boys. One was about nine years old and the other maybe three years old. The older boy was holding the baby in his arms. A great big smile was on the profile of his face while the child had a sleepy look to his face sort of looking down. The photo was obviously taken in the 1970's.
Looking through the box I found other things that I hadn't seen in a long time. Clothes mostly. While I was looking my club soda was getting warm. In my chest I felt that swelling that you feel with great emotions. I could almost feel him standing behind me looking on to the things that I was taking out of the box. I could feel his sadness because he felt mine. The swelling was getting to be bigger than what my chest could handle. I thought about putting everything back and running back up stairs but instead I just kept working my way down the box. It seemed as if it would never end. Towards the end I didn't even pay attention to the objects that I was pulling out. A pair of binoculars…Guns n Roses tapes… a pair of sunglasses. All things that I respected as being his property.
Then my curiosity was satisfied. At the end of it all was what made me stop. His shirt, a belt, some socks all stained with old blood. The swelling in my chest finally burst. He stood behind me and cried because he has made me feel this terrible. I sat there with his shirt in my face washing blood with tears, not because he was dead, but because my mom and I had left him down here as if he was a dirty secret to be ashamed of. After I calmed down, I slowly and carefully put his things back into the box and closed it. I looked around and found a black magic marker. On the front of the box I wrote his name followed by what I felt needed to be there, the words "My Brother". I dragged the lazy boy back toward the hidden corner where the box with no label had been. Next to the other boxes of our clothes as children I set my brother's box. After that he was gone. I walked towards the stairs clicked the light off and walked back upstairs, my mineral water was pretty warm by then.
I stopped, looking to my side, and there was the wooden door. Once painted white and now with the stale off white of time and things that have passed. I searched my gut and there was nothing there, so I turned my body towards the door that seemed to be cracked. I was invited in and there was no fear in my gut to stop me, all I needed to do was open the cracked door and move my feet.
I clicked on the light and made my way into the mildew smell. Underground everything was a neat a button. In the middle of the room was an old lazy boy that seemed to be put there for me many years ago just for me. All around me there were boxes with labels. Winter blankets…Winter clothes…Goodwill box… our clothes from when we were children. Then there was the box with nothing written on it. In my gut something started poking at me. It was in a corner. The box had been placed so that you couldn't see it if you just walked into the room. Something that was meant to be forgotten but could never be thrown out. In faint volume I could hear outside the children play in the late summer afternoon.
The basement was well kept no water filtrated in it was dry but the smell of moist was evident. I found myself in front of the standing there with my gut poking a little harder by then. I pulled the box close to the lazy boy. I opened the top and there was an album with old photographs. Photos I hadn't seen in a long time. I love the way humans make things in such a way that by looking at the object you can tell the time frame when it was made. I looked at the photos I came across the one of two boys. One was about nine years old and the other maybe three years old. The older boy was holding the baby in his arms. A great big smile was on the profile of his face while the child had a sleepy look to his face sort of looking down. The photo was obviously taken in the 1970's.
Looking through the box I found other things that I hadn't seen in a long time. Clothes mostly. While I was looking my club soda was getting warm. In my chest I felt that swelling that you feel with great emotions. I could almost feel him standing behind me looking on to the things that I was taking out of the box. I could feel his sadness because he felt mine. The swelling was getting to be bigger than what my chest could handle. I thought about putting everything back and running back up stairs but instead I just kept working my way down the box. It seemed as if it would never end. Towards the end I didn't even pay attention to the objects that I was pulling out. A pair of binoculars…Guns n Roses tapes… a pair of sunglasses. All things that I respected as being his property.
Then my curiosity was satisfied. At the end of it all was what made me stop. His shirt, a belt, some socks all stained with old blood. The swelling in my chest finally burst. He stood behind me and cried because he has made me feel this terrible. I sat there with his shirt in my face washing blood with tears, not because he was dead, but because my mom and I had left him down here as if he was a dirty secret to be ashamed of. After I calmed down, I slowly and carefully put his things back into the box and closed it. I looked around and found a black magic marker. On the front of the box I wrote his name followed by what I felt needed to be there, the words "My Brother". I dragged the lazy boy back toward the hidden corner where the box with no label had been. Next to the other boxes of our clothes as children I set my brother's box. After that he was gone. I walked towards the stairs clicked the light off and walked back upstairs, my mineral water was pretty warm by then.
Lunch
I was about to foam at the mouth with rage when I saw these freshmen making fun of the handicapped kids. The cafeteria was full and it was the first day of school. I hadn't found one of my friends who had the same lunch as I had, so I was sitting alone and across the way the special kids were sitting down not bothering a soul trying to have their lunch with dignity. Just then there was a tap on my shoulder and it was a friend of mine that who was in my same situation; first day of the semester and didn't know anyone in that particular lunch period. He smiled and I extended my hand to shake his. He sat down.
So there we were and a little bit down from us was a table full of freshmen. The freshmen were looking over to the table where the handicapped kids sat, making faces and acting spastic ridiculing them. I sat there looking at them, letting my blood boil and seeing if there was going to be an explosion. I had that gut feeling that someone was going to get hurt and I was the one who was going to do the hurting.
On my right was Omar smiling and asking how it was hanging, what was up and all that jazz. Omar was a nice guy always joking around and trying to make his friends smile. It was hard to smile when you went to a school in the south. We are not talking 1960's. It was the 90's but being a minority, and in particular being a Latino meant that your were a dope dealer, a gang member or a future correctional institute inmate. They, as in the staff of the school expected the worst from the Latinos. There were exceptions.
We were Latinos. I am a Latino, and at that point I was about to make the staff's expectations come true. Omar was throwing his best material at me to get a laugh out of me but my face was dead set on the white freshmen peckerwoods that were mocking the disabled kids. I kept repeating in my mind that it wasn't their fault for their disabilities. Then I felt that Omar caught on. He saw that I would look towards the freshmen and then towards the disability kids.
So he asked me what the problem was. I told him to look at how the freshmen were making fun of the handicap kids. He saw how it bothered me. I told him my outrage and he said a few words that I went along with.
"Well let's do something about it." He got one of his napkins and rolled it into a ball and threw it at the freshmen. It hit one of them and they turned towards us as if they were going to do something. The good thing about being a Latino is that people walked on egg shells for you. We had a reputation of being a bit violent. Omar stared at them and so did I. I asked them:
"What?"
Omar took all his food off his plastic tray and got up. Lets stop right there.
When I was a child about 4 years old my mother and I were prisoners to and alcoholic father. He was a military man and felt he was a real man when he would beat my mother. He would put his nine millimeter gun to her head when he was drunk.
One weekend my father's younger brother had come to the house to stay with us. My uncle, my father's brother's name is Alfredo which I'm named after. Alfredo was handicapped. He could not speak only make sounds, he was not a mute. His right arm was twisted and could not walk straight. He was the best playmate I had in those days, he never grew up you know, in his mind. His left arm was good and strong.
This in particular weekend like most my father got home drunk and felt like taking out his frustration of being a total loser out on my mother. He came home and Alfredo knew what was going on. My father immediately found a reason to start a fight with my mom. Before we knew it he had hit her across the face. He hit her in front of me and Alfredo in the living room of this small house we lived in. It was a house mostly paid for by my mother seeing as my dad spent his money on whores and booze.
My mother went down after that first hit. Holding her hands in her face where she had worn the punch my dad had dealt her. I was so little and helpless. I began to cry and so did Alfredo. Alfredo with all the strength he could gather got up from the couch and tried to get in the middle of the fight and stop my father from going any farther. He caught a punch in the stomach and fell to his knees crying. He cried in such a way that broke my heart in such a way that has not been repaired to this day.
With the most dignity I have seen anyone have he got up and wobbled over to where I was. With his good left arm he grabbed me as I was crying hysterically. >My mother was taking kicks in her stomach. My father got down on one knee and pulled her hair and screamed so many things to her that I don't remember.
Alfredo picked me up and took me wobbling towards the kitchen where the pain in his stomach defeated him and he kneeled down careful not to hurt me. Both of us were crying and he held me and said things to me that I couldn't understand since he couldn't really talk. He kissed my head and with his good arm would stroke my hair as if to say that everything was going to be alright.
I don't remember how that night ended. I guess I blocked it out of my mind, all except for what Alfredo did. My dear sweet uncle Alfredo, I will always love him, he was my savior. He was my comfort. I think this is the moment that I learned that there are weak and those who believe that they are strong. Alfredo was the strong one and my father was the weak one believing he was the strong one beating my mother within an inch of her death. This was my first moment of rage. Rage towards those who want to abuse those who are defenseless. This is the moment that would define my purpose in my life.
Soon after that my mother and I left that house and that tyrant behind. I didn't see Alfredo for many years after that but I always remembered him.
At the moment that Omar picked up his empty tray I did the same. I remembered my dear uncle. It wasn't his fault he was afflicted. I remembered this incident and my rage awoke with a vengeance after being dormant for so long. Those freshmen were going to pay a bill that was long over due.
We walked over. Omar took one side of the table and I took the other side. There were four freshmen and only two of us. When they saw us come over they got really quiet. It seemed as if their pulse went flat line. I raised my tray and swung and hit this peckerwood over the head and nearly broke the plastic tray.
When I looked Omar had one out of his chair on the floor and the peckerwood was trying to protect his head. I didn't know Omar had it in him, you know being a joker as he was. He backed me up. The other two peckerwoods ran off and of course got their white teacher protectors.
When they pulled me off the white kid I was tenderizing I think I was foaming at the mouth. All I could remember was my uncle Alfredo, how I loved him and how those handicapped kids never hurt anyone and were trying to have their lunch with dignity. In them I saw Alfredo with his good arm telling me that everything was going to be alright.
They separated Omar and me when they interrogated us. I sat in the dean's office waiting for the white man to come in and say what a bad kid I was, starting trouble for nothing. I felt no remorse. I still don't. He came in and sat down with his cocky attitude and looked at me. He gave me that look like it was nothing new, another Latin kid in trouble. He probably thought I was going to look at the ground in shame or something, but I didn't. I sat there arrogant as he was and I looked at him in the eye.
"Let me understand", he said.
"You can't ever understand I told him", I said.
"Try me", he said. I looked at him with the rage still raw in my eyes.
"Those peckerwoods were mocking the disabled kids who weren't bothering anyone. I guess you allow that here at your school. Just like when we (Latinos) take the blame for everything that has gone wrong and you can't explain. Other than that there is nothing to explain." I sat back and waited for his answer and sentence. He looked at me.
"That's no excuse for violence." He said as if he was a priest.
"You can't understand. Ever." After that I didn't say a word. I didn't need to explain to this old peckerwood why I had to bust one of his younger peckerwood's head. He wasn't worthy of even knowing the story of Alfredo. Alfredo was above him and those peckerwoods. I got a week of solitary detention, a prison within the school, as well as Omar did.
I'm eternal thankful to Omar for backing me in that fight. He could have ratted me out but he didn't. We were friends till our lives parted ways. After that incident I didn't stand by doing nothing when I saw injustice, till this day I don't stay quiet. Till this day I fight for what I think is right, and will continue to do this until I'm dead.
Last time I saw Alfredo I hugged him, and being who I am now it took all my strength to hold back the tears. He is still at that age, the age when his brother hit him and beat my mother in front of us. With my father, there a bill over due as well and sooner or later I'm going to collect that bill.
So there we were and a little bit down from us was a table full of freshmen. The freshmen were looking over to the table where the handicapped kids sat, making faces and acting spastic ridiculing them. I sat there looking at them, letting my blood boil and seeing if there was going to be an explosion. I had that gut feeling that someone was going to get hurt and I was the one who was going to do the hurting.
On my right was Omar smiling and asking how it was hanging, what was up and all that jazz. Omar was a nice guy always joking around and trying to make his friends smile. It was hard to smile when you went to a school in the south. We are not talking 1960's. It was the 90's but being a minority, and in particular being a Latino meant that your were a dope dealer, a gang member or a future correctional institute inmate. They, as in the staff of the school expected the worst from the Latinos. There were exceptions.
We were Latinos. I am a Latino, and at that point I was about to make the staff's expectations come true. Omar was throwing his best material at me to get a laugh out of me but my face was dead set on the white freshmen peckerwoods that were mocking the disabled kids. I kept repeating in my mind that it wasn't their fault for their disabilities. Then I felt that Omar caught on. He saw that I would look towards the freshmen and then towards the disability kids.
So he asked me what the problem was. I told him to look at how the freshmen were making fun of the handicap kids. He saw how it bothered me. I told him my outrage and he said a few words that I went along with.
"Well let's do something about it." He got one of his napkins and rolled it into a ball and threw it at the freshmen. It hit one of them and they turned towards us as if they were going to do something. The good thing about being a Latino is that people walked on egg shells for you. We had a reputation of being a bit violent. Omar stared at them and so did I. I asked them:
"What?"
Omar took all his food off his plastic tray and got up. Lets stop right there.
When I was a child about 4 years old my mother and I were prisoners to and alcoholic father. He was a military man and felt he was a real man when he would beat my mother. He would put his nine millimeter gun to her head when he was drunk.
One weekend my father's younger brother had come to the house to stay with us. My uncle, my father's brother's name is Alfredo which I'm named after. Alfredo was handicapped. He could not speak only make sounds, he was not a mute. His right arm was twisted and could not walk straight. He was the best playmate I had in those days, he never grew up you know, in his mind. His left arm was good and strong.
This in particular weekend like most my father got home drunk and felt like taking out his frustration of being a total loser out on my mother. He came home and Alfredo knew what was going on. My father immediately found a reason to start a fight with my mom. Before we knew it he had hit her across the face. He hit her in front of me and Alfredo in the living room of this small house we lived in. It was a house mostly paid for by my mother seeing as my dad spent his money on whores and booze.
My mother went down after that first hit. Holding her hands in her face where she had worn the punch my dad had dealt her. I was so little and helpless. I began to cry and so did Alfredo. Alfredo with all the strength he could gather got up from the couch and tried to get in the middle of the fight and stop my father from going any farther. He caught a punch in the stomach and fell to his knees crying. He cried in such a way that broke my heart in such a way that has not been repaired to this day.
With the most dignity I have seen anyone have he got up and wobbled over to where I was. With his good left arm he grabbed me as I was crying hysterically. >My mother was taking kicks in her stomach. My father got down on one knee and pulled her hair and screamed so many things to her that I don't remember.
Alfredo picked me up and took me wobbling towards the kitchen where the pain in his stomach defeated him and he kneeled down careful not to hurt me. Both of us were crying and he held me and said things to me that I couldn't understand since he couldn't really talk. He kissed my head and with his good arm would stroke my hair as if to say that everything was going to be alright.
I don't remember how that night ended. I guess I blocked it out of my mind, all except for what Alfredo did. My dear sweet uncle Alfredo, I will always love him, he was my savior. He was my comfort. I think this is the moment that I learned that there are weak and those who believe that they are strong. Alfredo was the strong one and my father was the weak one believing he was the strong one beating my mother within an inch of her death. This was my first moment of rage. Rage towards those who want to abuse those who are defenseless. This is the moment that would define my purpose in my life.
Soon after that my mother and I left that house and that tyrant behind. I didn't see Alfredo for many years after that but I always remembered him.
At the moment that Omar picked up his empty tray I did the same. I remembered my dear uncle. It wasn't his fault he was afflicted. I remembered this incident and my rage awoke with a vengeance after being dormant for so long. Those freshmen were going to pay a bill that was long over due.
We walked over. Omar took one side of the table and I took the other side. There were four freshmen and only two of us. When they saw us come over they got really quiet. It seemed as if their pulse went flat line. I raised my tray and swung and hit this peckerwood over the head and nearly broke the plastic tray.
When I looked Omar had one out of his chair on the floor and the peckerwood was trying to protect his head. I didn't know Omar had it in him, you know being a joker as he was. He backed me up. The other two peckerwoods ran off and of course got their white teacher protectors.
When they pulled me off the white kid I was tenderizing I think I was foaming at the mouth. All I could remember was my uncle Alfredo, how I loved him and how those handicapped kids never hurt anyone and were trying to have their lunch with dignity. In them I saw Alfredo with his good arm telling me that everything was going to be alright.
They separated Omar and me when they interrogated us. I sat in the dean's office waiting for the white man to come in and say what a bad kid I was, starting trouble for nothing. I felt no remorse. I still don't. He came in and sat down with his cocky attitude and looked at me. He gave me that look like it was nothing new, another Latin kid in trouble. He probably thought I was going to look at the ground in shame or something, but I didn't. I sat there arrogant as he was and I looked at him in the eye.
"Let me understand", he said.
"You can't ever understand I told him", I said.
"Try me", he said. I looked at him with the rage still raw in my eyes.
"Those peckerwoods were mocking the disabled kids who weren't bothering anyone. I guess you allow that here at your school. Just like when we (Latinos) take the blame for everything that has gone wrong and you can't explain. Other than that there is nothing to explain." I sat back and waited for his answer and sentence. He looked at me.
"That's no excuse for violence." He said as if he was a priest.
"You can't understand. Ever." After that I didn't say a word. I didn't need to explain to this old peckerwood why I had to bust one of his younger peckerwood's head. He wasn't worthy of even knowing the story of Alfredo. Alfredo was above him and those peckerwoods. I got a week of solitary detention, a prison within the school, as well as Omar did.
I'm eternal thankful to Omar for backing me in that fight. He could have ratted me out but he didn't. We were friends till our lives parted ways. After that incident I didn't stand by doing nothing when I saw injustice, till this day I don't stay quiet. Till this day I fight for what I think is right, and will continue to do this until I'm dead.
Last time I saw Alfredo I hugged him, and being who I am now it took all my strength to hold back the tears. He is still at that age, the age when his brother hit him and beat my mother in front of us. With my father, there a bill over due as well and sooner or later I'm going to collect that bill.
The Apartment
Hopes are something you carry in your heart when you flee from one place to another. Once you get to where you're going things kind of just fade away. When you're a kid taken from the world you were born into and put into another one you hold on to dreams that some day you will see the ones you love once again. You come to a point in your life when things look really dim. This happened to me.
I was six years old living in a new country, fleeing from the old one for reasons that are not worth mentioning. Apart from my mother the only other woman I had loved up to that point was my grandmother; my dad's mom. I missed her deeply, at the same time I knew it was going to be quite a while before I would see happy days. In fact it was all blue Mondays for a while.
The thing was or is, is that humans have to have some kind of hope to keep their hearts going. As far as I knew I was human. I needed something to hold onto, something to keep me going.
As most immigrants of the time we lived in what can be called a common apartment. This roughly translates into a small apartment shared by way too many people. Most immigrants of the time were men. Women hardly left the home country; the journey was too long and too dangerous. Some how my mother and I had made it to the great Babylon as one of my friends says.
We shared an apartment with many men. My mother and I claimed the living room as our living quarters, which sucked. I slept on a real crappy couch and my mom slept on the floor. I didn't know any better back then, so I didn't consider these conditions as bad. Innocence saves you from feeling sorry for your self.
The thing about those days I regretted in those days was that I only saw my mother once a day for a couple of hours. She had to work so much and she was so tired I had no one to really spend time with. There were no other children. I would come home from school and the house was empty…my mom at work...all the men at work. It was quite lonesome. I learned to adapt though.
I don't know if it was funny or tragic but the weekends the apartment was full, and it was full of drunks. Like I said most of the people who we shared the apartment with were men. Men from my country tend to drink. Men from my country who are home sick tend to drink a lot. They would buy card decks and make circles and gamble. My memories of those days have a clear picture of what the old can of Miller Lite used to look like. They loved that stuff.
These guys who had claimed one of the bed rooms in the apartment would make their powwows there. It wasn't all laughs because sometimes they would end up fighting. Guys would come flying out of the bedrooms swinging. I don't think it was the typical thing that any kid is supposed to see in any culture growing up. Eventually my mom got so scared of the week end beer fests that when Friday morning would come around she would hide the kitchen knives before she went to work. She didn't want anyone with a third corn chute.
So being surrounded by this type of atmosphere I was not looking forward to too much of a future. Little by little I began to see that we were not in the best conditions. I was quite in school which didn't win me too many friends. Quite kids tend to be the ones picked on. So there was not much to brighten the day.
Thank God for drunks. Every once in a while on the weekends the apartment was so full of people that some drank and socialized in the living room where my mother and I had our bed room, if you want to call it that. One thing that every culture has is drunks. The other thing is that in most cultures where there are drunks there of course is music. The apartment was no exception. The guys had a little jam box. They would sit on the floor and open their beers. They would take out their collection of tapes and play the music.
Most of the music they played was stuff that I really didn't care for. I am surprised of how easily I could sleep in those days. There was a bunch of drunks jamming some real annoying Spanish music and I was out like a light. They would party like that all weekend and when Monday came around I would find this jam box with all these tapes thrown about. Once again, thank God for drunks.
One Monday after school I was bored and since no one was around I started messing with these tapes I found and the jam box. I would put one in and of course I didn't like what I heard so I would take it out. I would put another one in and so on.
Well eventually I came across this white tape with the letters somewhat faded on it. It didn't matter I couldn't read anyways. I popped this tape in. A song that I now know by heart started playing. I couldn't understand because it was in english but, man did it sound great.
I don't know which of the many drunks that visited the apartment on the weekends was a Beatle fan but he never found that Beatle tape again. I would listen to it constantly until it just wore out. My mother bought me another one. Eventually I would get all kinds of Beatle stuff.
Like I said, for a long time it was all blue Mondays. For a long time I stayed quiet. I didn't really have any friends. When I would get home the first thing I would do is crank up the Beatle music. Tape or long play, and all of the sudden after a day of having no friends at school, at home I had four friends from Liverpool, England. I sang along with them even though my English sucked. It got better though.
Eventually my mother and I moved out of that apartment. My mother met up with whom would be my step father. Things got worse for me. I didn't get along with this man and to avoid conflict with him I stayed in my room. I ate in my room. I only left the room for school and for the bathroom. It wasn't a big deal. I adapted. I had a record player, I had a tape player. I would sing "Please Please Me", "From Me To You" and "Love Me Do" to keep my spirits up. That music kept me going. It kept me from going insane.
For those who know me, those closest to me, when they hear the Beatles, they think of me. Why? This is because the Beatles are a part of me, my personality, my life. I've had arguments and fights with people who tell me that the Beatles aren't that great. To me they are more than just the greatest pop group of all time, they are saviors. After the first notes hit my ears, I knew that there was more than just a bunch of drunks to life. There was more. The music gave this unspoken message that life is out there, you just got to look for it. Even in the bad times I could count on listening to the Beatles to lift my spirits, something I'm sure has happened to millions of people.
Many years have passed since I wore out that first Beatle tape. In fact the apartment complex where all this happened burned down. I saw the whole thing go up in flames. It had been condemned for some time when the blaze happened. I was out one night with a friend and we saw the streets blocked off and the great bright flames go into the night sky. We parked so we could watch as the fire department tried to put out the fire. I looked through my tapes and popped in one of my Beatle tapes in. I watched it all burn down while listening to some songs from the album "Let It Be". How appropriate. My heart broke a little that night.
Some people might think that this is just an exaggerated rambling of a fan, and that might be true. This is what happened to me. I'm sure similar experiences happened to other people, but this is my story.
I was six years old living in a new country, fleeing from the old one for reasons that are not worth mentioning. Apart from my mother the only other woman I had loved up to that point was my grandmother; my dad's mom. I missed her deeply, at the same time I knew it was going to be quite a while before I would see happy days. In fact it was all blue Mondays for a while.
The thing was or is, is that humans have to have some kind of hope to keep their hearts going. As far as I knew I was human. I needed something to hold onto, something to keep me going.
As most immigrants of the time we lived in what can be called a common apartment. This roughly translates into a small apartment shared by way too many people. Most immigrants of the time were men. Women hardly left the home country; the journey was too long and too dangerous. Some how my mother and I had made it to the great Babylon as one of my friends says.
We shared an apartment with many men. My mother and I claimed the living room as our living quarters, which sucked. I slept on a real crappy couch and my mom slept on the floor. I didn't know any better back then, so I didn't consider these conditions as bad. Innocence saves you from feeling sorry for your self.
The thing about those days I regretted in those days was that I only saw my mother once a day for a couple of hours. She had to work so much and she was so tired I had no one to really spend time with. There were no other children. I would come home from school and the house was empty…my mom at work...all the men at work. It was quite lonesome. I learned to adapt though.
I don't know if it was funny or tragic but the weekends the apartment was full, and it was full of drunks. Like I said most of the people who we shared the apartment with were men. Men from my country tend to drink. Men from my country who are home sick tend to drink a lot. They would buy card decks and make circles and gamble. My memories of those days have a clear picture of what the old can of Miller Lite used to look like. They loved that stuff.
These guys who had claimed one of the bed rooms in the apartment would make their powwows there. It wasn't all laughs because sometimes they would end up fighting. Guys would come flying out of the bedrooms swinging. I don't think it was the typical thing that any kid is supposed to see in any culture growing up. Eventually my mom got so scared of the week end beer fests that when Friday morning would come around she would hide the kitchen knives before she went to work. She didn't want anyone with a third corn chute.
So being surrounded by this type of atmosphere I was not looking forward to too much of a future. Little by little I began to see that we were not in the best conditions. I was quite in school which didn't win me too many friends. Quite kids tend to be the ones picked on. So there was not much to brighten the day.
Thank God for drunks. Every once in a while on the weekends the apartment was so full of people that some drank and socialized in the living room where my mother and I had our bed room, if you want to call it that. One thing that every culture has is drunks. The other thing is that in most cultures where there are drunks there of course is music. The apartment was no exception. The guys had a little jam box. They would sit on the floor and open their beers. They would take out their collection of tapes and play the music.
Most of the music they played was stuff that I really didn't care for. I am surprised of how easily I could sleep in those days. There was a bunch of drunks jamming some real annoying Spanish music and I was out like a light. They would party like that all weekend and when Monday came around I would find this jam box with all these tapes thrown about. Once again, thank God for drunks.
One Monday after school I was bored and since no one was around I started messing with these tapes I found and the jam box. I would put one in and of course I didn't like what I heard so I would take it out. I would put another one in and so on.
Well eventually I came across this white tape with the letters somewhat faded on it. It didn't matter I couldn't read anyways. I popped this tape in. A song that I now know by heart started playing. I couldn't understand because it was in english but, man did it sound great.
I don't know which of the many drunks that visited the apartment on the weekends was a Beatle fan but he never found that Beatle tape again. I would listen to it constantly until it just wore out. My mother bought me another one. Eventually I would get all kinds of Beatle stuff.
Like I said, for a long time it was all blue Mondays. For a long time I stayed quiet. I didn't really have any friends. When I would get home the first thing I would do is crank up the Beatle music. Tape or long play, and all of the sudden after a day of having no friends at school, at home I had four friends from Liverpool, England. I sang along with them even though my English sucked. It got better though.
Eventually my mother and I moved out of that apartment. My mother met up with whom would be my step father. Things got worse for me. I didn't get along with this man and to avoid conflict with him I stayed in my room. I ate in my room. I only left the room for school and for the bathroom. It wasn't a big deal. I adapted. I had a record player, I had a tape player. I would sing "Please Please Me", "From Me To You" and "Love Me Do" to keep my spirits up. That music kept me going. It kept me from going insane.
For those who know me, those closest to me, when they hear the Beatles, they think of me. Why? This is because the Beatles are a part of me, my personality, my life. I've had arguments and fights with people who tell me that the Beatles aren't that great. To me they are more than just the greatest pop group of all time, they are saviors. After the first notes hit my ears, I knew that there was more than just a bunch of drunks to life. There was more. The music gave this unspoken message that life is out there, you just got to look for it. Even in the bad times I could count on listening to the Beatles to lift my spirits, something I'm sure has happened to millions of people.
Many years have passed since I wore out that first Beatle tape. In fact the apartment complex where all this happened burned down. I saw the whole thing go up in flames. It had been condemned for some time when the blaze happened. I was out one night with a friend and we saw the streets blocked off and the great bright flames go into the night sky. We parked so we could watch as the fire department tried to put out the fire. I looked through my tapes and popped in one of my Beatle tapes in. I watched it all burn down while listening to some songs from the album "Let It Be". How appropriate. My heart broke a little that night.
Some people might think that this is just an exaggerated rambling of a fan, and that might be true. This is what happened to me. I'm sure similar experiences happened to other people, but this is my story.
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