 
Juan

By Mike Moss

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1 – Marvels For the Story of Tomorrow

Chapter 2 – Ripples From the Past

Chapter 3 – Crossing Lines

Chapter 4 – Beginning Adolescence

Chapter 5- The Revolving Door Begins
Chapter 6 – Returning to Unknown Territory
Chapter 7 – The Struggle

Chapter 8 – What I Have Become

Chapter 9 - Liberation

Chapter 10 - Infamous

Chapter 11 – The Briefcase

Chapter 12 - Sofia

Chapter 13 – The Consequence

Prologue

Waiting in my cell and wrapped in convicted clothing, the unchanging environment was stale without any tell of time, and my fate undetermined. It could be tomorrow, or the next minute that I could meet my demise. The space between the bars allowed me to see part of the outside, but the view was still unpleasant with more walls that kept everyone inside. Those residing next to me were locked away and waiting like I was, contemplating of who was to die next; most were to spend the rest of their lives in a cell. My feet tapped along the floor as I nervously held onto my appointed and striped clothes that loosely fit around me. Trying to think of something else was impossible. Time was not my friend, and never would be until it defeated me.

My hand reached for my broken comb that I had carelessly laid next to my pillow. As I brushed it through my hair and long beard, I couldn't help but think of my past. Maybe a chuckle from the inside was ready to come out, but instead a blank stare. My life hadn't been cherished until I had reached old age. Naturally, it would be easier to accept my situation rather than deny it, and though it was possibly deserved, none of it seemed important anymore. My past, memories, family, and friends all flashed through my head, telling me the reasons why I was here.

Writing was becoming difficult as my hand lightly pressed over the paper, not wanting to see what was going to develop. Whoever wanted to read this last testimony was welcome to indulge. Many would never know what it was like to wait in prison until the end, unrealistically trying to beat the time served. My nerves sparked through my body as the guard approached from the side with keys jingling to the tune of mockery. A whistled song every now and then helped lighten up the day, but this time, only the keys echoed off the walls. He passed by, giving me a chuckle, and then looked ahead with no sense of concern.

It didn't bother me. Nothing could make me feel any worse than I already was. Hated by society, rejected, and rarely pitied, I was forced into my cell until it destroyed me. Prison was a young man's game, and I was old. We always cheered for the criminal as a kid, but then we slowly wised up and claimed victory over such childish thinking and ultimately sided with the cop. Maybe it was for our protection, or to feel justified, but for me, it was hard to pick a side without knowing the complete story behind it.

My memories had been scattered into pieces, and to put them in order seemed impossible. Starting over from the beginning was the only way to set everything in place. I asked myself what made me do what I did; and I thought of a million reasons. It seemed like one thing led to another, and the intensity only increased, bringing stiffer consequences and catching me up with the system. That's what I was; a product of the system and I was becoming lost in myself because of it. I could no longer provide for myself, though I wanted to, but there was nothing that I could ever do again outside of my confined walls. I had made up my mind to change only when it had become too late. I really wanted to change; although I had said that before. It wasn't doubt but more of uncertainty. Change was a difficult word for anyone like me. It was inherited in humans to adapt, but without starting from the inside, the self-image never improved. My family knew this change was something I would never accomplish. All I could do was send them postcards with drawings, possibly a letter with selected words, but I could never pour my heart out completely to someone living on the outside. I was hesitant at first, and after many rough drafts, I was still timid to send them off.

My hopes are that you read this, and don't judge me too much...
Chapter 1 - Marvels for the Story of Tomorrow

I remember when I was a little kid around six years old being tucked into bed and sung a lullaby. I was kissed on the cheek, and then once I was left alone, I enclosed myself with blankets to protect me from anything evil. The darkness quieted the house, leaving only the bugs to roam free. The door was left cracked open which let in a faint ray of light. I remained still and breathed carefully so I wouldn't make a sound for anything that may be lurking. After a while, I would fall asleep, but every night I feared that I would have to fight off any monsters that were lurking in the dark.

But every morning, my fear switched to curiosity as I stumbled upon new knowledge. I followed my brother around the farmland and through the deserted fields of dead rubbish. Making something out of nothing was what my brother Alfonzo could do. He kept me entertained with bugs, used tires, trash, or whatever object we found. Our imagination did the rest.

My two sisters Maria and Gabrielle usually stayed at home but they sometimes ventured out with us. Alfonzo would usually find something gross like a dead animal and scare them away. But I enjoyed when my older sisters joined us on our adventures. For Alfonzo, it seemed there was something he didn't like about my sisters. They were younger than he was and they challenged the way he played. But ultimately, Alfonzo was always in control of us three siblings since our father wasn't there. I was the youngest and knew the least of what my father was like.

We would walk to the nearest town store and buy bags of seeds for the farm. After we had our supplies, Alfonzo used a wagon to load and transport the seeds. I pushed it from the back while he pulled the front handle. We walked over three miles on a dirt path to the store and then back to the farm, which gave us time to talk.

Nothing exciting ever happened on the desolate land between our farm and the small town. The farm was my aunt's. She was always wearing a colorful apron and would make us soup. For dinner, she mixed together whatever she had in the kitchen and it somehow turned into a delicious meal. On special occasions, she squeezed the leftover fruits into juice.

At the dinner table, we would say our prayers for our dad who lived in Arizona. The United States seemed like a wonderland; almost like a fairytale that had popular Disney characters and a bundle of what everyone wanted in the world. Living south of Arizona made it hard to accept that we were separated.

As we ate, Alfonzo gave me a sly grin with a nod. I smiled back conspicuously, unsure of what his plan was. He was always up to something. The thing about being the younger brother was going along with everything. Sooner or later, I couldn't help but laugh at my older brother; whether it was something mischievous or serious. But I had to be careful and not laugh at the wrong occasion. Alfonzo sometimes took things the wrong way, and I liked staying on his side.

My sisters were always well mannered at the table. They would help mamá before dinner, learning the skills for preparing a meal. They always made an invisible dish for our distant dad. My sisters pretended that he enjoyed the meal, and as everyone finished their food, he complimented their cooking by saying it was 'perfect.'

When dinner was finished, we cleared the table and washed the dishes. It was the duty of my brother and I to make sure everything was returned to the kitchen. We cleaned the table and wiped down the chairs. It was easy compared to my sisters who strenuously scrubbed the dishes and prepared for tomorrow. We always finished before them.

Alfonzo and I ran into his room and made up stories by using shadows with our hands. He always resorted to making a dog with his hands while I made a bird and flew over him. We created more characters and plotted their demise through imaginary stories of heroics. I usually played the bad guy as he appeared and saved the world, defeating my character. He perceived me as the antagonist and someone evil that must be destroyed. I would have enjoyed joining forces to go on a quest together rather than compete against him. I never had a choice but I always went along with it and cheered him on as he defeated the evil character, played by me. I never thought my character was bad, but I had learned to go along with his plot, since he was in control.

After our manifestations of good and bad, we were read a story until we were tired. Mamá herded us to our beds; Gabrielle and Maria giggled into their room and Alfonzo marched into his. I was scared of the dark since my brother had moved out of our room to sleep by himself. I had enjoyed his company and felt safer, but I had to grow up faster, since he was older.

I watched mamá's shadow pass by and enter Alfonzo's room. Moments later, her face appeared through my door as she sat down at the side of my bed, sang me a lullaby, and ended with a 'good night' kiss. I always felt helpless from her departure, but I knew the daylight would come soon and I would see everyone's face again.

The next morning, I was greeted by mamá to get ready for breakfast. Sometimes my sisters would come in and giggle at my laziness. I wanted to tell them I preferred to sleep longer than them, but they liked to laugh about it. Other times, they would pretend I was their baby and they had to get me ready for school. The food they served me was fresh from the kitchen, though mamá didn't agree with my dependence. All in all, they were considerate when they wanted to be.

My brother walked in. "Hurry up. We have to meet with our uncle this morning."

I rolled out of bed and followed Alfonzo into the kitchen. Mamá poured us a glass of milk and set some fresh bread and fruit on the table. As we ate, I stood up on my seat and stretched my arm out to grab a piece of bread. I wanted to grow and be tall, but I was told that 'I needed to be patient.'

Our uncle walked into the kitchen. "So, you boys ready to learn some farming?"

Alfonzo responded, "Yes sir." He ran over to our uncle ready to participate in anything.

"How about you Juanito?" my uncle asked and put his hands on his knees with his head just above mine.

I shook my head yes and took another sip of milk. I didn't know what we were going to do but I always enjoyed spending time with Uncle Hugo. He had broad shoulders and was always dressed in long sleeves. His face never had any hair on it and his reading glasses were always in his front pocket. He sometimes wore suspenders but didn't have them on this morning.

With a skip to our step, we followed Uncle Hugo outside and around the corner of the house. I watched mamá and my aunt take my sisters into the barn where the cow was. Our uncle never bought many animals on the farm, but I remembered him being very proud he had enough to afford a cow.

At the side of the house, was the giant green tractor with a black steering wheel at the top. There was something extraordinary about it that made it look like an amusing toy to climb and ride. Alfonzo's face was in awe as we ran towards it.

"Don't get on just yet," Uncle Hugo ordered, "I have to show you the seat I made for you both."

Stopping our feet to his voice, Alfonzo and I looked at each other with suspense and smiled. Admiring the monstrosity, I waited for Uncle Hugo to load the seeds onto the tractor while Alfonzo assisted with the work. All the bags of seeds we had bought at the store were being used for today's venture.

"Come over to this side," Uncle Hugo said as we followed him around.

Next to the driver's seat was a smaller metal seat with a belt buckle around it. I tried to reach for it but Alfonzo was already climbing up. Uncle Hugo helped me up to my designated seat with Alfonzo and buckled us both in. I felt snug, but Alfonzo kept trying to make more room by pushing me to the side.

"Stop it!" I screamed at him.

He continued doing it, but with more force.

"Stop it. Both of you," our uncle said, "if you two fight, you will not ride the tractor with me."

I scooted back into the half of my seat and ignored Alfonzo's attempt to make more room. Our uncle secured us in and then started the tractor. The engine roared and shook violently as the wheels below us started to move. I could no longer hear Alfonzo and was only able to understand Uncle Hugo when he spoke loudly over the tractor motor. We moved away from the house and into the fields.

Uncle Hugo occasionally glanced at us to make sure we were safe and enjoying the ride. I could feel the tractor work as we drove through each line of dirt in the field. Alfonzo pretended he was driving, still pushing up against my side. With apathy, I copied him and acted as his co-driver.

The tractor toppled over the field and curved though each line of soil in the range. Uncle Hugo sat high in his driver's seat while chewing on a leaf that he fed into his mouth. He looked above him to monitor the weather that maintained a deceitful tranquility. Every now and then, the clouds moved over us, but then the sun peaked through the gaps in the sky. From a distance I could see the house and the land around it. It looked so small when we were far away, but then as we moved closer, I could see the rusty detail of the house and the peeling paint on the barn. I waved at Maria and Gabrielle holding the handles of buckets and carrying them out of the barn. They sneered at Alfonzo and I having a good time.

After we covered the field, Uncle Hugo turned off the tractor and explained to us how to grow crops and have a prosperous season. We sat across from him on the tractor, still wanting to drive around the farm. Alfonzo already knew a lot about farming and would sometimes join Uncle Hugo alone, but I was being included the older I got. When I had the opportunity, I preferred to work with the boys rather than with the girls.

"This is a lot better than school," Alfonzo commented.

"Why do you say that?" our uncle asked. He helped Alfonzo down and then let me fall into his arms. He set me down next to my brother.

"Because it is," Alfonzo replied, feeling he was justified with his statement.

Uncle Hugo smiled and patted him on the head, "Don't forget knowledge is the most important tool to have. Why do you think the tractor was invented? Do you think the hardest working man can produce more than the man who invented the tractor?"

"No," replied Alfonzo, "the man with the tractor will produce more."

"Exactly," said Uncle Hugo, "We need to continue our knowledge or else we cannot grow. When is the last time you went to school?"

"A couple weeks ago," replied Alfonzo.

"And you?" Uncle Hugo asked me.

"Same," I replied.

"We will have to go more often then. Working is hard, but learning about work will help make it easier and more profitable," said Uncle Hugo, "Don't you agree?"

We both shook our heads yes.

"What did I always tell you two about school?" asked Uncle Hugo.

I raised my hand like I was in class, ready to give the answer.

Alfonzo spoke up before I could say anything, "Write to understand and not to copy."

"Very good," Uncle Hugo congratulated, "Were you going to say the same Juanito?"

"Yes," I replied, "Write to understand and not to copy."

"Good! There is no reason to going to school if you only write to copy," instructed Uncle Hugo.

As the evening set in and work became tiresome, everyone gathered at the dinner table.

Uncle Hugo insisted that it was important for us to go to school at least twice a week. Mamá agreed and told us that we were going to attend school tomorrow. Everyone washed their clothes and prepared to wake up early. Lost in thought about tomorrow, it seemed I was the last to doze off as my eyes closed from staring at the ceiling.

The next morning, mamá packed the four of us lunches and inspected our outfits to make sure they were clean. It was an inconvenience for us all since we wanted to start walking to school.

Alfonzo peered into each one of the bags of lunches to see which had the most food.

"They are all the same," Maria said crossing her arms with one eyebrow higher than the other. She handed the lunch to Gabrielle who handed it to Alfonzo.

"I'm choosing my own," Alfonzo replied and shoved the lunch back to Gabrielle. Alfonzo reached over Gabrielle and chose the lunch Maria was holding.

"That's mine!" Maria shouted.

"Not anymore," replied Alfonzo.

Maria chased after Alfonzo with Gabrielle following them out the door. I picked up my lunch from the counter and followed everyone outside. Mamá walked out of the house and stopped Alfonzo to make him switch lunches with my sisters. After giving us hugs and kisses, she told all of us to 'behave.'

Alfonzo was already starting to lead us away from the farm, so we caught up with him to stay together. The school was almost five miles away, and needless to say, it took us some time to walk there.

I glanced at our footprints behind us on the dirt path and listened to Alfonzo tease my sisters. My sisters were walking in front of us as Alfonzo poked them with a stick. I never defended my sisters but I sometimes felt bad for them when it wasn't their fault.

We passed the nearest town where we had bought our supplies for the crops. It was never crowded and the stores were small with the owners standing behind the counter. After we walked through the town in the valley, we hiked over a mountain that shaded the fields in the morning. A path curled around the mountain top and led us to the other side where the school was. It was the shortest way, unless if we wanted to walk all the way around the mountain.

My sisters were distracted by the flowers that grew at the side of the path. Gabrielle picked a purple flower and put it behind my ear. Maria found another and added to it.

"Let's keep going," Alfonzo said, "We need to stay on the path like mamá said."

Gabrielle was picking more flowers when she heard Alfonzo. She caught up with us and grabbed onto Maria's hand. Maria was older than Gabrielle and she had control of Gabrielle how Alfonzo had control of me. She would sometimes detest the things Alfonzo had to say but never raised her voice. I was sometimes glad to have older sisters that stood up for me differently than my brother. He could get serious sometimes, and it seemed my sisters were able to take away his stubbornness.

As we walked downhill from the mountain, the small blue school came into sight at the edge of another small town. Kids that lived on farms and in neighboring towns walked to _Aire Libre_ every morning. Whenever I was at the top of the mountain, I pictured myself as a bird flying over the school with the cool breeze blowing under my wings.

The school had ten classrooms, not including the principal's office and the front office. We approached the blue gate that surrounded the school and walked through the entrance door. A small patio was in front of the principal's office and curved around to where the classrooms were to the side. Wooden blue desks were on the inside with students hunched over them. The sounds of kids talking and yelling were beginning to make me feel nervous, though I had been to school before.

Maria gave me and Gabrielle a kiss on the cheek and entered her classroom. Alfonzo ran to his friends sitting on an outside table and gave them high fives. Gabrielle and I held hands as we entered our classroom.

Mrs. Rodriguez greeted us and gave us a kiss on the cheek. "Good morning! Where have my two little students been all this time?" She was always animated with her hands when she taught her class and liked to read us stories with her puppets.

"We've been farming!" I replied, feeling proud that I had ridden my uncle's tractor.

"How magnificent!" Mrs. Rodriguez exclaimed, "And how about you miss Gabrielle?" She put her hand on Gabrielle's chin and smiled.

Gabrielle blushed, "I've been helping mother around the house. We have been busy bees."

"I'm just happy that you are here. Please take a seat," she instructed.

Gabrielle and I found two seats and sat down next to each other. I recognized some new kids that I hadn't seen before. My friend Antonio was in the front unpacking his materials out of his backpack. We usually ate lunch together and then played games with the other kids in our class. I was looking forward to hear of any new games he had thought of. I tried to get his attention but he was distracted by another kid tapping him on the shoulder.

On the chalkboard were sentences with corrected grammar under each one. Certain words were in different colors, which was appealing to my eyes.

Everyone grabbed their notepads and colored pencils, preparing to copy the sentences. We all selected a black, blue, and a red pencil from our backpacks and looked under our desks for anything the teacher had left us. I had difficulty with writing sentences and became frustrated when I didn't understand something. I rarely practiced when I was out of the classroom, unlike Gabrielle who made her notes pretty and legible. It made me want to sit next to Antonio, whose notes were always messy like mine.

After copying the board, we did some reading. I asked Gabrielle the meaning of words I didn't understand, and she was always nice enough to help me out. I placed my finger under each word and gave her a soft nudge on the shoulder so she could see what I was struggling with.

Soon enough, it was lunchtime. Gabrielle always ate with Maria while Alfonzo spent time with his friends. They were much older than I was, and he never asked for me to join him. I didn't want to anyways and knew I would feel out of place.

I found my friend Antonio and ate with him at the crowded table. There were two new friends with him, and Miguel who always tagged along with us, but he was usually the quiet one. We shared our stories together as I got to know the new friends that were with us.

After eating, we played soccer behind the school in the dirt. We separated into teams and kicked the soccer ball around. We never had much organization when we played but we made the most out of the vacant space. We used the marks in the wall for the goal on one side and a couple backpacks for the goal on the other side. There was never a goalie, so it was always a high scoring game.

We tried to copy the moves of the professionals but were rarely successful. It didn't matter who won, and it only got competitive when it was a close game. Most of the time, someone would chose to be on the other team and then it would be an uneven game.

After lunch, I returned to the classroom with dirty clothes and sat next to Gabrielle. She was drawing the flowers she had picked from the mountainside and showed me her collection of different colored roses.

"That's a beautiful drawing," I commented.

"Thank you," she replied, "I like drawing blue roses because I've never seen one. Mamá says they don't exist, but this will be our secret." She ripped off the paper and handed it to me. "This can be our rose."

"Thank you Gabrielle," I said.

Gabrielle began drawing a rose with her red pencil. "This next drawing will be for my prince, so you can't have it."

I smirked and studied my blue rose, "I don't want a red rose." I folded the paper and carefully placed it in my back pocket. I watched Gabrielle draw her red rose, but she looked to be getting bored.

"You want to hear some advice that Uncle Hugo gave me?" I asked.

"What's that?" Gabrielle asked and paused her drawing.

"He said when you're in school—you need to write to understand—not to copy. He said we will get smarter that way."

"You're already smart," Gabrielle replied, "The rose I drew for you was not copied. It came from my mind. You will have a rose that was pictured in my head forever. It is special and rare."

"I need to draw something for you then, that is special and rare," I replied.

"It's fine Juanito. When you think of something, you can give it to me later. I'm good at waiting."

Mrs. Rodriguez stood up from her desk. "Is everyone ready?" She began writing on the chalkboard. I started copying the notes but thought about what I was going to draw for Gabrielle.

I sketched a bird with wings flying over the school and some blue roses underneath. In the background, I drew the mountain with the two humps we had walked over. The bird took up most of the page but I wanted to make sure the mountain and roses were behind it. I put a smiley face on the bird and made it look like it was soaring high in the sky.

Once I was finished, I passed it to Gabrielle who began giggling in the middle of class. It didn't disrupt Mrs. Rodriguez; however, she looked back momentarily and then continued on with her lesson.

"I love it," Gabrielle whispered to me.

I held my smile, knowing that I had drawn my own bird from my brain just how Gabrielle had drawn me a blue rose.

When our class-time was up, Gabrielle and I said our goodbyes to Mrs. Rodriguez and our classmates. We walked outside together to meet Maria and Alfonzo near the front gate of the school. We watched Alfonzo joke with his friends outside of their classroom until Maria surprised us from behind.

"How was your class?" she asked.

We both shook our heads approving of Mrs. Rodriguez's class.

"We learned a lot. We're going to finish our book tomorrow, but Mrs. Rodriguez gave us a copy to take home and read." Gabrielle held out the faded book for Maria to see.

"I remember this story." Maria flipped through the pages and handed it back to Gabrielle, "Let's go find your older brother and head home. I'm sure mamá has cooked us something delicious."

Gabrielle began licking her lips like she was about to eat a huge plate of food.

"Let's go!" Maria shouted at Alfonzo, but he was still talking with his friends. He held up his index finger, giving himself another minute.

Maria huffed and then turned back to Gabrielle and I. "Let's at least walk to the gate so it looks like we are leaving without him."

We followed her over to the front gate where there was a main passageway for adults and a smaller door for kids. I always enjoyed going through the smaller door when it was open.

Moments later, Alfonzo met us in front of the school. "Alright, let's go," he said.

Maria rolled her eyes and let Alfonso take the lead.

On our way back, we discussed with each other what we had learned from our classes. Maria shared with us her science lecture and then Gabrielle told us about the book we had read in class.

Alfonzo was leading us home with a long stick that he had found at the side of the trail. He smacked the bushes with it and then used it as a walking cane when nothing was in his way.

When the farm and mamá came into sight, we ran towards her and gave her a hug. Alfonzo was running off pretending he was battling the butterflies.

"Alfonzo. Come over here," mamá ordered.

Alfonzo stopped, walked over with the stick in his hand, and gave mamá a hug. She pinched the side of his cheek and tickled his belly. He instantly began laughing.

"Let's go eat!" my mother said happily.

After dinner, we were tucked into bed and went to sleep. I thought about what my father was doing in Arizona. We never heard much from him, but I always pictured him vividly at the dinner table.

The next day we begged mamá, Aunt Rita, and Uncle Hugo to go to school again.

"Tomorrow. But for today, everyone needs to help around the farm," mamá said, "there is too much work that needs to be done."

Alfonzo and I were sent to the store again to pick up more seeds. I was hoping this meant we got to ride the tractor again.

After we checked out of the store, Alfonzo insisted for me to wait outside with the bags of seed while he went inside a different store to buy a pack of gum. I waited and admired the gardens and the neatly decorated houses around me. I was glad that I lived on a spacious farm and didn't have to live close to an unknown stranger.

Alfonzo returned back outside with his hands in his pockets.

"Can I have a piece of gum?" I asked.

Alfonzo ignored me pointed at the wagon, "Let's go."

I walked to the back of the wagon and began pushing while he started pulling.

Halfway back to the farm, I asked him again, "Alfonzo? Can I have a piece of gum?"

Alfonzo dug into his pocket and threw me a fresh piece. I released my hands from the wagon to catch it but it fell through my fingers and dropped near my feet.

"Let's go Juanito," Alfonzo ordered.

I quickly picked up the gum and put it in my mouth, tasting the sugary sweetness of strawberry. I then returned to the back of the wagon and began pushing again.

"Thanks for the gum," I said.

I didn't get a reply but I knew he had heard me.

Ten minutes later, I spat out my gum since it had lost its wondrous flavor.

At the farm, Alfonzo unloaded the bags of seed with Uncle Hugo, and they carried everything into the barn for storage. I wanted to ask him if we were going on another tractor ride, but he looked busy.

"Go ahead and go with your mom for today Juanito," Uncle Hugo ordered, "You will learn farming soon enough, but I only need Alfonzo."

"But I'm a good worker. You'll see," I replied.

"Soon enough," Uncle Hugo repeated.

I glanced at Alfonzo who had a privileged look on his face. "Go see mom," he said.

I ran towards the barn, trying to listen to the instructions Uncle Hugo's was giving Alfonzo, but their voices faded away. It sounded important but I had to dismiss any curiosity I had for them.

Inside the barn, Gabrielle and Maria were sewing over an old desk that looked like it had belonged in a classroom at one time. The inside of the barn was spacious and had a ladder that led up to a second story.

"What are you doing?" I asked my sisters.

"Making dresses for ourselves," Gabrielle replied, "Mine is going to be beautiful."

"Not as good as mine," Maria said and then smiled at Gabrielle.

Mamá walked over, "What are you doing Juanito? Shouldn't you be with the boys?"

"They told me to spend the rest of the day with you. I don't think they need me. I'm too little," I said disappointed.

"No worries son," mamá replied, "you will grow big and strong in no time." She kissed me on the forehead. "You will learn how to sew today then."

My sisters started to laugh.

"But that is for girls," I whined.

"This is a talent once learned, you will be able to use it your entire life. You know... Alfonzo doesn't even know how to sew."

"He doesn't?" I replied surprised.

"No he doesn't, and you will be able to make your own clothes," mamá continued.

"Well... I can do it then."

My sisters giggled again.

"Stop it girls," mamá scolded them.

Maria and Gabrielle moved over for me to sit down. I shared the desk with them as mamá explained to me what she was doing with her hands.

Soon enough, I was sewing my own clothes.
Chapter 2 – Ripples from the past

The seeds we had planted began to sprout, and they grew higher each day until the leaves were above my head. The crops around the farm enclosed us in our own world, making it difficult for mamá to find us whenever it was dinnertime. It was fun chasing Alfonzo through the corn crops and playing hide and seek. When I was hiding, he always found me. My anticipated excitement caused me to giggle out of control, which easily gave me away. With all the suspense involved, part of me was glad I was caught.

We were attending school more often but were told that once the corn was ready, we would all be taking a break to tend to the farm. Uncle Hugo was good at reminding mamá about the importance of school. She would sometimes get in arguments with him, but they always calmed down whenever they noticed someone in the family was listening.

As Alfonzo began working with Uncle Hugo later in the day, I was forced to spend my time with my sisters. Gabrielle always held onto her doll that she adored and combed frequently while Maria tried to show her how to take care of it, sometimes controlling the situation.

Maria and Gabrielle took out some crayons and drew makeup on the doll. I was getting tired of watching their silly games and looked around the barn for something else to do.

"Why don't you join us Juanito?" suggested Maria.

"I don't want to play dolls," I replied candidly.

Gabrielle walked over to me and took my hand. "You can help us prepare her for her dinner party."

"Her outfit is so pretty," Maria commented.

Maria and Gabrielle had sewn tiny clothes to fit their dolls, and the outfits were color coordinated. For their pretend dinner party, a small wooden spool was used for the table and match boxes for the seats.

They ignored my refusal and continued to admire the scene they had acted out. I sat to the side with my arms crossed observing their game.

Exhausted from watching my sisters talk with their dolls, I walked outside to find something to do on my own, deciding it would be nice to go for a stroll through the corn fields. Skipping in the shade, I swept my hands through the leaves that gently shuffled in the breeze. The corn was beginning to tilt out of the branches, signifying that they were almost ready to be picked.

I arrived at the other side of the crops where our property ended near the dirt road. I had never been alone and far from the farm before but continued on with curiosity. Unable to see the barn or house, I pretended that there was an undiscovered land ahead of me ready to be explored.

I stopped for a dead bird that was spread out on the path with ants crawling over it. I kicked it with my foot, which disturbed the ants. They frantically scattered around the bird and began crawling up my shoe, making me to stomp my feet so they wouldn't bite me. The dead bird had spooked me enough to want to return back to Gabrielle and Maria.

On my way back, I was met by Gabrielle. She had a concerned look on her face and held onto her doll against her chest.

"Where did you go?"

"Nowhere. I wanted to walk around the place," I replied.

"That isn't nowhere then," she said, "We need a boy doll for our dinner."

"I don't want to play dolls," I complained.

"Try it out, will you? What makes you think you won't like it?"

"Because girls play dolls," I said righteously.

Gabrielle grabbed my hand and pulled me back towards the barn. "Follow me," she smiled.

I didn't fight and let Gabrielle pull me by the wrist all the way back to the barn where Maria was still setting up the dolls. She had added more spools for tables and match boxes for chairs. The dolls had been dressed with new pairs of clothes and everything looked organized to perfection.

I sat down and watched them play without participating.

The next day, we sewed more clothes, though I was opposed to play dolls with my sisters. They had talked about it all night and thought of ways to include me in their little dinner party.

Instead, I explored the cornfields again. I wanted to see what had happened to the dead bird and how it had changed since yesterday. It was thrilling to be alone as I pretend to go on solo missions, thinking I was the last hope for the world and had to defeat the evil monsters that hid in the fields. I would hide, crawl, and attack the imaginary villains.

I knelt down next to the dead bird that had been devoured by the bugs. I tapped it with my foot and watched everything break apart.

I continued kicking it across the field until most of it separated. It made me think of what happened to the bird once it died. There was no way to know if it could see me mistreat its dead carcass or if it remained in the ground—dead and never to be alive again.

My thoughts were distracted by a faint noise coming from the dirt roads, and it was getting louder every moment. It sounded like car engines and tires crushing the rocks and soil beneath it.

My eyes focused into the distance of what looked to be giant black bugs. It made me think that the spirit of the dead bird I had been kicking was retaliating against me for being mistreated.

Three cars came into view, moving in a line towards the farm. The tires were black and chrome rims shined as they spun. The windows were tinted black, matching the mysterious nature of the vehicle. They stopped on the side of the street with engines still running.

I immediately sprinted back through the corn fields and pretended that the giant black bugs were chasing me down. My feet pounded against the gravel between the gaps in the field. I had to protect the farm from the monsters.

Once I reached the barn, I flagged Alfonzo over who was talking with Uncle Hugo.

"There's someone coming!" I yelled, "Three big black bugs!"

"That's enough Juanito," Uncle Hugo said, raising his hands for me to calm down.

"But..." I trailed off. They ignored me and walked around the barn. Aunt Rita met them on the other side. Mamá was probably busy as well. I decided to tell Maria and Gabrielle who were in the barn.

Inside the barn doors, my sisters were meticulously huddled over their dolls. They probably wouldn't want to join my fight against the giant black bugs, but I told them anyways. "Gabrielle! Maria! Come quick! There are giant bugs coming our way!"

"I don't believe you," Maria said.

Gabrielle nodded her head with agreement. "Why don't you play with us?"

"Because there are giant black bugs outside! Come see!" I persuaded them to follow me to the barn doors. Gabrielle and Maria looked at each other with disbelief and then finally walked outside with me.

"I don't believe you, but we'll help explain what you're really seeing," Maria assured.

"They really are black bugs!" I shouted.

We walked outside as I pulled Gabrielle and Maria with me through the cornfields. They giggled at one another as I led them into through, determined to prove them wrong.

"You have a strange imagination," Maria said behind me.

Gabrielle laughed and asked, "Should we have brought food for the bugs?"

Maria continued, "Yeah, if we are going to have them for dinner, we should prepare to cook them a meal and let them stay in the barn."

"You'll see," I replied.

We reached the other side of the field, and I finally let go of their hands. Our heads scanned the horizon to see nothing around us. The black cars had disappeared.

"But, the black bugs..."

"It's ok Juanito," Gabrielle said. She smiled and looked into the distance, almost hoping I was right.

"Maybe they already crawled into your head making you think you saw them," Maria said, "Or they could have grown wings and flew away."

"That's not funny," I replied, "I saw big black bugs coming our way."

"Come join us in the barn," Maria said, turning around. Gabrielle followed us as she brushed the hair of her doll with her hand.

"We will make you a bug with a pretty dress. How about that Juanito?" Maria asked with a smile.

"No, I don't want a dress on my bug."

Maria pulled me back into the cornfield with her as Gabrielle lagged behind, concentrating on her doll. I continued to look behind me, hoping to see something unordinary like before.

Abruptly, a gun shot rang through the air and echoed into the sky until it faded in the distance. Silence followed, making it seem that time had frozen for the moment. Maria tugged me down, and Gabrielle huddled between us. Her hand grabbed onto my waist as she also held onto Maria.

"What was that?" Gabrielle asked, "that was scary."

Still cowering, Maria slowly stood up, which caused Gabrielle to lean into me.

Another gun shot rang into the sky, intensifying our fear. We sat together holding each other close; Gabrielle began to shake.

"It's ok," Maria whispered. Her voice gained confidence as she continued. "I'm sure it's nothing. When we reach the house, you will see that everything is fine."

None of us had ever heard that noise before, except in the Wild West films from America. The explosions in the movie sounded exactly like the guns that had fired off, but only this time, it was more realistic.

As the farmhouse came into the view, the black cars that I had seen earlier were parked in front of the house. The three cars were still aligned, facing the barn.

"Look," I whispered, "The bugs. They are here to eat us."

"That's not funny," Gabrielle said holding onto her doll.

"What are those cars doing here?" Maria asked. She seemed to have asked herself that question.

We followed Maria close to the edge of the field but stayed behind the corn crops. I noticed both of my sisters finger nails were colored red from the crayons we had in the barn. I was glad I had left them early in the day and skipped their nail painting session.

Maria stopped as Gabrielle and I bumped into her.

"Hey," Gabrielle complained.

"Shhh," Maria turned around and pushed us down, "Look." She pointed ahead of us.

I glimpsed over Maria's shoulder to see Uncle Hugo on his knees with a blindfold around his head. His hands were bounded together with blood over his hands. He was pleading to the men in suits who held guns in their hands and pointed them in his direction.

I had never heard Uncle Hugo weep, especially from pain or desperation.

"What's going on?" I whispered.

"Be quiet and stay low," Maria replied quickly. She put her arm around Gabrielle and made a shushing sound with her finger over her mouth. She glanced at me to assure that I was obeying her command.

More doors on the black cars opened as more men in suits exited. There were over eight searching the farm as two of them walked into the house.

Uncle Hugo's palms were pressed into the dirt and shaking with fear. After begging, he started praying and recited the Lord's Prayer to himself over and over again. A few men in suits circled around him and scanned their eyes around the farm; their guns held tightly in their hands.

I couldn't see Alfonzo anywhere. The last I had seen him, he was with Uncle Hugo. Mamá and Aunt Rita had disappeared as well. The entire farm looked like the energy had been depleted, and Uncle Hugo was in the middle of it alone.

"What is going on?" I asked Maria.

She did not respond. Instead, she put her hand over my mouth.

We remained crouched in a ball together, waiting to see what was going to happen to our uncle. I wanted to help him but I knew whoever those people were, they might do the same to me.

A shriek came from inside the house, followed by dishes breaking and furniture being tossed around. It sounded like a tornado was stirring through the kitchen and into the living room. The screams were finally muffled, and the house quiet.

Minutes later, the two men walked outside holding onto mama who was struggling to break free from their grasp. She violently kicked and screamed as the men carried her out the door and down the porch steps. They quickly put a blindfold over her eyes and a gag in her mouth.

"Mamá..." Gabrielle whimpered.

Maria hugged Gabrielle who broke into tears, and I frightfully held onto Maria and Gabrielle. We stayed out of their sight and quieted our voices, trying to hide the fear that was inside of us.

The men tossed mamá down next to Uncle Hugo who was on his hands and knees. Unable to see each other with the blindfolds, their shaking lips distorted their begging and words were unclear. Mamá's hands were tied together and then she was kicked from the side and fell to the ground.

I wanted to find Alfonzo and Aunt Rita to make sure they were safe. They were possibly somewhere in the house or the barn; or they could be hiding in the fields like we were. I looked behind me thinking that Alfonzo was protecting and guiding us away from the terror.

The men searched the barn and everywhere in the house. They carelessly threw around the furniture and whatever breakable items were set on the tables. After they were finished, they gathered in front of mamá and Uncle Hugo.

A suited man walked out of a black car; he looked to be the boss of the group. His goatee was thick and his long hair was tied behind him in a bundle. With a dominant stride, he set his tie straight and scanned the farm. He stood over mamá and Uncle Hugo and began talking to them with a calm and direct voice. I couldn't understand what he was saying, but he made it seem casual.

After he finished talking with mamá and Uncle Hugo, he widened his shoulders and brought out a cigarette. He sparked it with his lighter and then paced to the side of mamá. He blew the smoke over her face and walked to Uncle Hugo. Again, he blew smoke in front of his face.

He took off the blindfold for Uncle Hugo and then walked back to mamá and pulled hers off. Mamá's eyes were wide and part of her hair was over the side of her face. It was a look that I never saw in her before, and it made me want to cry. Her eyes dwelled on him, pleading with every effort through the rag stuffed in her mouth.

Almost to tease his victims, the man with the goatee snapped his fingers, and two veils were placed over mamá and Uncle Hugo. A suited man walked next to the man with the goatee holding his cigarette. They whispered into each other's ears and then nodded their heads. The man with the goatee watched him retreat to the car and place bottles on the hood of the car. A few other men began helping and pushed rags into the bottles.

Still standing in front of mamá and Uncle Hugo, the man with the goatee reached his hand into his holster and slowly pulled out a gun. My stomach dropped, knowing what guns could do to people.

He dropped his cigarette on the ground and lifted the gun towards Uncle Hugo's head. I wanted to stand up and knock it out of his hand, but Maria quickly grabbed onto me. She was still holding onto Gabrielle and put her hand over her mouth and then over mine. Maria had a collected face but the tears gave her away that she was scared.

The gun was fired, and Uncle Hugo fell from his knees and to the ground. Blood spattered out of his head and flowed through the veil.

Mamá squirmed violently trying to break free, but two men held her down. The man with the goatee checked on Uncle Hugo, tapped him with his foot, and then rolled him over.

From out of the barn, Alfonzo began running towards the men with screams of urgency. His voice shrieked loudly as he held a pitch fork in one of his hands.

The men turned to Alfonzo and slowly walked in his direction, unafraid that they were being charged. Gunshots suddenly fired in the direction of Alfonzo. A bullet struck him in the hand as he fell to the ground and screamed in pain.

Alfonzo was picked up and carried to the man with the goatee. He directed them to set Alfonzo next to mamá who was still being held down. Alfonzo continued to weep and hold his wounded hand tightly. He looked up with hatred at the men for what they were doing.

Suddenly, the man with the goatee slapped Alfonzo in the face. He stood over him with his gun and began laughing, which caused the rest of the men to laugh. Alfonzo cowered to the ground, still holding his wounded hand with all his might and trying to resist from crying

The man with the goatee walked in front of mamá and pointed the gun in front of her face. The men who were holding her down stepped to the side, preparing for a gunshot.

The gun fired, and mamá dropped to the floor. With a grin on his face, he put the gun back into his holster. Both mamá and Uncle Hugo rested motionless on the ground with blood around them.

Alfonzo quickly rose to his feet and then ran towards the men, but was quickly held down. They tied his hands and feet together, leaving him defenseless.

The man with the goatee walked in front of Alfonzo and took out his gun. He pointed it directly between his eyes. Alfonzo fell backwards and tried to crawl on his elbows and knees, but couldn't avoid the gun pointing at him.

We waited for the gun to fire, but something was distracting him, though he continued to point it at Alfonzo. Contemplation was delaying Alfonzo's fate, who was frozen and watching his short life pass in front of him. His eyes were closed tightly as blood dripped from his lips and onto the ground.

The man with the goatee lowered his gun and returned it into his holster. He took out another cigarette and lit it. He ordered his duties to the rest of the men and walked back to the black car. He opened one of the doors and scanned over our farm, flicking his cigarette onto the ground, after only putting it to his mouth once.

Once he sat down in the car, the doors closed after him.

The rest of the men grabbed the bottles from the top of the car and lit the rags on fire that were stuffed inside. Alfonzo was picked up and thrown into the back of the car.

Suddenly, bottles broke against the house and barn. Fire exploded over the walls and ignited quickly, consuming the entire structure.

We remained still in the field with horrid disbelief on our faces, wanting to stop everything from happening.

After the bottles were thrown at the house and barn, the men returned to their cars and took out more bottles with inflammable rags. They dispersed from the car and walked in separate directions towards the cornfields. One of the men walked our way with a bottle in one hand and a lighter in the other.

None of us moved.

He lit the rag and threw it into the crops nearby. The bottle exploded and quickly engulfed the field, creating a wave of heat against our faces. Our bodies leaned away from the fire that was quickly spreading towards us.

The man that had thrown the flaming bottle turned away and walked back to the car.

"Come on!" Maria whispered to us with haste.

The three of us started running from the fire and to the back of the cornfield. Maria led the way, holding onto my hand while I held onto Gabrielle's hand. Our hands were locked, making us inseparable.

We stood at the back of the cornfields with our hands together, observing the conflagration the men had caused. I began to worry the fire would consume mamá and Uncle Hugo, but I remembered they had been shot. Part of me thought they were still alive.

The three of us held each other and cried on the ground until the fire calmed down.

The black cars drove away, maintaining their line on the dirt path. Our heads followed the vehicles until we could no longer see them. I pictured Alfonzo trapped in the back of the car. He was still alive.

Gabrielle asked, "What is happening?"

"I don't know..." responded Maria. She kept the two of us close like a mother to her kids. "We need to check on mamá and Uncle Hugo."

"But what if those men come back?" I asked hesitantly.

"They won't. Whoever they were, they got what they wanted," Maria replied.

"I want mamá!" Gabrielle cried.

We watched the remaining fires turn to ashes. The cornfields had burned quickly as the barn and house collapsed into mounds of burnt debris. The black smoke rose and blew out so everyone miles away could see it.

"They have Alfonzo," I said concerned.

"I know," Maria replied, "we can't do anything about that right now." It sounded more helpless than anything.

After feeling it was safe, we carefully walked through the ashen ground. I would sometimes feel a sudden prick of hotness through my shoes which would make me run. Maria and Gabrielle did the same as we ran over the hot ground towards our home.

Once we arrived to the motionless bodies of mamá and Uncle Hugo, we knew they were dead. Blood seeped through the black hoods that wrapped around their heads. Their bounded hands reminded me of the suffering they went through.

I knelt down next to the body of mamá. My hand clenched her shoulder hoping she would respond. I began shaking her, waiting for her to move to my touch.

Gabrielle knelt next to me and tapped her shoulder. "Wake up," Gabrielle whimpered.

Maria grasped the other shoulder of mama and shook her.

"What do we do?" I asked Maria.

Maria turned around to look at the burning house and barn. She gazed back at the corpse of mamá. "We have to bury her."

"But mamá can't die," cried Gabrielle, "She can't die!" Gabrielle fell on top of mamá and began hugging her body. She nuzzled her head under her chin with her ear to her chest.

Maria walked over to Uncle Hugo and shook his shoulder, but there was no response.

The remaining pieces of the barn collapsed into the burnt rubble. The smoke billowed up and created a dark storm that floated above us. I could feel the dreariness sink from my heart and down to my toes.

Mamá's legs were bent to the side and her arms were folded as she laid face up. It was better that her lifeless eyes were covered, or else I wouldn't have been able to look at her.

In my head, the man with the goatee was distinct, yet calm with an inner animalistic spirit. His calm demeanor frightened me, and I pictured him returning back to finish the job on us. His black suit and authoritative personality were enough to send me running at sight of him. The cigarette that he carelessly threw out the window showed how little he cared about things. His face would forever be imprinted in my brain.

Maria sat down next to Gabrielle who was squeezing her doll next to mamá. I joined the two, nudging myself close to the both of them.

A scream of torment came from the side of the barn.

The three of us remained together and turned our heads to the sound. I could feel Gabrielle shake again.

Aunt Rita appeared from the side of the barn running with her hands on her head.

"Aunt Rita!" Maria shouted.

Gasping with relief, Aunt Rita began thanking god that we were alive. Her feet moved at a fast pace while her arms were held out, already hugging us from a distance. Before she reached us, she screamed at the dead bodies that rested in front of us. She recognized Uncle Hugo on the ground and the blood coming from the veil.

Aunt Rita kneeled over Uncle Hugo and rolled him over, immediately screaming at his limp body. She leaped up and pulled Maria, Gabrielle, and me into her arms. I could see my aunt look at her husband's body from the side of her eye waiting for a response, like we had hoped for.

We moved away from the bodies and grievously watched our burnt plantation release black smoke into the air. I continued thinking that I would be tucked in and kissed good night by mamá, but tonight, it couldn't happen.

Aunt Rita found some blankets that rested on the tractor and set them over mamá and Uncle Hugo. On her way back to us she asked, "Where is Alfonzo?"

I waited for Maria or Gabrielle to answer but they didn't.

"They took him," I finally said, "He's gone."

"I couldn't hold onto him," Aunt Rita said, "He wouldn't listen..."

"Listen to what?" I asked.

"We were hiding and Alfonzo jumped out and ran towards the men. What was I to do?" she said staring at the ground.

"Maybe he will return," I suggested.

Aunt Rita began crying again. I didn't intend to make her feel worse but my comment seemed to have caused her more emotional distress. She wiped the tears from her face. "He was a brave young man. If only we were ready for this. If only we had prepared for disasters like these. I never thought this would ever happen to us..."

"What do we do now?" asked Maria.

"We can't stay here. Everything is destroyed. Our neighbors surely have seen this by now and are on their way... Unless if they saw the people who had done this. They wouldn't dare go outside after seeing those cars drive by."

"Who were they?" I asked.

"Bad, bad people," her voice cracked almost ready to cry again, "They have no regard for humankind. They will push you off a cliff just to see how far down it is. Their cause is no cause."

"Why?" I asked timidly.

"Juanito," she looked into my eyes, "Help me gather what we can. Look for food, supplies... Anything you can find. I need some time alone with Hugo and your mother."

I didn't ask any more questions and stood up with caution. I looked around, thinking of where to start and began feeling sad at the sight of the destruction.

"Take your sisters with you," Aunt Rita said. She put her hand on my shoulder and Maria. "Everything will be ok."

I forced myself to agree and nodded my head. My nose sniveled as Maria grabbed my hand. Holding tight onto her doll, Gabrielle was reluctant to follow us.

Aunt Rita helped move my sisters along and then turned back towards mamá and Uncle Hugo.

"Why is she leaving?" Gabrielle asked.

"She's not going anywhere," I assured her, "she wants us to find anything useful around the farm that's not burnt."

"Come, Gabrielle," Maria said.

Charred pieces of the furniture, walls, and shapes of appliances were all in the same pile of wreckage. The fields were burnt, the barn was reduced to a mound, and everything was black.

I let out a cough from the smoke and lifted my shirt over my mouth. Maria and Gabrielle put their hands over their faces as they struggled with their breathing. We circled around the burnt disaster and watched the remaining pieces of the house crackle and sizzle. I tried to picture my room but couldn't visualize the house anymore. Nothing was worth salvaging.

We waited for Aunt Rita to return. None of us dare disturbed her with mamá and Uncle Hugo. Her shoulders slouched and her face hung down helplessly.

Behind us, a neighbor from the closest farm drove up in his old truck. As he stepped out, he took off his hat and approached Aunt Rita who was over the dead bodies. We followed him to where Aunt Rita was.

"They got you too? Where's Hugo?" he asked, obviously wanting to speak to him.

Aunt Rita continued to weep over the two bodies that rested on the ground, giving him is answer.

The neighbor tightened his lips and shook his head with sadness. With his hat to his side, he took a deep breath and approached the dead bodies. It was silent; then he finally asked if he could help.

After none of us replied, he finally took out a shovel from the back of his truck and dug two graves. We helped him the best we could and then stood over the permanent resting beds of mamá and Uncle Hugo.

"I have some extra room at my farm if you need somewhere to stay?" the neighbor offered politely, "the Molina's farm had the same thing happen to them too. Fucking cartel."

"Thank you for everything," Aunt Rita replied. She kneeled down over the graves and said a prayer. I wiped away my tears and looked at Maria and Gabrielle. Their faces were red and eyes watery.

In what seemed like minutes, we were saying goodbye to the farm, mamá, and Uncle Hugo. It seemed like a bad dream that would never change.

We boarded the back of the truck and waited for the neighbor to start driving. As the car gained speed and the wind began to collide onto our faces, we watched the black and smoggy farm shrink behind us. I sat to the side of Gabrielle who was in the middle of Maria and I. Maria untangled her hair and kept her eyes on Aunt Rita in the passenger seat.

Our neighbor dropped us off at his house and got back into his truck to search for more possible victims at other farms. We followed Aunt Rita into the kitchen. She poured us glasses of water while we sat at the table reeking of smoke. Gabrielle continued to hold onto her doll, and Maria feebly glanced over at us, seeking any kind of console.

"I need to go into town to make a phone call," Aunt Rita said, "We won't be able to stay here for long."

I agreed, and so did my sisters. Nobody asked any questions and watched Aunt Rita search through the kitchen for any supplies. It felt awkward to be a stranger in someone else's house. Our farm was bigger compared to our neighbor's farm, which seemed foreign and compact.

"Stay here in this room until I return," Aunt Rita ordered.

We shook our heads and stayed quiet while she was gone. I stared at the water in my glass until someone spoke, though it didn't hold conversation.

Our neighbor returned before Aunt Rita. His exhausted face showed frustration, but his expression changed once he started talking with us. We informed him that Aunt Rita had gone into town and was coming back soon. He cooked us a light meal and ate it with us. He didn't know what to say or do until Aunt Rita returned.

Later that night, she knocked on the door and sat down at the table with everyone else. She said a few words to our neighbor in private and returned to the kitchen.

"Where'd you go?" asked Maria.

"Trying to find help," she said. She looked over at our neighbor, who started cleaning the dishes. "You are so kind to help us in a time of need. But just know we do not plan to be a burden and stay longer than tomorrow."

"You are welcome here any time," he smiled, "If you need a lift into town tomorrow, please let me know." His face displayed worry but he didn't argue with Aunt Rita's decision. "Let me show you where you can sleep."

We followed him down the hallway and into a room with two twin sized beds. He opened the closet, took out a stack of blankets, and set on the floor.

"This is all I have for now, and please excuse me for the mess. I wasn't expecting company."

"We understand," responded Aunt Rita, "you are very generous."

"Let me know if you need anything else... And it's fine that you stay longer, if you don't mind the cramped space," he offered again.

"Thank you so much," Aunt Rita said thankfully.

He left us to our room.

We slowly separated the blankets to each bed. Aunt Rita sat down on the far bed while the three of us climbed onto the other. Maria unfolded the blanket and set it at the foot of the bed, ready to spread it over us.

"Get some rest," said Aunt Rita, "Tomorrow we have a lot of traveling to do." She turned away from us and lied down on the bed. Her weeping sounds were obvious, but we didn't say anything to interrupt her.

We arranged ourselves on the twin bed and tried to fall asleep. I was at the edge with little room, trying not to be pushed off. Once we were finally settled in comfortable positions, we listened to Aunt Rita cry across from us.

I wasn't able to go to sleep until two hours later. Aunt Rita had finally fallen asleep, but I could hear her dream, like she was reliving the losses of today. Gabrielle was having nightmares and couldn't stay still between us. Maria calmly woke her up, and then with a gentle voice, told her to go back to sleep. After settling down, Gabrielle turned her face towards me. My eyes were open and met hers. Before I thought of saying something, she closed her eyes.

I did the same, hoping to fall asleep.
Chapter 3 - Crossing lines

The next day, our neighbor drove us into town. He wished us 'good luck' and reminded us that if we needed anything, he was always home. Aunt Rita didn't want us to stay any longer than we had to, and she continued to talk to us with desperation in her voice. Her haggard appearance, frizzy hair, and drained eyes were different from yesterday morning when she was cooking breakfast with mamá.

Aunt Rita guided us down the street, reminding us to stay together. My sisters were always within arm's reach of me, and we were ready to protect ourselves from the strangers in the street; though, a glance from anyone would uncover the fear on our faces.

The sun warmed the day quickly as we passed the food shop where Alfonzo and I had bought seeds for the crops. It felt different without Alfonzo, and I wanted him to be alive and looking after me, but he was only in my mind. We crossed the street and walked along the grass in the courtyard. Aunt Rita stopped in front of a public telephone and started pacing behind the person currently using it. She looked at us with a grimace on her face and then leaned against a light pole. She hadn't told us what she intended to do or what was next, but we all stayed calm and waited for her next move.

"I don't like black bugs anymore," I commented, "it feels like they are everywhere."

"I don't see any now," Gabrielle replied.

"No matter where you go, there are always bugs, Juan," Maria said rudely.

Gabrielle looked discomforted and scratched her shoulders. "We just got the bad bugs."

I glanced at Aunt Rita inattentively staring at us with no movement her eyes. I moved my hand in front of her sight to see if she noticed, but she continued to stare. "Aunt Rita?"

Her eyes moved to mine and focused. "Sorry Juanito. What is it?"

"Nothing," I replied, "Are you ok?"

"I am fine, thank you." She didn't sound convincing, but I knew she was still thinking about Uncle Hugo.

"She's thinking of the bugs too," Maria said.

"Everything's fine," Aunt Rita said, "Nobody has any bugs."

Maria became silent and crossed her arms. I could tell she was thinking of the black cars and suited men destroying our farm. She was tough minded, but staying calm seemed difficult for her. Still holding onto her doll, Gabrielle stretched her arms out in front of her and yawned. It reminded me of being in Mrs. Rodriguez's class with her. She would occasionally do that when she was either tired or bored.

"What are we doing here?" asked Maria, "And where do we go next?"

"That is what I am finding out right now," replied Aunt Rita, "stay calm."

"Are we going to be homeless?" Gabrielle asked, holding her breath.

"No. That is not going to happen, Gabrielle."

The man in front of us hung up the telephone and walked away. Aunt Rita inserted some change and began pressing numbers on the dial-pad. Her head turned in our direction. "Why don't you go play in the grass while I make this phone call."

Gabrielle and I began walking away, having to pull Maria with us. She seemed interested in what Aunt Rita's plan was but wasn't getting any information.

"C'mon Maria," Gabrielle said.

She turned with us but glanced back to see if she could hear anything. Aunt Rita turned her body away from us and began talking with the operator, trying to connect to a number. We created some distance from her and stayed together, however, we did not find the need to make a game or play in the grass. Instead, we tried to eavesdrop on Aunt Rita's conversation.

"Who do you think she's calling?" asked Maria.

"Beats me," I replied, "She'll probably tell us when she figures it out."

"I want to do something to help," said Maria, "I'm the oldest now."

"Unless if Alfonzo comes back," I replied.

"Do you think he's just going to appear in front of us? I don't think so."

"He might be around..." I trailed of and looked into Maria's eyes that were confident, yet frightful.

We listened to Aunt Rita argue on the phone as her voice gained strength. She was asking for money and help but wasn't getting the response she wanted. She glanced over at us and lowered her voice so we could no longer hear.

"It sounds like we're in trouble," said Maria, "we need to find some money to help."

Gabrielle moved her doll's hair around with her fingers and then hugged it tight. I began talking with Gabrielle about her doll while Maria thought of ways to help Aunt Rita, though she didn't know where to start. The venders selling their food walked on the courtyard pathways as families approached them with coins in their hands. It made me realize that having money made life easier.

After Aunt Rita was finished with her phone call, we took a bus to a friend's house in town. We didn't stay long, but Aunt Rita had us try on dressy outfits. In the living room, Maria and Gabrielle changed into their dresses with colorful hair-ties. I was fitted into a suit and tie, and was instructed to 'keep it on' for our travels.

"Why are we dressing in these outfits, Aunt Rita?" asked Gabrielle.

Hesitant at first, Aunt Rita answered, "We are going on a long trip and we need to dress appropriately." She looked to me. "Does that fit you well Juanito?"

I straightened my body and examined the sleeves, feeling comfortable but hot. "Yes."

"Excellent," she replied, "I'm going to change into something more comfortable."

"Where exactly are we going?" Maria asked.

"To America," she replied, "Everyone needs to look their best."

Our eyes lit up with excitement. I exchanged looks with Gabrielle who formed a smile. Maria exhaled a deep breath and then followed Aunt Rita into the other room with more questions.

"Why do we have to dress up?" I asked Gabrielle.

"I don't know, but this must be special." Gabrielle's dress was yellow and extended past her knees. Despite her dirty and uncombed hair, she looked proper and ladylike. Maria looked the same.

Aunt Rita returned wearing a civilized tan dress and a necklace. Her old dirty shoes were noticeable, but we didn't say anything. She immediately walked over to us to inspect our outfits and fix our hair. After she approved our appearances, her friend came into the room with water jugs and a backpack of food. Slightly overweight, and with a pointy nose, she joyfully looked at Maria and Gabrielle in their dresses, admiring how cute they looked, then fixed my tie that was around my neck. She brushed off my shoulders and then smiled with awe.

"Aunt Rita?" asked Gabrielle, "When can we take this off?"

"Once we arrive," she replied, seemingly annoyed from all of our questions.

"Will we see dad?" Gabrielle asked.

Maria's eyes quickly looked to Aunt Rita for an answer.

"Yes," she replied, "he will be meeting us. But we will discuss arrangements once we get to the other side. He hasn't seen his family for a long time and he will be impressed at how distinguished his son and two daughters look."

"What about Alfonzo?" I asked with worry.

"He is being searched for as we speak, but nobody dare step on the front door of the cartel."

Her friend interrupted, "Need any more water?"

"We will be fine, thank you. I don't want to carry too much." Aunt Rita brought us all together. "Go to the well and drink all the water you can drink. We need to stay hydrated." She unzipped her backpack and moved the food around the inside. She then lifted the two water jugs to test their weight, preparing to carry them with her for the trip.

My sisters and I walked out to the well. We stood around it until Maria began pumping the water for us to drink.

"I can't wait to see dad," Gabrielle said.

"I know," I replied, "he's going to be so happy to see us."

Maria poured the water into small cups and then handed them to us. "Start drinking. I have a feeling we may need as much as we can."

"Why?" asked Gabrielle.

"Just drink the water Gabrielle. You too Juanito."

I thought about what my father looked like and pictured him in America giving us a hug. He must have heard what had happened to the farm and his family. The tragedy was unavoidable, and he wasn't there to protect us.

Later that night, we boarded a bus and left the only town we knew behind us. I shared a seat with Gabrielle, and Maria had her own seat next to us. Aunt Rita sat behind us and continued to rummage through her backpack with her two jugs of water at her feet. She was becoming more nervous the further we got. I now understood that we were preparing to walk across the border from Mexico to America.

"Please children," Aunt Rita said from behind us, "Get some rest. Everyone is going to need it."

Despite the bumpy terrain and cramped space, I enjoyed having someone next to me when I closed my eyes. When I looked at Maria, she was fighting to keep her eyes open, but she finally dozed off—that's when I fell asleep with Gabrielle's head on my shoulder.

As dawn approached, we woke up in the darkness from Aunt Rita standing over us. The lights suddenly turned on from inside the silent bus of everyone sleeping. The driver alerted everyone that we had arrived at our destination and it was time to get out. Aunt Rita guided us down the steps and to the side of the street. Dirt clouds were stirred up from everyone walking around and grabbing their luggage from underneath the bus. The bus lights dimly lit the streets, so Aunt Rita turned on her flashlight and helped us walk along the side of the road.

"Listen up children," she said, "Remember that I will always have the flashlight at night. You will follow me through the desert. It will be a long hike, but your father will be meeting us on the other side. No talking unless I say so. If you see someone, tap me on the shoulder and whisper it to me. Do not yell out or create any noise that will make us be seen. If I turn this flashlight off, everyone needs to stop, lock hands, and then kneel down so no one gets lost."

"Our dad is on the other side?" I asked.

"Yes he is, but we have to walk a ways on foot before we see him."

"We can't take a bus?" asked Gabrielle.

"No," Aunt Rita said looking into the dark desert, "That is not an option."

I realized Aunt Rita was carrying a lot. In one hand, she held the flashlight with a water jug and in her other hand, she was holding the other jug. A backpack was tightly strapped over her shoulders.

"Do you need help carrying anything?" I asked.

"I am fine. Focus on walking and let me know if you need water. We are hiking into the desert and will be getting into another car that will take us to your father. Other hikers will be with us, but they mean no harm and want to get across just like us."

I didn't like to see her carry everything, but she wasn't going to be persuaded otherwise. I continued to monitor her as she occasionally tried to adjust her dress with her hands full. According to Aunt Rita, it was necessary to dress formally, especially for my father.

I was beginning to sweat in my suit, and wished that I could wear my comfortable shorts. Gabrielle and Maria were still in the dresses; Gabrielle dressed in yellow and Maria in blue. My suit was black with some red in it, and I was beginning to think that it was too tight on me.

"Follow me children," Aunt Rita said, "we cannot waste any time."

I could hear the water move around in the jugs that Aunt Rita held. Like usual, Gabrielle and Maria stayed close together with me. We were all scared of the foreign territory and didn't know what to expect in the silent night. The flashlight shined over the dead bushes and lizards that scurried across our path. The moon and stars helped brighten the desert floor. I remembered Alfonzo and I enjoyed playing games in the crops when the moon was full. We chased after each other until one of us gave up or Alfonzo declared victory.

As we treaded into the desert, I could feel the bushes sweep over my pants and push the cloth against my legs. Maria and Gabrielle began to complain to me that they were getting scratched. Aunt Rita didn't seem to mind our talking as long as we were quiet. We sometimes stopped to drink the jugs of water, only for seconds, and then continued walking.

I looked behind me to see nothing but darkness. Although we seemed lost, we continued to follow Aunt Rita and listened to her commands. I could see the outline of dead trees in the moonlight and the bare desert landscape of shabby bushes. A warm breeze sometimes blew against my face, helping relieve the heat trapped in my suit.

Ahead, I could hear the sound of a truck rumbling as more people appeared in front of us. For the most part, it was quiet, but I could hear some talking and movements of bodies boarding the rear of the truck. Two seats were available in the front but the giant bed in the back could sit many people.

"Stay right behind me," Aunt Rita instructed.

She approached the driver and handed him a roll of money. He sifted through the cash and directed us to the back of the truck. He glanced at us with his dark eyes and then returned to the front of the truck.

Aunt Rita helped the three of us in and then entered herself. She sat closest to the door as we crammed in and leaned against each other. Her water jugs and belongings stayed at our feet..

"We are taking a big risk, children," she said cautiously, and looked around at everyone sitting across from us. Small benches were on each side against the truck walls and a pile of hay was in the middle. Across were families like us; men and women holding onto each other. The only other kids were a little girl and her brother sitting quietly in the corner. I counted over twelve people in the back of the truck, and there was room left for two more.

"Take some food." Aunt Rita handed all of us a tortilla.

They tasted plain, but I didn't care since I was hungry. All of us began chewing on our tortillas as Aunt Rita passed us a jug of water to share. As I ate, I looked around at the faces in front of me, only able to see the eyes. Aunt Rita had turned off her flashlight, and I was still adjusting to the darkness.

Two more men entered the truck as we all moved over so they could sit down.

"I'm scared," Gabrielle whispered into my ear, "we don't know anybody in here."

"They won't hurt us. They are going to America like we are."

Aunt Rita hushed us and then offered us another tortilla. We all declined, feeling uncomfortable with our current situation. I wanted to eat at the dinner table on the farm with my family and think about what we were going to have for breakfast.

Gabrielle was still holding onto her doll, chewing the last of her tortilla. Maria passed the jug of water back down to Aunt Rita who then put it back under her feet. Small and quiet conversations occurred around us but they were quick and to the point. Most of the time, it was quiet.

Suddenly, the door was pulled down and slammed shut. I could no longer see out the back and felt Gabrielle hold on to me. Aunt Rita turned on her flashlight and pointed it down to the ground, which helped light up the truck bed. My body was sweating in my suit, and a shortness of breath felt agonizing from being stuck in the stuffy truck. Everything began to heat up quickly, making me wish I was outside and walking.

Aunt Rita turned off her flashlight.

The truck slowly started moving as the engine worked hard to gain traction. Our bodies swayed with the movement of the truck driving over the dirt paths and taking sudden turns. I started picking pieces of hay from the mound in the middle and twirling it to pass the time.

The truck hit a bump, causing everyone to bounce in the air. We quickly adjusted ourselves back to where we were. Aunt Rita told us to move closer to her but we were already next to her. Maria was on the far end of Gabrielle and me. She was pushing us towards Aunt Rita while Gabrielle and I were being squeezed together.

"Can I take off my suit?" I asked Aunt Rita, "I'm sweating in it."

"Not yet," she replied and offered me more water.

I took a jug and began drinking, spilling some of it over myself. I then offered my sisters some after finishing.

"Are you hot in those outfits?" I quietly asked my sisters.

They whispered no. It was difficult to see the expressions in the dark but they didn't seem to be sweating as much as I was. I drank some more water to help my frustration.

The truck stopped again and loaded some more people in it. They all climbed in and sat down on the hay in the middle and faced us at a close distance. The door quickly shut and the truck began moving again. I could feel everyone's feet moving over my shoes. The congested feeling made me move my body to try to alleviate the uncomfortable feeling.

"Aunt Rita," I whispered, "How long is this going to be? It's too crowded in here."

"Soon Juanito," she replied.

We hit another bump. Bodies slammed into me and hands grabbed onto my knees to hold their own balance. The faces were obscure but I heard them apologize for their incidental intrusion. I leaned my head back and tried to create some distance from them, waiting with anticipation to exit the truck.

Hours later, the truck came to a stop and was followed by an hour of dreadful silence. We expected the door hatch to click open so we could see the rising sun, but it stayed closed. A man started banging on the wall that separated us and the driver, but there was no response. Panic stirred inside the truck and the shouting forced me to put my hands over my ears. The louder it was, the more trapped I felt.

There were no windows to see what was happening around us. Everyone started banging on the truck walls with their fists and cursed at the driver who wasn't responding.

More time passed by, and everyone concluded that we had been left. Normally there was movement at the front of the truck or someone talking, but this time, it was silent outside.

Aunt Rita leaned her head over to us. "Stay close. Everything is fine."

"Are you sure?" I asked with uneasiness.

"Yes. I'm sure." She began to push her palms against the sturdy wall.

A man stumbled forward and climbed over everyone to get to the main door. He asked everyone to move back so he could try to free us. He let out a grunt and then rammed into the door with his shoulder. Two more men made their way forward to assist him. Once ready, they counted to three every time they were about to slam into the door.

Aunt Rita gathered us close, acting like a shield from the consecutive bangs.

Two more men joined the door, making it five. The truck continued to shake as everyone worked together to force the sliding door open. More light crept through the sides as the door began to bend and create an escape. The five bodies continued ram the door until it folded over and one of the men could crawl through it. Once he was outside, a sense of relief soothed the worry of everyone.

One by one, the closest person climbed out from the opening. Aunt Rita pushed me forwards as I climbed out to meet a man with a baseball cap helping me to the ground. Maria and Gabrielle were next. Lastly, Aunt Rita crept through, handing us her water jugs and backpack. We helped her down and then watched the remaining people exit.

"The drivers left us!" yelled a man after inspecting the front of the truck.

It began to stir up controversy among everyone around us.

"They took the keys!" shouted another man.

Many walked around the truck and tried to scavenge anything they could find, but it was empty.

"Children," Aunt Rita said, pulling us together, "come into the shade."

We followed her to the other side of the truck in the shade as she poured the rest of the water from one jug into the other, throwing the other aside.

"What do we do?" asked Maria.

"We walk away." Aunt Rita held up her water jug. "We must conserve this water because people will want a drink soon. We must cross the border."

"What about the truck?" I asked, "Aren't they coming back?"

"I doubt it," she replied, "the drivers only wanted our money... How could we be so foolish..."

I watched everyone inspect the truck engine and try to use anything they had in their pockets to start the truck. I then looked down at the side and noticed the tire was flat. "Look Aunt Rita," I said, "that tire doesn't have any air in it."

Aunt Rita bent down. "So it doesn't." She paused and looked around. "We must go."

"Across the border?" Gabrielle asked.

"Yes."

We followed her, leaving the truck and everyone else behind. I tried to pull the tightness away from my suit that constricted my neck, but I was only able to gain a bit of space.

"How do you know we are walking in the right direction?" asked Maria.

"We are walking to the side of the rising sun in the east. It will change from our right side in the morning to our left side in the afternoon. We are going the right way."

"It seems like we are going uphill," commented Gabrielle.

Continuing north, we separated ourselves from the group near the abandoned truck. In each direction was nothing but dry landscape. Much of the plants looked starved from water and the branches were brittle whenever I stepped on them.

"We need to find some shade for the day. It's getting hotter out and we'll be traveling by night," said Aunt Rita, "I want everyone to look for a good amount of shade; preferably a big bush or a tree with a lot of shrubs over it."

I began searching around the wasteland for somewhere to rest, noticing that the dry ground wasn't sustainable to grow any crops or a shady tree. The atmosphere had changed and it was hotter as the sun rose. Maria pointed out possible resting places but there was not enough shade for all of us. Aunt Rita passed around the water jug and told us to drink only what we needed, for we had to save the rest for the journey ahead.

Ahead was a long fence that extended across the desert and was no taller than my head. Maria tried to touch it, but immediately pulled her hand away from the spikey cables. The fence spread across the metal poles sticking into the ground with no end in sight.

"Is the other side America?" I asked.

"Maybe," replied Aunt Rita, "but I don't think so. We might have already passed through."

"How do we tell?" asked Gabrielle.

"I don't know," Aunt Rita replied. She took out a map that was stuffed in the small compartment of her backpack and began to study it. I stepped behind her to read it with her. I was beginning to realize that Aunt Rita didn't have the answer to most of our questions.

"Everything looks so different on a map," I commented, "You can actually see the lines."

Aunt Rita had marked her route on the map and followed it with her finger. "A map can sometimes be misleading if you read it wrong. Let's hope we are on the right path."

"I trust you," Gabrielle said.

"Me too," I added and looked at Maria.

She nodded her head, "So where do we go?"

"Forward," Aunt Rita said. She carefully set her water jug and backpack over the fence and then tried to bend the spiky cables so she could fit through. "This is going to be a tight fit, but if one holds the top wire up and the other holds the bottom wire down, we can squeeze through."

I grabbed onto one of the cable as my finger pressed against something sharp. My arm swung back, "Owe! It's sharp!"

"Yes Juanito," warned Aunt Rita, "You need to be careful. Use these rags to put over it." Aunt Rita handed us some rags so we could wrap them around the sharp wire and not get punctured. Once we established our grip, Maria and I held the fence for her to go through. Aunt Rita slowly stepped over the bottom cable and then bent her body between the opening.

Aunt Rita stepped away from the fence and moved her hands on the cable for us. "Your turn. Nice and slow, and you'll get through safely."

She held it for Maria and I as we made it through. Maria had some trouble with her dress but she was able to hold it tight against herself so she didn't get stuck. We both stood up slowly, thinking the fence was still over us, and helped Aunt Rita hold the fence for Gabrielle.

"Ok Gabrielle. Your turn," Aunt Rita said.

We held the cables open for her as she stepped through with one foot on each side, but her dress fell over the bottom wire. It stopped her progress as she held her hands forward for Aunt Rita. She tried to rip it out, but in doing so, her head lifted into the spiky cables above her. Maria and I tried to pull her dress out of the spikes as Aunt Rita held the fence for us.

"Try to walk back and then start over," Maria suggested.

"Yes," Aunt Rita agreed, "Let's try that."

Gabrielle slowly made her way back as we worked her hair out of the tangled wires. She ripped her dress but was finally free from the fence, though still on the other side.

"Ok let's try again," Aunt Rita said, pushing up the fence as high as she could. Maria and I were holding down the bottom cables for her.

Suddenly, a siren blasted through the air, catching our attention to look behind us. In the distance, we could see a white and green car with stripes on the side and a siren above it.

"Quick! Hide!" Aunt Rita shouted, "Find a bush. Find somewhere out of sight and then we'll meet back here."

"What do I do?" asked Gabrielle who was stuck on the other side. Her eyes looked frightened as her breathing quickened.

"We will meet back here once they leave!" Aunt Rita replied and grabbed onto Maria and I. Her grip loosened from my arm, leaving me behind.

"I want to hide with Gabrielle," I said and ran back to the fence where Gabrielle was.

"Juan! Come!" Aunt Rita demanded. She was already distant and looking back with urgency. Maria was being pulled with her as they ran down the fence line, trying to stay low and avoid being seen by the car that had impeded our progress.

I focused back to Gabrielle and held out my hand to her. "We can go hide behind that bush." I pointed to a bush on my side that didn't seem worthy to hide in, but it was a start.

"I can't cross," replied Gabrielle, "I always get stuck. Come back to this side."

"Fine." I tried to step through the fence, but my tie got caught in the spikes. "Now I'm stuck Gabrielle. Help me out," I grunted.

Gabrielle laughed at me and stepped forward to try to pull me out. "If Aunt Rita didn't dress us in these outfits, we could have got through." She reached for my tie and began to tear it off. As she readjusted her position next to me, her dress became entangled in the fence again.

"I'm going to go back to my side, and you do the same so I can to pull you through," I said frustrated.

"But it will ruin my dress," she replied.

I sighed with frustration, "Just hold still while I undo your dress from the fence."

A man cleared his throat from behind us, causing the both of us to stop. A faint chuckle from under his breath turned into a cough. Not wanting to look behind me, I watched Gabrielle stare at him. She opened her mouth to speak at first, but then stopped.

With the little English that she had learned in school, she said, "Help."

I finally looked behind me to see a man dressed as an officer, and another officer was walking from behind him to join.

"What do we got here?" he said with entertaining tone.

"They must be leaving a party," chuckled the other officer.

I tried to pull myself away to speak to them but was stuck, like Gabrielle.

"Help," Gabrielle said again.

"Just like a trapped coyote," murmured the officer.

"The pack must be close by," his partner said.

I continued tugging on Gabrielle's dress to try to separate her but was having trouble releasing myself. I turned my head towards the officers, thinking they were going to help us, but they watched us struggle with the fence.

"We'll leave the lovely couple to themselves. They aren't going anywhere," the officer said.

"Help!" Gabrielle yelled out.

Their footsteps began to walk away from us and their voices slowly faded until it was just Gabrielle and I. Gabrielle put some of her weight on me, disappointed like I was that they had left us.

"Where are they going?" asked Gabrielle.

"I don't know, but they were American," I said with awe. I wanted them to help, but it was my first interaction with someone from a different country. "Do you know what they said?"

"No. I didn't think they understood what I was saying..." It was silent for a moment as we remained tangled in the fence, trying to free each other.

I gave Gabrielle a nudge, "Try to pull your dress now." I had freed most of her dress and began to work on my tie.

Gabrielle pulled herself away, but ripped the side of her dress, exposing her leg. She stood over me and watched the striped car drive away. Its siren turned on again as it drove in the direction that Maria and Aunt Rita ran.

"Why wouldn't they help us?" asked Gabrielle.

"I don't know. Get me out of this fence." I began ripping my tie but it was still raveled around the spiked wire.

"Just take off your tie," suggested Gabrielle, "You ruined it already."

I loosened my tie and left it on the fence as I moved back to free myself. "That was easy, and now I feel like I can breathe." I unbuttoned the highest button, feeling rebellious since Aunt Rita wasn't around to tell me to dress decorously.

"Where did the Americans go?" asked Gabrielle.

"I don't know," I replied, "Come through the fence so we can go find Maria and Aunt Rita."

"I get stuck every time though."

I grabbed onto my tie hanging on a cable and pulled down as hard as I could. "Hold your dress and step through. You can do it."

Gabrielle tightly held her dress against her body and folded it in front of her. "Here I go."

She stepped through as I continued to pull down on the cable she was stepping over. She turned her body as she moved to my side and put both of her feet down next to me. A piece of her dress hooked onto a spike, but I quickly yanked it off.

"Hey! Stop it! I already lost a bunch."

"It was caught," I said, "Stop worrying about your dress and let's go find Aunt Rita and Maria."

"But she told us to stay here," she replied.

I stopped my forward progress and remembered what Aunt Rita had said. We were to wait by the fence. "Let's go sit in the bush over there. It will give us some shade." I unbuttoned the rest of my suit, which let in a breeze, and walked over with Gabrielle to the lifeless bush.

"We should find those men," Gabrielle suggested, "maybe they can help us look for Maria and Aunt Rita."

"We will see if they come back."

We sat together in a bush and waited until the sun was directly above us.

Aunt Rita finally appeared, walking along the side of the fence. We immediately ran over to her and gave her a hug. She seemed despondent from our excitement to see her and guided us away from the fence.

"You should have come with us Juanito," commented Maria.

"We are all together now," said Aunt Rita thankfully, "that's what matters. Come children. I found a large bush with some shade that will protect us from being seen."

"Seen from those men in the striped car?" I asked.

"Yes."

We followed Aunt Rita through the bushes and dead limbs that hung off the thirsty trees.

"The Americans didn't even help us get out of the fence," I said.

"Aunt Rita? Why did you leave so quickly and leave me on the other side," asked Gabrielle.

"I'm sorry children." Aunt Rita stopped and thought about my comment. "They saw you? Who's they?"

"The Americans wearing uniforms and hats," I replied, "And then they left us in the fence. They might come back."

"Let's hope they don't," said Aunt Rita.

"But don't we need help?" asked Gabrielle.

"We do, but not from them." Aunt Rita guided us under a large bush that had an opening for us to crawl under. "We wait in here until night. Then we have a lot of walking to do."

As we all settled in under the bush, Aunt Rita passed around her jug of water to us and some food from her backpack. After she questioned us about the American officers, we talked about what our dad was doing and when we were going to see him. We had a lot of time to make up stories about my dad, and then Aunt Rita told us some funny habits about him. She glanced at my suit like she wanted to fix it, but didn't say anything. I was relieved because I didn't want to feel uncomfortable. After she looked at Gabrielle's dress, she assumed that looking nice was no longer an option.

As the sky darkened and the desert creatures roamed the desert floor, we exited our bush and began walking north. Aunt Rita maintained a fast pace as we had to keep up with her. None of us knew how long of a walk it would be, but I felt like it would last more than the night.

We walked all night with a half jug of water remaining. After our long night-walk and no involvement with anyone, we found another bush and fell asleep during the day. We ate tortillas with some grain bars and were told that we needed to conserve the water the best we could. Aunt Rita didn't drink any water and left the rest for us, but we convinced her to take a sip. It was quiet for the most part, except for the sound of a vehicle once or twice, but we were told to remain calm and quiet until it passed. Aunt Rita continued to study the map, and grew concerned as the night approached again. This was going to be our second night of traveling and she didn't have an answer for any of our questions, especially for how long our journey through the desert was going to take.

The moon displayed a sliver of light, like the nail on a finger. I thought of how far away we were from the farm and if it would ever be rebuilt. Going back seemed like it would bring back haunted memories and leave me crying with my sisters. It didn't feel like home anymore, except for the good memories in my head.

My unbuttoned suit was covered in dirt and small rocks that had found their way into my shoes. Gabrielle had dirt marks on her face from her hand wiping her sweat off. Maria's blue dress was still intact but the filth was blemishing the color. The darkness helped hide our griminess.

We crossed dirt paths and continued through the desert. All night, we walked north, and once the morning came around, our jug of water had been drunk. Aunt Rita dug through her backpack to find only a few tortillas left, giving her a sense of hopelessness in her eyes. We sat underneath a bush in the rising sun with dry throats and no water. I was able to get some sleep but it seemed the liveliness had vanished from everyone. The day went by quickly since I was going in and out of sleep. I began to develop an obsession for drinking a cold glass of water.

The third night, we continued walking until sunlight peered over the horizon. In the distance was a farm house with a barn, except there was no crops surrounding it. It looked old and abandoned but had some cars parked in front of it. The grass surrounding it was dead with old tires and trash to the side.

Aunt Rita held onto our hands, trying to pull us towards the house in the morning sun. My feet moved, but it didn't feel like I was controlling anything.

"Careful children," Aunt Rita warned as we approached the front yard.

We passed the mailbox and followed the dirt path with weeds up to the front porch. My tongue was dry as I tried to create moisture in my mouth, but only a cough came out. Old furniture and parts of car engines rested around the building, looking as if they hadn't been used for a long time. I knew that Alfonzo and I would have had a fun time exploring the property.

Our feet stepped up the creaky stairs as we approached the door. Old rocking chairs sat along the porch with a foot stool in front of each one. The chipped railing of old wood looked like it could falter at any moment.

Aunt Rita knocked on the door lightly and then waited. She herded us three behind her as we looked around the house. Many of the words were foreign and the only word that I understood was _welcome_ on the doormat. It made me wonder what the officers had said when Gabrielle and I were stuck in the fence.

Aunt Rita knocked on the door harder not wanting to accept the possibly that nobody was home.

Finally, a woman opened the door, looking at us with a crinkled nose. She was older than Aunt Rita and had pale skin and gray hair that curled down to her shoulders. It was unusual to see a light colored person, and she was lightest I had seen.

"Help," Aunt Rita said, "Water, please." She spoke slow and in English.

The woman turned her head around and shouted, "Hank! Another family of beaners is at the door!"

"H... Help," Gabrielle said behind Aunt Rita.

A man's voice screamed from the inside, "Tell them to leave!"

"There's a woman with three children," she yelled back, "they want water." She continued to stare at us with inconvenience and ambivalence of what to do next.

"Water, please? Telephone?" Aunt Rita said and made a motion with her hands of holding a glass and drinking it. She then put her hand to her ear to resemble a phone.

A man appeared from behind her with a shotgun, "Shoo! Go away!" He pointed it at Aunt Rita. "Get off my property!" He walked forward with the gun, forcing us to step back quickly. "You're not gonna steal any food or water from me again. This land is a burden!"

"Easy Hank," the woman said.

Aunt Rita begged as she walked down the porch stairs backwards. Her voice was parched from the lack of water and dryness in the air.

Suddenly, the gun cocked in front of us, causing Gabrielle to scream. She slipped and fell to the ground; her doll falling to the side. We helped her back up as the gun still pointed at us. Gabrielle grabbed her doll by the hand and held it close to her.

A little girl with red hair ran out from inside the house, carrying a doll in her hand. She stopped behind Hank who was still pointing the gun at us. Her mother grabbed onto her shoulder and pulled her back.

"Go back inside," the mom ordered.

"But she has the same doll as me," said the red haired girl, looking at Gabrielle.

"Stay back honey," said the woman, but before she could pull her back, the little girl ran to our side and held up her doll for Gabrielle to see.

"Get back here Sarah," Hank said, tilting the gun down towards the ground, "they are trespassing."

She ignored her father and approached Gabrielle. "What's the name of your doll?" she asked Gabrielle, "Can I see it?"

We stared blankly at Sarah, not knowing what she was saying. Aunt Rita spoke up, "Help? Water? Telephone?"

"Your doll," said Sarah pointing to it, "What's the name of it?"

Gabrielle looked at her doll and held it up for Sarah to see. She turned her head to Maria and I. "What did she ask?"

"She wants to know your name," Maria said.

"Ah," Gabrielle formed a smile and looked back at Sarah confidently. "Gabrielle."

"That's an unusual name, but it sounds pretty," said Sarah, "Can I hold Gabrielle?" She extended her arms, wanting to play with Gabrielle's doll.

Aunt Rita wanted to intervene but instead stepped to the side to let the kids talk. She glanced at Sarah's parents who irritably wanted to pull their daughter back, but they also seemed surprised with what was developing between the girls.

"She wants to give you a hug," Maria said, "Give her a hug." Maria nudged Gabrielle forward.

"Ok," Gabrielle said. She slowly stepped forward and gave Sarah a hug while holding onto her doll. Sarah's eyes looked confused as Gabrielle hugged her. She fidgeted her shoulder slightly but let Gabrielle embrace her, and giggled with embarrassment.

As they separated, Sarah asked, "Your doll. Can I see it?" This time, she grabbed it from Gabrielle. "You can see mine." She then handed Gabrielle her doll.

"What is she doing?" Gabrielle asked us.

"She wants to play with you," Maria replied.

"Go play with her," Aunt Rita said quickly.

"But—"

"Go play with her," Aunt Rita said more directly.

"Ok," Gabrielle said.

"Ok is a word we say too," Sarah said smiling, "I understood that."

Aunt Rita pushed Gabrielle forward to encourage conversation.

"What are you doing Sarah," grunted Hank, "You have over a dozen dolls and you want the one that the beaner girl has."

"Just let them play for a while," the mother said, taking a deep breath, "Sarah doesn't ever have any friends, and this is the best she's gotten along with anyone."

"Why are you suggesting this?" said Hank.

"I enjoy watching our daughter being happy. Don't you?"

Hank looked at us with deceitful eyes, "What about them?" He lifted the gun to point at us and put it back down in the grass. "I don't trust that lady."

"I'll show them to the barn so they can wait," she replied, "they can't take anything in there."

We watched them talk, trying to interpret what they were saying to each other. Hank looked unconvinced as to whatever the woman was telling him, which made me think that I would rather side with the woman. Her body looked less defensive against us than Hank.

"Dammit woman," he said, "you are always trying to give me a heart attack." He whipped his gun around to hold it with both hands and walked back in the house.

"I am not your woman. I am your wife." She shook her head and then instructed us to follow her, "Everyone can wait in the barn until they are finished playing." She looked over at Sarah and Gabrielle and chuckled. "They are so cute. I need get my camera."

"What is she saying Maria?" I asked. Aunt Rita was now attentive to Maria.

"She wants to take a picture of us?" she replied.

"Why?" asked Aunt Rita.

"I don't know," Maria said, "I only translate."

The woman checked her watch and led us into the barn. She wore an apron that closely tied around her waist. She didn't seem to be overweight, but I was beginning to think otherwise after seeing her thick and flabby arms.

She stopped at the barn doors and directed us inside. "Stay in here," she instructed, "I will get you some water." Before leaving, she studied our outfits, "Sheesh... Everyone looks horrendous."

"Telephone? Water?" Aunt Rita said to her.

"Yeah yeah," she said annoyed, "I'll get you what you want. You don't see me going to your house and demanding something." She turned and walked away, checking on Sarah and Gabrielle giggling together outside of the barn.

"What did she say?" Aunt Rita asked Maria, relying on her little expertise.

"Something about her house? Or... I don't know," she said frustrated.

"Its fine, Maria," she replied, "look around for any water or food. We may get lucky."

The barn was deserted with an old rusty machine to the side and scattered hay on the ground. Maria inspected each corner while Aunt Rita grabbed onto the old machine and said a few words to herself. I scanned the barn, but there was nothing worth to scavenge. The only thing I wanted was a fountain in front of me. We finally sat down, thankful that we were in the shade, and listened to Gabrielle and her new red-headed friend play with their dolls.

The woman returned with a pitcher of water and a phone. We stood up and crowded her like starving animals. She held the phone and water away from us before we could reach them. Her eyes blinked with supremacy as she cleared her throat. "This is not an invitation to stay. You drink this, call whoever you need to pick you up, and then leave us." She paused and looked at us three standing in front of her with blank stares. "Eh, what does it matter; you don't even know what I'm saying." She shoved the pitcher into Maria's hands and handed Aunt Rita the phone.

"Thank you," Aunt Rita said.

"I want this back," she ordered, but then knew we couldn't understand. She walked outside to where Gabrielle and Sarah both had a glass of water in their hands. Her distrustful eyes glared towards the barn every so often.

Aunt Rita dialed the number and began talking with someone. Her body turned away from us.

I looked at Maria who took a drink from the pitcher and handed it to me. "What did that lady say?"

"She's happy to have us here. I think we made some friends."

"But we can't understand them. And they seem mad at us," I argued.

"Didn't you see the welcome mat at the front door?"

"Maria," Aunt Rita interrupted while holding the phone to her ear, "Get the directions to this place. We will be getting picked up soon. Go check the mailbox for numbers and bring them back to me."

"Yes Aunt Rita."

As Maria walk outside and around the mailbox, she was being watched by the owners of the house. The wife suspiciously watched her and her husband sat on the porch with his shotgun. Maria was able to read the address from the mailbox and quickly returned into the barn. Once inside, she recited it back to Aunt Rita who repeated it through the phone. I handed Aunt Rita the rest of the water but she insisted that I finish it. A smile of relief formed on her face, knowing that we were going to be rescued.

Once Aunt Rita was finished with the phone, the pale woman returned to the barn to retrieve it and her empty pitcher. "Just stay here until the girls are finished." She closed the barn doors and left us inside.

"Rest assured children," Aunt Rita exhaled, "we are saved."

"Is dad coming?" asked Maria.

"Yes. They will be here soon with separate cars. In order to successfully make it to your father's house, we must hide in the cars. Everyone is going to hide in the back seat. Juanito and Gabrielle will have to share one."

"This is so much work," said Maria.

"We will get through this and be home soon," Aunt Rita replied.

"The bus would have been easier," I said, "We would have already been home with dad."

"Don't you get it Juanito," Maria said, "We are being smuggled. We are sneaking across."

"I know..." I stayed quiet, not wanting upset her further. Her angry tone made me walk to the closed barn doors and peek through to watch Gabrielle play with her friend. I could hear Aunt Rita shaming Maria for yelling at me.

Nobody came into the barn until Gabrielle finished playing with Sarah. They had been outside for hours until the mother brought her daughter inside for lunch and escorted Gabrielle into the barn. She then closed the doors on us without a word.

Holding onto Sarah's doll, Gabrielle sat down on the ground with a look of exhaustion.

"You saved us!" Aunt Rita cheered and lifted her from the ground to give her a hug.

"We exchanged dolls," said Gabrielle, "She named my doll after me and was very nice, even though I didn't understand her." She continued to study her new doll and twirled the hair with her finger.

Aunt Rita set her down to her feet. "We need to give this family a gift for their troubles."

"We don't have anything," Maria replied.

"We will come back another time and give them something."

"We should sew them outfits," Gabrielle suggested, "they all dress a little funny and could use a new wardrobe."

"That's a good idea," said Maria.

"Settled," said Aunt Rita, "Maria. Make sure you tell them before we leave."

"I can't speak their language."

"You will soon enough, Maria."

To pass the time, we guessed what was missing in the barn and then compared it to our farm. Gabrielle and Maria discussed sewing while I told them about riding the tractor.

Later in the day, Aunt Rita signaled us over to the barn doors. We followed her outside to see three cars that had arrived near the mailbox. Staying outside of the property, two men exited and searched for our whereabouts. The three cars were far from new with worn down colors; one white, one silver, and the other blue.

Aunt Rita wanted to knock on the house door to express her gratitude but didn't want to impose more than she had to. She looked down to Gabrielle as we walked to the cars, "your doll is good luck. You must keep it forever."

"I will," Gabrielle smiled.

I looked back at the old house, but nobody came out; only an outline of a head was watching us through the window.

We passed the mailbox to see one person in each car and plenty of space in the backseats. The front white car honked its horn twice. Aunt Rita waved her hand to silence them out of respect for the family on the farm.

"Are one of those men our dad?" I asked.

"I don't think he would risk driving down here," replied Aunt Rita, "he is not a citizen."

"But you told us he'd be here..."

"He will be meeting us soon. Be patient." Aunt Rita walked faster and met with the driver in the white car. After their discussion, Aunt Rita took the first car, Maria entered the second, and Gabrielle and I went into the third car.

We climbed into the back seat, stepping over the trash and shoes at the bottom. Before we sat down, the driver instructed us to move to the side and lifted up the seat that revealed a hidden compartment below. It looked cramped but I knew Gabrielle and I would have to fit inside.

"Do you know my dad?" I asked the driver. He was younger with a scruffy beard.

"I do," he replied, "he is waiting for you in Phoenix as we speak. I would do anything to help him out." He then looked into the seat compartment. "It's time to get in. The rules are: You do not make a sound. No matter what happens, you stay in this compartment. No talking, crying, sneezing, farting, moving, complaining, or..." He thought for a moment. "Just don't move. Understood?"

"Yes sir," I replied.

He looked to Gabrielle.

"Yes sir."

"Excellent. Now get in. It will be a long ride, but we cannot take any chances anywhere on the road. The more we drive, the safer it will be."

I entered into the compartment first and compressed myself against the side the best I could. Gabrielle followed and squeezed in. Her legs rested on mine and head was inches away from my face. I adjusted my bent legs into a manageable position and rested my tilted head against the side. I knew this was going to be an uncomfortable ride.

Gabrielle rested her arm over mine.

"Hey," I said, "I'm not an armrest—"

"Silence," ordered the man, "no matter what happens inside your seat or outside; not a word, especially any complaints."

"Yes sir," I said obediently.

Gabrielle put her arm back onto me, "Yes sir."

Our bodies were pushing into each other, like we were folded into a box. I understood that we had to keep it together for the ride to Phoenix, or else we would not see our father.

Once we were settled in and looking at the driver above us, the compartment door slowly closed. A silver necklace was the last thing I saw as darkness and congestion invaded my thoughts. Gabrielle was breathing rapidly onto me, but I couldn't say anything to her to make her stop.

The engine rumbled and the car began moving, droning out the sound of our loud breathing. I wanted my own compartment like Maria and Aunt Rita, but Gabrielle and I were the smallest, so we had to share.

For most of the ride, it was unbearable but not impossible to withstand. We were moving for most of the time and would irregularly stop, but we soon began to drive again. When we stopped, I could hear talking and the slamming of the doors, but we were unaffected and remained quiet the entire time. My arms and legs had lost feeling and were tingling. The pain seemed to go away when I thought of the consequences for moving or complaining. I couldn't extend my legs, but I occasionally tweaked my arms around with the little space I had; so did Gabrielle.

We began to hear more traffic and the sudden blare of horns. The car braked and accelerated until it permanently stopped and shut off. The compartment door opened as the man with the scruffy beard appeared over us.

"Good job at staying quiet," he said, "Welcome to Phoenix, Arizona."

Gabrielle was already lifting herself out of the compartment, determined to leave the tiny space.

"I can't move my legs," I said worried.

"Here let me help you," the driver stuck his arms underneath my armpits and lifted me up.

"They hurt," I cried and fell to the ground. With anguish, I slowly extended my legs that ferociously pounded through my kneecaps. Nothing functioned except for the sensitive nerves in my muscles that had been crushed together.

"Give it some time. They will get better," the driver said.

Gabrielle sat down next to me, wanting to help me manage my pain. I straightened both my legs and grimaced as I gradually recovered circulation. Gabrielle stretched her body with me but wasn't whining like I was.

After my legs felt better, I looked around and recognized the cars that transported Aunt Rita and Maria had already arrived. Beside the parking lot was an enormous building with countless windows in a line.

"Dad lives here?" I asked.

"These are called apartments," the driver replied, "I don't think you've ever seen them since you are accustomed to farm life."

"Apartments?" I asked and looked at Gabrielle. She didn't know either.

"Let's go see your dad. What do you say?" he asked.

Gabrielle and I cheered, but I got up slowly. My legs still hurt, but they were already moving through the apartment complex. Cars were parked between the white lines on the cemented ground, trees were encircled by grates, and ramadas shaded the grills to the side of the winding sidewalks. The place was like a concrete jungle. The building in front of us was two stories and looked to go on forever, but as I stepped around for a better view, it wasn't as long as I thought it was.

We followed the driver to door _136_. He knocked, and we waited until a familiar face opened the door. I only remembered him from the pictures we carried with us on the farm.

Holding in his excitement, he spoke with poise. "My son, Juan. And my daughter, Gabrielle."

We immediately lunged forward and hugged him tightly. Tears fell from my eyes as I thought of everything we had experienced to be with our father. I embraced him with Gabrielle who pressed her eyes together and formed a smile.

He stood up to end the dramatic scene, but we still held onto him.

"Come inside," he said. His hair had grown and he had some wrinkles on his face that were not in the picture. As we followed him inside, Maria and Aunt Rita were sitting on the couch. We couldn't believe that in such short time, we were somewhere completely different, and everything we had thought of America and our father was finally a reality. We had arrived at our new home.

After today, I was no longer called Juanito.
Chapter 4 – Beginning adolescence

Growing up in the United States was a strange land of idleness, yet with many restrictions. It took some time to learn how to walk the streets, make friends, and understand the rules. Speaking English was the most challenging, but with practice, I sounded like every other American boy. We lived in what many called the ghetto, and though it was scary at first, I began to make it my new home. As for my dad, he worked most of the time, even on the weekends, leaving the apartment to Maria, Gabrielle, and I. Aunt Rita lived nearby since there wasn't much room available, but she always visited.

Every morning, we walked along the canal to get to school. Unlike Aire Libre in Mexico, the schools were strict and didn't allow many absences. Sometimes the teachers requested to speak with our dad, but he never responded; mainly because he was always working. At times, he gave us constructive advice but never was home for most of the time. He woke up for work early before the sun rose and came home past the sunset. That left us a lot of time to do what we wanted.

Thirteen years old, and I felt like every other citizen living in an urban city. The streets were busy and new faces were walking on the sidewalks. My sisters were always busy with something, whether with school or with friends. Maria was in her last year in high school and was always out at night, sometimes never returning home for days. As for Gabrielle, she was doing well in school and was becoming the smart one. We all had our own group of friends, different, but fitting to our personalities.

After school, I walked home with my two best friends, Franklin and Joel. Franklin was always dressed in the latest fashion and wore high socks along with his shorts. Joel combed his hair over his forehead, which was usually messed up by the end of the day. They both lived in my apartment complex, and we usually hung out at Franklin's apartment since his parents got home the latest at night.

Before getting home, we stopped at the gas station to buy a fountain drink and then spent some time in the park. Franklin would bring his soccer ball when more people were around to get a game started. Today, the park wasn't crowded, so we all sat at the bench and looked around for something to do. Gabrielle had asked me to stay after school with her, but I had decided to leave early with my friends. I never enjoyed having to stay at school longer than I needed.

"We should try to hang out with the seniors at the high school," said Franklin, "they always have the girls with them. It's a lot better than hanging out here by ourselves."

"How do you think we do that?" Joel replied with doubt, "Besides, we still got all those porn videos. Just watch those."

"We need to find a way to get popular," Franklin said.

"We just can't all of a sudden get popular," I said, "we have to play a sport, be gifted, or have something special that attracts women. And I'm pretty sure we would have noticed those talents by now."

"We can go hang out with my cousin," suggested Franklin.

"He's weird," I replied.

"He said that he'd buy us alcohol."

"But then we have to stay with him and his friends." There were always a lot of gang members at his house and they always invited us to come over despite being older.

"What's wrong with that, Juan?"

"Nothing."

"What's your sister Maria doing?" asked Joel.

I knew that he liked her. "I don't know. Let's just walk around the place and we'll find something to do."

"I can't wait until we are her age and are almost done with school."

"Depends if you are able to finish it," Franklin said to Joel chuckling.

"Shut up."

"I know what we can do," said Franklin, digging into his pocket, "I got a stink bomb. When you break them, they can smell up a whole room. I was going to throw it in the bathroom this morning, but I decided we could use it for something better."

"That's better than walking around the place," said Joel, "where should we throw it?"

Franklin took out the stink bomb and looked around the place, "How about somewhere at school? Or by the women's bathroom."

"Bathrooms already smell," I said, "It needs to be around other people; where they can all smell it together."

"Let's check out around the high school," Franklin said, "Plus there are a lot of girls there too."

"Let's go," I replied enthusiastically.

We walked down the street and crossed some intersections. With the high school in sight, we found several groups of students standing around or cruising through the parking lot in their cheap cars. We passed the entrance and snooped around, trying to find a vulnerable group to throw it at.

"How about those guys?" Franklin said, moving his eyes in their direction. There were some students in torn jeans and black jackets standing next to a group of girls.

"They are perfect," I said. Most people attending schools in our neighborhood were Hispanic, which always surprised me, and most spoke Spanish. It helped ease my tension when I was learning even though English was usually spoken.

"Here," Franklin said, handing me the stink bomb, "you throw it."

"It's not my stink bomb," I replied, "and you want me to throw it their way so they can easily see me? I'd be dead. I'm not gonna do it." I looked to Joel.

"I'm not gonna throw it," he said.

Franklin sighed, putting the stink bomb back in his pocket. He clearly wasn't going to throw it either. "So nobody is going to throw it?"

"We need to be hidden when we throw it. Let's try somewhere else," suggested Joel.

"What if we throw it from the roof of the school? We've been up there before," said Franklin, "and it's easy to get to."

"Fine," said Joel, "You first."

We followed Franklin around the corner to where the dumpster was against the wall and climbed on top. Hanging above the dumpster, was a ladder that led to the roof. Joel kept watch while Franklin and I climbed up. Once we made it to the roof, Joel climbed up last. For some reason, I always felt safe once we were on the roof since no one could see us.

Passing the large air conditioning units that buzzed nearby, the pathways led us around to the ledge. We bent down as we crept along the side with mischievous smiles on our faces. I could hear Joel chuckle behind me, probably thinking of how this was going to unfold. The parking lot had some teachers walking to their cars and students involved in after school activities walking into the school. I never understood how Gabrielle did all of that. She was probably inside studying some subject with the rest of the bookworms. From what I had learned, she was in the category of being a 'nerd' or a 'geek,' though many people would call themselves that or joke about it with their friends, so I never understood how it was insulting. Everyone enjoyed something in particular that was different from someone else.

We stopped behind Franklin and peeked over the ledge. There were three boys and four girls in a group talking with each other. We all sat down along the ledge to discuss our plan.

"Are you throwing it?" Joel asked Franklin.

Franklin was unsure, so he looked to me, "Do you want to throw it, Juan?"

"You can," I replied.

"You guys suck," Franklin said and accepted the task. Carefully taking out the enclosed vile from his pocket, he glanced over to aim his throw, and then tossed it into the air.

He quickly sat down next to us, listening for a response from below. I was unable to hear any noise from it breaking, but we assumed the capsule had shattered.

Franklin whispered with a grin, "I think it landed near them."

"Nice throw," commented Joel, "hopefully they didn't see where it came from."

Suddenly, we heard a disgruntled teenager ask, "did you fart?"

As soon as we heard his comment, we all started laughing together.

Another voice shouted back defensively, "hell no!"

Everyone groaned with dissatisfaction as the shouting commenced.

Wanting to witness the argument, we looked over again to see the girls leave with disgusted looks while the boys continued to argue. Their voices shouted louder and made the three of us lower our heads so we couldn't be seen anymore. We tried to laugh quietly and listen to the confused madness below us.

"It sounds serious down there," Joel whispered.

"Good thing we threw it up here and not down there," I said thankfully.

"Wait," Franklin said distracted, "you hear that?"

We looked over again to see two of the teenage boys fighting and swinging their fists at one another. They rolled onto the ground and punched each other in the face without letting up. Franklin pulled us down so we couldn't be seen. He motioned for us to follow him away from the ledge. He didn't want to be caught, because if they found out, we would be beaten too. The consequences that the school would give us didn't matter if the other side wanted justice. We quickly made our way to the opposite side of the roof where we could no longer be seen.

"We need to stay up here until they are finished," I said.

Joel and Franklin were panting and tried to stand up straight to fight the fatigue. They both agreed and looked out to the other side of the school. Nobody was below us and we couldn't hear anything, except for some casual discussion coming from the school.

With grins on our faces, we sat down and discussed where we could buy more stink bombs. Franklin had bought his stink bomb from the ice-cream man, but we didn't know where he was at this time. One luxury that I found out quickly since moving to America was that the availability of food was everywhere; whether in a car, cafeteria, or a local store down the street. I rarely had money but would somehow have enough for food.

After what seemed like an hour, we sneaked back down and walked through the empty parking lot. The fighting teenagers were gone, but they had left spattered blood on the ground. One little stink bomb had created disorder among a group of people. After knowing we were not in trouble, we wanted to do it again for the thrill.

We arrived back at the apartment complex and stayed at Franklin's apartment. We sat down on the couch and played video games into the night. Franklin had the best television and it was never being used, which gave us the most freedom without interruption.

A knock softly pounded on the door. We put the game on pause as Franklin walked to the door to see Gabrielle on the other side.

"It's your sister," he said.

I tried to think of an excuse for not meeting her after school. I made my way over to the door and swung it open. "What?"

"Where were you after school?" asked Gabrielle, "I was waiting for you but you never showed up."

"Sorry. I got distracted. How about tomorrow?"

"You know that I can only meet with you this day of the week. Promise me you'll come next week. If you promise, you have to go."

I exhaled, "I promise I'll study with you next week."

"Good," she said, "you need to see the high school that you will be attending soon."

"I will," I assured her.

"One more thing," Gabrielle said, "since you are never home, I'm guessing you haven't heard about Aunt Rita?"

I looked back at Joel and Franklin who had unpaused the game and started playing without me. "What do you mean?"

"Maria told me that Aunt Rita got deported. She's in Mexico now."

"No way," I replied, "how does Maria know?"

"She talked with some of her friends and hasn't seen Aunt Rita go into her apartment for the last week."

When I thought of Aunt Rita in Mexico, I couldn't help but think about the farm and everyone who had died there. "Where is she going to live?"

"I don't know. We haven't heard from her." Gabrielle looked over my shoulder. "Come outside for a second."

"I'll be right back," I shouted at my friends who didn't seem to notice.

I walked outside with Gabrielle, towards our apartment. "And the story gets worse."

"What do you mean? I asked puzzled.

"Apparently Uncle Hugo had a past with the cartel and he had been out of it for some time, but when the cartel found out where he lived, they burned down his farm. There were a few other retired cartel members who had their farms destroyed that day when we were kids. Maria thinks that Aunt Rita's disappearance might have been the cartel's doings. You remember..." Gabrielle stopped for a moment and regained her strength. "You remember the men in suits that set the farm on fire?"

"Yes."

"They were the ones that found Uncle Hugo, and now they might be after Aunt Rita."

"But she didn't do anything," I said, "and Uncle Hugo became a good farmer. How could they do this to him _and_ his wife?"

"It's sad. Remember how people can call in anonymously and report illegal people working in the state? If it's legitimate, the police will show up and arrest you. Aunt Rita was working at a car wash and someone anonymously called in to say she working illegally. Maria thinks it was the cartel that called and that was there way to get Aunt Rita back to Mexico so they could kill her. But I think it was just an upset person that didn't like illegal Mexicans."

"That's never good news," I replied, "what's anonymously mean again?"

"It means someone withheld their name so they couldn't be identified when they called in a complaint."

"That sounds sneaky."

"It scares me the most when you don't know who's responsible," said Gabrielle. She studied me for a moment. "If you would have met me after school, you would have known what anonymously meant."

"I will meet you there next week," I said with assurance.

"You better."

We walked inside our apartment and talked awhile longer. Nobody was home, leaving the apartment to Gabrielle and I, which happened frequently. We made some food, and then I left to return to Joel and Franklin playing video games. Gabrielle tried to get me to stay but I told her I would read with her tomorrow. The thought of Aunt Rita no longer living close by was unsettling, and made me wonder if I would ever see her again.

On my way back to Joel's apartment, I noticed a new family moving in. A couple was carrying a mattress, followed by a girl, relatively the same age as me. She was thin and dressed in a purple shirt with short jeans. She was looking down at her phone as she followed her parents.

We were walking on the same path, but I stepped to the side to allow her parents to carry the mattress on the even ground. After they passed, I exchanged glances with the girl trailing behind with her phone in front of her. Her eyes were dark but had light in them that left me curious inside. Her hair was straight as she swiped a strand of hair from her forehead back with the rest of her hair.

"Moving in?" I quickly asked before she passed, though she seemed to have slowed down her pace once she saw me.

She took one last glance at her phone and then placed it in her pocket. An outline of the phone showed through the tightness of her jeans. "What does it look like?"

I didn't know if she was being sarcastic or not, but I changed the subject. "You have a phone?" I immediately realized that was another stupid question.

She stared at me with confusion, "I'm Sofia. We just moved in, and yes this is my phone."

I smiled with interest and didn't want her to walk away. I gave her a second glance realizing that she was beautiful.

"Is this how all the neighbors are?" she asked.

"I don't think so," I said and continued to stare, "my name is Juan."

"So what's there to do around here?" she asked, "and how old are you?"

"Thirteen," I replied, "me and my friends were just hanging out at the park and then at the school."

"Do you want to go to the park with me?" she asked. It sounded more like a command.

"I was just about to go..." I stopped and then looked at her face. She looked vengeful if I was to say no, and I couldn't resist. "Ok," I agreed. Franklin and Joel were not going to notice if they were distracted with their video game.

"Hold on," she said.

I watched her go into her new apartment and talk with her parents. I looked around the apartment complex, waiting for Joel or Franklin to walk by, but nobody was out except for some kids playing with a shopping cart across the way. Truthfully, I didn't want anyone to interfere with what had just happened.

"Where's the park?" asked Sofia behind me.

"This way." I led her out of the complex and to the sidewalk near the main street. She seemed determined to make it to the park, leading me as I told her where to go.

She checked her phone again and sent a quick text back. She then glanced my way, "You are kinda cute, I guess. I'm a year older than you, but you can be my first friend in Phoenix."

Flattered that she called me cute, I smiled. "You don't have a lot of friends?"

"I have a lot, but they live in California. People say Arizona is always one step behind California. I never knew what that meant until I met you."

"Does it matter?"

She snickered, "So you do have a strong side to you. I thought you didn't know how to talk with girls."

"I know how," I said, trying to defend my honor.

"Good. Friends have to be able to say what's on their minds to each other."

"Even if it's bad?"

"Anything, Juan."

We crossed into the park in the darkness, and I showed her the bench I was sitting on with Franklin and Joel earlier in the day. Now, the experience seemed majestic with Sofia, and I was monitoring myself so I didn't do anything stupid. Staring at her body and face, I became more impressed at how smooth and pretty she was.

Sofia took out a pipe and a small bag of grass from her back pocket. Setting everything on the bench, she began tearing the leaves apart with her fingers and then stuffed them into her pipe.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"You never smoked before?"

"No. I mean... I've seen it and know of it. What is it?"

"Weed," she said back, upset that I didn't know the answer.

"I've drank alcohol before."

"This will be your first time smoking weed then," she replied.

"Isn't it illegal?"

"And alcohol isn't?" she quipped.

Nervous that we would be caught, I remained silent and let her finish loading the pipe. Sofia didn't show any paranoia for what she was doing, looking like a skilled professional.

After Sofia lit the pipe and inhaled, she held her breath in and slowly blew the smoke out. It made her look older but sexy as she inhaled again. The smoke rose around her and floated in front of my face.

"Is that what it smells like?" I asked.

"Just take a hit," she insisted and handed it to me.

"How do I do this again?"

Sofia assisted me with the pipe, and instructed me to hold in my breath once I inhaled. My chest expanded and teeth clenched together, trying to keep the smoke inside my lungs. As I exhaled, I began coughing everything out and quickly handed her back the pipe.

"Do it again," she said.

"Why? I already feel it in my lungs," I complained.

"You need two hits."

I did as she requested and inhaled more smoke into my lungs, holding it in for seconds until coughing it all out.

"You're a rookie," she grinned, "but you took it in well." She packed more weed into her pipe and smoked the rest for herself.

We spent the rest of the night lying in the grass and looking up into the sky. I didn't know how much time passed by, but it was perfect.

The next day, I met up with Franklin and Joel to brag about my experience with Sofia. They didn't believe anything I said and assumed I was dreaming. I told them about how beautiful she was and that we smoked weed together, eventually losing track of time. I couldn't show them Sofia because she was a freshman in high school; but in less than a year, I was going to be at the same school as her. Unable to prove to my friends that Sofia existed, we separated to our classrooms after the bell rang.

The school day seemed longer than usual, and with so much on my mind, it was harder to pay attention. Once school was over, I waited for Franklin and Joel to meet me out front. We walked to the park so I could show them where Sofia and I had smoked the night before. Since they still didn't believe me, I walked them to Sofia's apartment, but nobody was home. After giving up, we found the ice cream man and bought more stink bombs. I went home early to see if Sofia had returned, but again, nobody was home, so I entered my apartment.

Gabrielle was at the table eating a meal by herself. "Where were you last night?"

"I got busy," I replied and searched the refrigerator for some food.

"Sure you were," said Gabrielle, "Have you seen Maria lately?"

"No, why?"

"She hasn't been home for a couple days and she's not answering her cell. Dad doesn't know where she is either."

"She will come back. She's a lot older now and probably went to a friend's house. Last I heard she was talking about getting her own apartment."

"But she doesn't have a job," said Gabrielle.

"Maybe she found one," I said and walked over to the window to look for Sofia.

"We need to start helping dad with money. He's always working and he comes home tired every night."

"We can try," I replied, doubtful I could find work.

"What are you looking at out there?"

"Nothing," I said, closing the blinds.

Once my dad got home, Gabrielle asked him if he needed help with money. Since he worked below minimum wage, he told her that 'anything would help.' Gabrielle promised him that she would find part time work on top of her schooling to pay for food. My dad suggested that I go work with him tomorrow, but I told him I had school. He suggested on Saturday when I didn't have school, so I adversely agreed.

During the rest of the week, I hung out with Franklin and Joel. Sofia and the high feeling that weed gave me were both vivid in my head. Smoking was different than anything I had felt before and it made me feel like an unconcerned cloud in the sky. Franklin said that he would get some from his cousin so we could all smoke, but I wanted to do it with Sofia.

On Thursday night when the lights were on, I loudly knocked on the door of Sofia's apartment. I waited and glimpsed through the windows, anticipating that someone would scold me to leave.

Finally, the mother opened the door and asked me what I wanted. Her face resembled Sofia's but she had a vicious demeanor, like she was ready to attack me.

"Is Sofia home?"

She turned her head and yelled Sofia's name. She glanced back at me. "Who are you?"

"A friend that lives next door."

"Hmm," she grunted.

Sofia appeared as she walked out of her room, glad to see me. She stepped outside so we could have some privacy. Her short shirt revealed the skin around her waist and her tight jeans fit perfectly around her legs.

"There you are," she said, "I was wondering when you would come over here. I didn't know where you lived so how else could I have found you."

"Oh," I said shamefully, "you wanna go to the park?"

She laughed, "You sound like a big pothead now."

"I want hang out with you," I replied, "and if you got some weed, that's cool too."

She winked at me and ran back inside to get the weed. Her mother suspiciously stared in my direction as I waited at the door. She invited me in to watch TV, but I declined, knowing that she was just being courteous.

Seconds later, Sofia came back out of her room. "Going out mom."

"Where to? It's dark out..."

"To the park. It's right across the street."

She set her drink down on the table and looked at Sofia and then to me. "If you're going to smoke, just do it in your room. I want you to be safe. I know that every time you go to the park, it's to smoke on that pipe of yours. You're so obvious." She shook her head with discouragement.

I glanced at Sofia, surprised by her mom's comment. Without further thought, Sofia grabbed me by the hand and pulled me into her room. She closed the door behind us and set out her pipe and bag of weed on her bed.

"So your mom knows you smoke?" I asked.

"Of course," she replied, "where do you think I get my weed from?" she began crushing up the leaves and stuffed it into her pipe again. The aroma made my brain perk up, ready to accept the feeling into my body.

"Do you smoke all the time?" I asked.

"Probably every day," she replied, "but my mom doesn't know that part."

"Interesting," I said, "I don't know what my dad would think, but I know my sister Gabrielle would smack me if she saw a pipe in my mouth."

"No big deal. It's the new alcohol, except you don't get an annoying hangover."

"Hangovers suck," I said, pretending that I knew what it was like. A smile formed on my face, realizing that I was in a room alone with a girl. "Does your dad care about us being alone in your room?"

"He doesn't live here. He helped my mom move into this apartment, but they separated when I was a kid. I decided to stay with my mom because she's a lot more chill."

"Chill, like cold?"

"No silly. She's more relaxed. You don't go out much, do you?"

"I do. But I'm still learning Engligh."

"You speak fine," she said and lit the pipe.

I waited for her to finish smoking and held out my hand for her to pass it over. Once she was finished, I set the pipe in my mouth and inhaled the warmness into my lungs without coughing. It immediately gave me the same wonderful feeling as last time. As we smoked and passed it back and forth, I told her the stories of me leaving my farm and coming to Mexico to live with my dad. Pictures of my mom were now vague in my head as I needed photos to remember her face. Sofia told me that her mom was more like a friend to her and that she disliked her dad. Based on her father, she told me that she didn't trust men. But we were able to bond over the fact that we both moved from different places to Arizona.

Soon, it became quiet as we fell back onto her bed and faced the ceiling. New feelings were sprouting out of me after gaining a strong connection with Sofia. The feeling was shared in silence, but I didn't know what she was thinking; and I liked not knowing because she had said that she liked me. I let my imagination do the rest. After she closed her eyes, I dozed off next to her with a smile on my face.

Once Saturday morning came, my dad entered the room that Gabrielle, Maria, and I shared and woke me up, disturbing Gabrielle and Maria in the process. Maria had returned home, though only Gabrielle and I had noticed. She was skinnier than usual and didn't look as healthy as she used to be.

"Let's go Juan," my dad said impatiently, "Do what you need to do and meet me at the bus stop. You have ten minutes."

I went to the bathroom, changed into the clothes I was wearing yesterday, and ran to the bus stop, thinking that I was late. As I ran, I noticed that I felt winded and my feet were sluggish.

We stood in the morning breeze until the bus arrived. My dad paid the driver and we found two seats near the front. I watched my dad from the side as he cleared his throat and reached down to fix his shoes. For some reason, he was always difficult to talk to and never showed any emotion towards me.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Looking for work," he replied, "We must get there early to assure that we can get a job."

"Oh."

"You'll be working very soon Juan, and I'm glad Gabrielle mentioned that you'd help out with work."

"Almost like when I was on the farm with Uncle Hugo?"

"What you learn today will be helpful, like the farm," he replied, "did you know that when I moved to Arizona, Uncle Hugo and Aunt Rita helped us out when we needed it most? They let you stay on their farm and didn't let us die in poverty. Family is important when you're in need because nobody cares about anybody when it comes to money these days."

"But isn't it better in the United States?" I asked.

"There is a difference because there is more opportunity here. I spent everything I had to get you across the border, and I owe much to Aunt Rita, but it's a matter of life and death when you start out with nothing no matter where you are. I don't want that of my family."

His seriousness caused me not to respond. I didn't know what to say since I felt like I was in his debt. But he didn't know how much we had to endure to cross the border, and that we had almost died.

We reached our bus stop and exited down the steps. We walked on the sidewalk until we joined the other workers waiting at the side of the street. My dad greeted some of his friends waiting with everyone else.

I tapped him on the shoulder, "What are we doing?"

"Finding work."

"Is everyone here from Mexico?"

"There are many Latin countries out there; not just Mexico. But we can't apply for a job because we aren't citizens.

We waited on the side of the street and competed against the other Hispanics searching for work. When someone new drove up and rolled down their window, we all approached the vehicle, but only a selected few got the job. Many argued over who was going to get in the car for work, because that meant food on the dinner plate. Within thirty minutes of waiting, we found a job and were picked up by a truck with two other workers.

The day was gruesome in the sun, and we worked most of the day with little rest. I helped pick up tree branches and emptied the bags of dead grass that was clipped and mowed. Everyone was full of sweat by lunch, and by dinner time, I was completely exhausted. It was satisfying to finish the work, but the repetition and effort put into it didn't seem worth it. The muscles in my body were sore and I felt dehydrated from the burning sun.

"I don't know if I like this," I said to my dad on the bus ride home, "is this what your life is every day?"

He chuckled, "you get used to it. Work is part of life, and if you don't do it, you begin to have problems."

"But isn't there another way?"

"If you find one, let me know," he chuckled.

It seemed like he was in a good mood once his work was finished. Also, tomorrow was Sunday which was his only day off. He usually had his friends over and drank some beers with them until nightfall. I was usually able to sneak some beverages and drink them with Franklin and Joel. Saturday night was the night everyone in the apartment had a good time, including Maria and Gabrielle. Everyone was happy no matter what happened, because tomorrow brought no pressure.

My dad set twenty dollars in my lap, "hard work always deserves its rewards, even if it's not what you expected."

I examined the bill and then put it in my pocket, thanking him for my reward. "Did you come to Arizona for work?"

"And opportunity for a better life," he replied, "it helped give your aunt and uncle money when you lived on the farm, and it helped get you across the border. If the farm was never burnt, we could have stayed on the farm, but you also wouldn't have been going to school, learning another language, earning more money, and having more choices for your future. "

"I like this life better," I said, "but I still miss Alfonzo."

My dad grinded his teeth and was silent. Losing Alfonzo was tough on him, and I knew that he thought of him as the better son, probably because he was older and in control. He had always told Alfonzo to keep an eye on the family when we talked with him on the phone. I said a few words to him, but Alfonzo always talked with my father.

After working with him, it seemed that I had gained some respect. A son and father relationship was always different than a son to a mother. The dad always expected more and the mom always expected the best.

We got home, and I went straight to bed to get some rest. I thought of what Sofia was doing and if she was smoking. Some weed would have been nice, but my exhausted body crashed onto my mattress before I could do anything else. My head faced Maria's empty bed and Gabrielle reading a book on hers. We usually spent some time with my dad and his friends on Saturday night, and Gabrielle always went to sleep early; but this time, I was going to fall asleep before her.

The next week, I spent a lot of time with Sofia and got high with her every night. I used the twenty dollars my dad had given me to buy a small bag of weed as a gift for Sofia. I still didn't want to introduce Sofia to Franklin and Joel since I enjoyed being alone with her. I also didn't meet up with Gabrielle after school, and I knew she was going to be mad at me for ditching her again. Most people were unimportant when infatuation clouded the brain.

Sofia and I had just finished smoking and were relaxing on the bed. Wasting time with Sofia was the best part of my day. With her mother unconcerned in the other room, I had no paranoia about getting in trouble. I watched the posters on the wall swirl as they sent a warming sensation into my body. My feet were light and my muscles were at ease.

"Juan?" Sofia's voice was soft to my ears.

"Yea?"

"Kiss me."

Trying to stay collected, my eyes opened with eagerness, and butterflies rushed into my stomach. "Are you sure?"

"Just fucking kiss me," she replied.

I turned my body towards her and felt her tender lips press against mine. It sent a jolt through my body, and ecstasy spread through my elevated brain. We continued to kiss harder as I felt her tongue extend into my mouth. Her legs wrapped around me as she began to rub against my body. My hands quickly moved underneath her shirt, feeling the warmth of her skin and rising of her chest. She was breathing passionately, welcoming me to continue.

An abrupt knock on the door interrupted us, causing Sofia to turn her head away.

"Sofia!" her mom yelled through the other side of the door. The door handle began moving, but thankfully, it was locked.

"Hold on mom!" she yelled, fixing her clothes and deserting me on the bed

Sofia's scent was still fresh under my nose. Sitting up from the bed, I waited for her come back so I could taste her again. Her mom had to interrupt the best moment in my life. Frustration, anger, and bitterness were held inside of me as sat on the bed with my arms crossed.

Sofia opened the door, still feeling paranoid that her clothes were not fitting her correctly. I stared at her mother with hatred.

"Don't lock this door. It shows you don't trust me; especially with Juan here."

"Yes mom. What do you want?"

"You still haven't cleaned out the refrigerator like you said you would. You need to finish it before you go to sleep."

"Ok, just give me a moment."

Her mom glanced at me sitting on the bed. "Keep the door open."

"I know," Sofia replied with a raised voice. She moved the door so it was halfway closed and sat down next to me on the bed.

My hands began to grasp her side, wanting to continue, but Sofia pushed my hands away. Confused, I put my hand on her leg and leaned forward, trying to get her in the mood, but I couldn't persuade her.

"You want to clean the refrigerator with me?" she asked, "we can get it done quicker with the two of us."

I grunted, knowing I had lost my chance. "Fine." I would have done anything to start kissing her again.

Sofia fixed her hair, and we walked out to the kitchen together. I couldn't have been more discouraged.
Chapter 5 – The revolving door begins

Three years had passed, and at the age of sixteen, I had decided that it wasn't necessary for me to go to school anymore. Although my father was upset about my absent days, he didn't do anything about it; however Gabrielle was devastated with my impulsive decisions to ditch school. I still visited the classrooms occasionally, but on my own time. Of everything that was required of me as a teenager, the only thing on my mind was to fuck Sofia. Every time I saw her, I just wanted to have sex–and then more sex with her. I tried to call her my 'girlfriend' but she was bipolar about our relationship. Franklin and Joel had become good friends with her after they had found us hanging out at the park. We all smoked together in the afternoon, but at times, Sofia would hang out with her other friends and she never let me join them. It left me worried inside that there was nothing I could do to keep her by my side.

Maria ended up leaving the state and hadn't been in contact with us for a year; nobody knew where she was. My dad continued to work hard to support us, with no contribution from me. Gabrielle was the most worried for the family as she was busy starting her first semester at the university. She always pestered me about college, but it didn't seem like something in the foreseeable future for me. I was making more money by selling pot than she was at the university. With the help of Franklin's cousin, I was flourishing as a dealer.

Sofia was always tormenting me whenever she went out with her friends, and she wouldn't answer her texts until the morning. She was always social with everyone, which made me jealous. I tried to think of other things to do to distract myself, but all I did was smoke weed to forget. I never wanted to smoke at home because I was always alone with nothing to do. With Gabrielle leaving to college, and Maria disappearing, the apartment was only my dad and I. Much of the days turned into blurred memories from the weed I constantly smoked. Selling weed meant instant cash in my pocket, making it seem like I never needed a job or an education.

I had been caught a few times by the police for selling and smoking pot when I was with Sofia. We were both required to take a diversion class and write an essay about how we had improved and weren't going to do it again. My essay was bullshit, and Sofia copied half of mine. In fact, in most of our meetings, I met potential clients that wanted to buy pot. With luck, we were able to slide by the police, and my illegal status didn't seem to bother anyone. It made me feel like a real citizen.

After getting no sleep, I woke up early and decided to go to school where potential clients were waiting to buy weed. It was easy to find a customer because they were overly suspicious; some getting to the point and others never initiating unless I asked them first.

I tried calling Sofia but there was no answer, though it was eight in the morning and school was about to start. I felt like an outsider when I was at school since I had a different motive than most students. Before the bell rang, I realized that I didn't know who most of my teachers were but remembered the general location of the classrooms.

Near the lockers, I noticed Tara standing alone and studying the information in her binder. She used to be in my history class and we always talked about smoking. She was a pretty girl with dirty blonde hair, but what I remembered most about her were her big boobs. I was always able to see down her shirt.

As I approached her, I wanted to ask her out but Sofia's face was still imprinted in my mind. I stuck to business instead. "Hey Tara," I said, "wanna blaze today?"

She looked around like someone was watching. "I haven't seen you for a while, Juan; thought you had disappeared."

"I'm still here. I'm packing if you want to buy some."

Tara closed her locker and glanced at the clock on the wall, "let's be quick. I got a test next period."

We walked into the parking lot and behind the cars where we couldn't be seen. The baseball dugout was always taken by potheads, so we had to find somewhere else to go. Across from us were two girls smoking weed, and across from them, were two other boys smoking.

I took out a pre-organized joint, lit it up, and passed it to Tara. Giving her the first smoke usually made her want more, which meant she would buy weed from me once we were finished.

"What class do you have next?" she asked, inhaling the joint.

"I don't think I want to go to school today," I said honestly, "I haven't been here in a week."

"Holy shit Juan! That's terrible!"

"Not really. Everyone ditches."

"Not for a week."

"Whatever, give me a hit," I said as Tara handed me the joint. She seemed more attracted to me after hearing about my matured decision to not attend class.

Once we finished the joint, the warning bell rang, giving everyone a minute to rush to class.

"Shit, I gotta go," said Tara with a newly formed grin. She held my hand for a brief moment. "It was cool hangin with you. Call me sometime and we'll party." She started walking back through the cars towards the school.

I realized I hadn't sold her anything and caught up with her. "You want to buy some pot? I won't be back for another week."

Watchful of her surroundings, Tara dug into her pocket. "Give me a dime bag."

I unzipped my backpack and pulled a baggy out, waiting for her to give me money. I really wanted her to buy more.

"Is that a dime bag? Looks less than that," she commented.

"It's close enough." We exchanged and I walked her to the front of the school. My eyes scanned the school grounds, looking for more customers.

"Remember to call me," she said and hurried inside.

Happy I had made at least one sale, I turned around, unaware that a security guard had been standing behind me. I innocently tried to maneuver around him, but he spoke up before I could leave.

"What are you doing young man? You selling drugs on school property?"

"No," I said and tried to move away.

He stepped in front of me and spoke into his radio.

"Come on," I said, "Don't do this."

"Stay right there," he commanded and invaded my space.

I clenched my backpack with crossed arms and sprinted away from him. I had brought a lot of weed with me and wasn't about to give it up. Another security guard near the exit gate ran towards me with his radio to his mouth. Trying to get out of his sight, I sprinted around a building and made it to the property fence.

The end of my shoes slipped off the chain-link fence as I frantically climbed up with my backpack hanging to my side. The campus officers were trailing behind me, trying to catch me before I escaped. Lifting my leg over, I threw my backpack to the other side so it wouldn't get caught. My feet were on each side of the fence when suddenly, a hand grabbed onto my foot.

"Get down!" ordered the officer. He was a muscular black man who coached the football team.

"You're hurting me!" I yelled, trying to free myself.

He stepped closer and lifted me off the fence. With some resistance on my part, he set me on the ground and blocked any chance of escape. He glanced at my backpack on the other side and then pushed me against the fence. "Are we smoking today?"

"Hell no," I replied, "I don't smoke."

"Let's take a look in your bag then."

"It's not mine."

He chuckled and walked me around to retrieve my backpack, which revealed my intent to not only smoke, but sell marijuana. He then led me into the school office while maintaining a tight grip on my shoulder. There was no negotiating with him to let me go.

After I had a chat with the principal, I was kicked out of school. My marijuana stash was gone and I could never again step on school property, or else I would be arrested. I quietly shook my head and agreed to the terms so I wouldn't go to jail. They tried to call my dad but nobody answered. After that, a police officer dropped me off to an empty apartment.

I waited until later in the day to visit Franklin's cousin to tell him I had lost the stash of marijuana he had lent me. With a similar face as Franklin, Manuel was a stout man that joked a lot, though it always seemed he was plotting sinister acts in his head. I didn't know if there would be any consequences, but I wanted Franklin to be there to advocate for me.

In front of Manuel's house was a broken fence that extended around the dirt and weed infested yard. A pitbull paced around the fence, but was restricted by a leash attached to a pole. Manuel's gang friends were hanging out in the front yard, intimidating whoever was to walk by. They had jumped Franklin into the gang, and I was nervous that they would soon choose me to join. Franklin declared that he would die for his gang and would do anything that was told to him.

His brash statement repeated in my head as I walked through the house. I met Manuel in the kitchen who was eating a piece of pizza.

"Sup Juan. Out there hustlin?" he asked. He wore a bright red shirt with saggy shorts and a bandana over his forehead. He was missing his front tooth, but sometimes had a gold stud to fill in the gap. Franklin was sitting on a bar stool in front of the kitchen counter.

"I got some bad news," I said.

Franklin's attention was fully on me, and Manuel seemed calm as ever.

"What?"

"I got caught by the police and lost the weed you gave me to sell. It wasn't my fault. I was selling to this stupid girl and a guard came up from behind me and—"

Manuel started laughing. "Relax homey. I didn't give you a lot. Not even a hundred dollars."

I sighed a relief. "Sorry."

"I tell you what," he said, "I got something better for you."

I nodded and listened. Franklin stood up behind Manuel, interested in what was going to be said.

Manuel put his hands together in front of him. "One of our homeys said that he lost some of our cocaine. He said he got his ass beat and the cocaine was stolen from him. The only problem is— I think he's lying. You see; I'm a keen observer in people telling the truth, and I can notice these things right away. You seem like an honest person. And you're good friends with Franklin. Might have been a stupid move on your part with the weed, but you will fix it. Right?"

I shook my head. "Yes."

"What I need you to do is sneak into that punk's house and find the bag of cocaine he stole from us. I'll resupply you with some more weed if you find the cocaine. Nobody will be home. Search everywhere and come back when you're done."

"What if the bag of cocaine isn't there?"

"It will be there."

"Easy job," Franklin said from behind, "I'd take it if I were you. Sounds bomb."

"I can do that," I replied, "And no one is home?"

"He'll be out," Manuel said, "we'll make sure of it."

I had never done cocaine before but had seen Franklin do it. Recently, he was always with his gang and never hung out with his old friends anymore.

"You got a key? I asked.

"You'll have to find your own way in. No one will be there so it'll be easy." He wrote the address down on a piece of paper and handed it to me. I instantly realized it was near the high school.

Franklin gave me a half smile, but I didn't acknowledge him. I was nervous about breaking into someone's house and getting caught.

"Go in at nine tonight. He won't be home."

I shook my head and was walked out by Franklin and some other gang members.

Franklin put his hand on my shoulder, "you could be one of us."

"I don't know," I said unsure.

"If you bring back Manuel what he's looking for, you'll gain a lot of his respect."

"That's _if_ I find something."

"You'll do fine." He patted me on the back. "What are you doing now?"

"Going to see Sofia. I need to see how she's doing." Despite my upcoming task, Sofia's face was implanted in my head.

"She's not to know anything about this," reminded Franklin.

"I know."

"Careful with her," he said, "she's nothing but trouble. A couple homeys down the street says she ripped them off. She works for herself and doesn't belong to nobody."

"She's not like that," I said defensively.

"Just saying man."

"I'll see you when I'm done," I said and gave Franklin a second look, "you doing ok? You know... With the gang?" I wasn't accustomed to the gang life and remembered Gabrielle had always told me that if she heard me talk incorrectly, she would punish me badly.

"I'm straight," he replied, "everyone's got my back if something goes down."

"Does that happen a lot?"

"It can," he said, "but come back later and we'll talk more."

We did our handshake and separated ways. I looked back, thinking that Franklin had grown up fast. I had known him for a long time and knew I could trust him with everything. Or would he put his gang over me?

Thoughts of failure ran through my head on the way back to the apartment. I remembered that I could no longer go to school, so the only task I had to complete was to steal some cocaine.

I walked over to Sofia's apartment and knocked on the door. She hadn't answered any of my texts, and to be honest, I wanted to have sex with her. I hadn't even kissed her for two weeks. Unfortunately, nobody answered the door. Feeling bored, I looked around and walked over to Joel's apartment. Nobody answered his door either.

I headed back to my vacant apartment and searched my dresser for any leftover weed. On the top shelf was a half smoked joint. A rush of excitement immediately rushed through my bones as I put it between my fingers and lit it up.

The joint didn't last long, so I grabbed the remaining seventeen dollars I had and walked back outside. Tara had sent me a text and wanted to hang out tonight, but my priorities were Sofia and the bag of cocaine that I had to find in a stranger's house. I ignored Tara and headed to the park to see if I knew anyone to talk to and smoke with. If all else failed, Tara had some of my weed that I had sold her, and she might share it with me. I realized my first priority was to get high; or was it Sofia?

Stepping onto the park grass, I noticed most of the tables were full of teenagers hanging out after school; some using the isolation to smoke. The more I walked in the park, the more it smelled of smoke. At the far end, sprinklers were watering the baseball field that was being used by a recreational team. I glanced at the city pool that was always closed, and continued to the other side of the park.

A group I knew from school was on the bench that I liked, but I didn't want to talk with them. I didn't go to their school anymore. Across from them was Joel, sitting on the grass under the tree. Next to him, was a girl lying on her back. I picked up my pace and walked around the tree so they could see me.

I immediately realized Sofia was lying next to Joel with her arm resting on his leg. They looked like they had just smoked.

"What are you guys doing?" I asked, directing my anger at both of them.

"Smoking," Joel said with a restful tone in his voice, "want some?"

"Yeah," I said grabbing a joint from him and lighting it up.

Sofia looked uncomfortable and had moved away from Joel. She began itching her ear and fixing her shirt that had a grass stain on it.

"What's going on?" I said, inhaling the joint, "Why are you two here together. Looks almost like a date."

Nobody said anything, so I took another hit from the joint. Joel straightened out his legs while Sofia watched him. I waited for a response as I blew the smoke in their direction. After studying them, I noticed a hicky on Sofia's neck.

"What's that?" I pointed to the side of her neck.

Sofia quickly covered her neck with her hand and began rubbing it. "This? I don't know where I got it."

"Bullshit," I said frustrated that she was lying to me. I took another hit of the joint and gave it back to them. "Tell me the truth. Who are you fucking?" My heart started beating faster as I waited for a response. I had suspected her for a long time, but it had always gone unsaid; most likely because I didn't want to see it.

"Juan," she started, "you'll always be a treasure to me. But I like hanging out with others guys. You should know this by now."

"I thought we had something special. I really like you," I said, "you easily change from caring about me to not having one intimate thought; like overnight. I don't understand how you keep doing this."

"I know. And I'm sorry for that," she stuttered, "so... Don't be made, but Joel and I are sort of dating."

"What the fuck Joel?" My hands clenched into fists, and then I glared at Sofia. "So now you want to ruin all of my friendships. I introduced you to Joel. You don't do that with friends."

"It just happened though. I didn't want to resist it," Sofia commented.

"I don't want to hear," I said, "so what am I supposed to do? Just hang out with you two lovebirds like nothing has happened."

"You can if you want. We are still friends," replied Sofia, "we'll always be friends."

"Fuck you Joel!" I screamed and then walked away.

"Call me when you want to talk as friends," Sofia said back concerned.

I didn't hear anything from Joel. His quietness told me that he still had some regret, but for the most part, he liked Sofia like I did. My heart began aching as everything around me didn't feel important anymore. My vision was clouded by tears and reduced to only the grass below me.

I didn't want anyone to see me like this. I couldn't accept the fact that Joel was with Sofia. She would probably hurt him like she did me, but I could never tell him as a friend because it wouldn't be the same anymore. I had finally understood that Sofia and I would never be a couple. But in the far back of my mind, I still felt hopeful.

I found a dumpster behind a store and crawled into a ball. My head rested between my knees and my arms stretched around my legs; the traffic helped drone out my sobs. What I was once able to have was now taken away from me—all the intimate moments shattered into pieces. I could feel the weed kick in, but it wasn't enough to numb the pain. I pictured Sofia's face next to mine in her bed, but then was quickly interrupted by Joel taking her away. The thought of them having sex made me cry.

I stood up, trying to maintain my composure and wiped the wetness away from my face with my shirt. I took a deep breath in and then exhaled, still sobbing. The sun was setting and I still had a job to do tonight. I had to get myself together. The smell from the dumpster began to surround my nostrils, and if someone emptied out the trash, they would see a worthless sobbing teenager.

I stepped out from the dumpster and looked both ways. From a distance, Joel and Sofia were walking on the sidewalk towards our apartments.

I quickly jumped back behind the dumpster and sat down with my watery eyes facing the building. My muscles were tense and my teeth rubbed against each other. I looked up into the sky, hoping they hadn't seen me and tried to calm my nerves by talking to myself with assurance.

Joel and Sofia passed with their arms around each other. I watched them from behind until they turned into the apartment complex and disappeared. They were probably going to have sex, and Sofia was going to forget that she had ever seen me.

I stayed behind the dumpster until nightfall, thinking about what Sofia and Joel were doing. I stood up when someone threw a bag of trash into the dumpster; they didn't seem to notice me. In the darkness, my body seamlessly roamed around the neighborhoods and waited for nine o'clock to come. Reasons that Sofia didn't like me, what I did wrong, and how I could change all crossed my mind, but an answer never came to me.

As I made my way to the small house with an unkempt front yard, I checked the time on my phone to see _8:58_. I waited an extra two minutes and looked along the side of the house, still staying off the property. The side wall was blue with peeled paint and mixed into a rotted brown color at the bottom. There were no cars out front, and the door was shut with the screen-door open.

I crept along the side of the house, stepping on dried twigs that cracked with each step. Once at the fence, I placed my hands on the top to look over. The backyard was the same as the front except there were broken cars frames surrounded by tall weeds. I gripped the top of the fence and pulled myself over to the other side. I tried to be as quiet as possible with my landing and then continued to lurk until I reached the back-porch and tried the door. It was locked, but flimsy. My eyes scanned the backyard for something to break the door.

Before picking up a rock, I noticed the side window was already cracked open. I dug my fingers underneath the window and pulled it up. Once some space was created, I slid through with caution. My feet touched the carpet as I made my way around the room, trying to find a light switch. I bumped into a table and kicked around some clothes before my hand reached a light to turn it on. Once the room was bright, I immediately began searching for the cocaine. Under the bed, in the desk drawers, in the closet, and behind posters were places I looked. My hands rummaged through the dirty pants for anything useful while throwing the clothes behind me. I pocketed forty dollars that fell to the ground.

Once the room was ransacked, I turned off the light and made my way into the living room. I searched through everything and then tried the kitchen, garage, and bathroom. The only room left was the main bedroom, and it felt like time was racing against me to finish. I switched on the light to see posters of rappers, drugs, and pictures of Manuel's gang on the wall.

After searching through everything, I still couldn't find any drugs. I found some more money that I pocketed, and thought of places I might have missed. Feeling discouraged, my head scanned to each corner of the room and stopped at the ceiling corner above the bed. It was freshly painted and looked unusual with the popcorn-ceiling. I stood up on the bed and felt the corner with my hands. It easily pushed up and opened like a small attic door. I punched through it and reached my hand around until I felt a brick of cocaine. I continued to search above me and felt two more bricks. I didn't remember how much cocaine there was supposed to be, but I took it all. I held all three bricks against my chest and quickly made it out the window.

Before leaving the backyard, I realized I needed to hide the drugs with something. Being in the streets with three bricks of cocaine was obvious to any police car that drove by. I quickly found a trash can, emptied everything out of the bag, and then placed the cocaine in it. The crickets chirped in the gaps of darkness, ignoring the noise I created. I climbed over the fence with the cocaine and ran away from the house I had burglarized.

The side streets seemed more crowded than usual on my way to Manuel's house. Upon arrival, a dim light from inside the window let me know that people were home, but it still presented as spooky. I walked onto the front yard with a bag hanging over my shoulder, unaware that Miguel's friends were sitting on the porch.

"What do you want?" said a voice in the shadows.

"Manuel," I replied.

They went inside to find Manuel. Moments later, he appeared and guided me into the kitchen; his eyes on the bag of cocaine. We stood over the table as Manuel waited for my report.

"What do you got?" he asked.

"I found three bricks of cocaine in the ceiling."

"Three?!" His eyebrows raised with a smile. "That's what I'm talkin about!" He brought me in with his hand and patted my back; quickly releasing.

"Is that good?"

"It's better than good!" He took out the three bricks and slammed them on the table. "This is bomb!"

Franklin had walked around to see what I had found. He congratulated me and asked how I had snuck into the house to find the cocaine.

"That mother-fucker is dead," said Manuel. He rushed into the living room with some men.

I faced Franklin with a sense of defeat. "None of this matters though."

"What? Why?"

"Sofia is fucking Joel now, and I will never be with her again."

"So what," said Franklin, "Here, we got our own bitches. If you join—"

"I still don't know about that."

"Give it some thought. Manuel will probably be asking you now that you did him a favor. There's a lot of benefits in joining a gang. I think you'd feel better." Franklin noticed I wasn't listening. "And fuck Sofia. Why do you care about here anyways?"

"I like her... And I feel betrayed."

"No worries Juan. You can start a new life with us. We got everything. Think about it and let me know. You won't regret it."

"I just want to go home and smoke some bud," I said, "Manuel said he'd give me—"

"Oh yeah, hold on." Franklin walked around the corner, instructing me to stay in the kitchen. The environment didn't seem as hostile as it did before, like I was accepted. Manuel's voice was coming from the other room, most likely plotting the murder of the gang member who had stolen the cocaine.

Minutes later, Franklin returned with a grocery bag full of weed.

My eyes widened, and my dry mouth began watering. "That's a lot!"

"Use it wisely," he said, handing it to me, "Manuel put more in it and wanted to thank you for all the help. He also wants you to come back tomorrow."

I wanted to say I didn't need to return but remembered I had been kicked out of school and had nothing else to do. "Yeah, sure."

"Think about what I was saying. You know, about joining," Franklin said as he walked me out the door.

"I will."

Heading back to my apartment, I took the long way around to see if Sofia was in her room. The lights were on, but there was nothing I could do about it. My body shook with anticipation to smoke some weed and blur my head for the night.

As I entered my apartment, my dad was home, but asleep. His lunch was prepared for tomorrow on the kitchen counter with fruit to the side. I quietly closed the door to my room and prepared a joint. I made it extra fat for celebratory purposes despite my failure with Sofia.

After I finished smoking, I was more depressed than anything. Feeling desperate, I looked through my phone and decided to text Tara back.

She responded quickly after I told her that I had a giant back of weed. More texts were sent back and forth until she finally said she'd come over. Knowing she wanted to smoke, I prepared another joint upon her arrival.

I left my window open for her and then reviewed the last text I had sent to Sofia. The more I scrolled into the past, the happier the conversations got. I tried to pick apart our relationship and wondered what was it about her that always made me feel so lonely.

Tara's face appeared at the window as she climbed through, wearing a loose top and short shorts. She looked different with bangs over her forehead, though I was quite high.

We lit up a joint and smoked it down to the roach. Tara began giggling after everything I said, and her hand brushed over my hand a few instances. It helped improve my heart-broken condition.

Afterwards, I went to the bathroom but told Tara not to leave. She said she was going to roll up another joint, which was fine by me.

I stumbled into the bathroom and rested my head against the wall as I peed into the toilet. I wanted to sleep, but it was good to have the company of Tara after losing Sofia. I realized I was still thinking of Sofia, and maybe another joint was what I needed.

I quietly opened the door to my room and saw Tara lying naked on my bed with her hand on the side of her head. Her breasts rested below her as my eyes looked between her legs. With my high still at its prime and blood rushing through my body, I approached the bed, focusing on Tara's naked body. Being high seemed to heighten everything and turned me on even more.

I crawled over Tara as she welcomed me by spreading her legs for me to push against her. I started kissing her and moved to the side of her neck as she started moaning. She yanked my belt off and pulled down my pants.

This had to make me forget about Sofia.

The next day, I woke up naked with Tara's head leaning against my shoulder. It was past the time for school, which meant my dad had already left for the day. I still thought of Sofia, so I woke Tara up and fucked her again to try to forget. After sex, she didn't seem to want to leave, so I told her that I needed to get some things done.

It was a new day and I had no obligations or anybody to tell me what to do. Before leaving, I looked into Sofia's bedroom window, but the blinds were closed. She wasn't far, wherever she was. I used some of the money that I had stolen from the house yesterday to buy some food and a new pipe.

I thought about what Franklin had said about joining a gang. All of it seemed daunting, but next time we would meet, he was going to ask me about my decision. For all I knew, his gang could have been a bunch of wannabees, but that didn't seem to be the case. They ran a tight operation, and whoever's house I had raided was probably dead.

After smoking a joint, and some contemplation, I walked over to Manuel's house, thinking that I would say yes if they asked me to join. On the way, I checked through the parks and walked by the school to see if I could find Sofia. She and Joel probably didn't know that I had been kicked out of school, unless if Franklin had told them, but he never attended school either. Reliving past memories, I went into Sofia's favorite stores and restaurants, but it only left me more hurt.

Once I arrived at Manuel's house, there were more people than usual out front. Everyone introduced themselves to me as I was offered a beer and then drank with them on the porch. After we finished, I was jumped into the gang. I was beat, thrown, and knocked around from every angle. Punches swung into my body, and as I fell to the ground, everyone kicked me without letting up. It seemed like forever until they stopped and left me a broken body. My face was bleeding and my ribs were torn to shreds, most likely broken.

My new family congratulated me after they kicked my ass and instantly bonded with me like brothers. They sat me in a chair and gave me a joint to dull the pain. While sitting on the porch, I knew there was no turning back.

For the next week, I spent most of my time at Manuel's house and dealt a lot of drugs during the day. I always found girls to fuck when I wasn't busy; Tara was included—and once she found out I was in a gang—she grew attached to me very quickly. Whenever I was down about Sofia, she always helped me out. Franklin would also call some girls over to party with us when we were bored. As time went by, my life was beginning to have a pattern of selling, stealing, and then partying. For the first time, I tried cocaine with Franklin and enjoyed it. It gave me the confidence and energy when pulling off a job.

One night, I was walking down the street with Franklin, talking about famous actresses we wanted to fuck. We had just finished a deal down the street and were farther on the west side than usual. We waited at the bus stop as Franklin changed the subject to the gun that he had under his belt.

With the blue sky darkening, an older couple sat down on the bus bench next to us. We stood up and moved to the side so Franklin could show me that his gun was loaded. We felt special in public because we knew we belonged somewhere important and everyone was missing out on our experience; but nobody had the privilege to be like us. We were tougher than the any actor, sports figure, or rockstar. I felt untouchable with my gang, like I was with a pack of lions.

I started reading a sign next to the bus stop as Franklin continued to talk. He was proud of his capabilities in his gang, and always compared himself to famous powerful actors; most of the time from Scarface. For him, that was the American dream.

Suddenly, Franklin stopped his story short, "Shit."

"What?" I didn't like the sound of his voice.

A group of five teenagers dressed in dark shirts approached us; some wearing bandanas and another holding a bat. Nobody said anything as the group maintained their cold stare.

"Who are they?" I asked.

"Shut up, shut up." Franklin did not drop eye contact from them and put his thumb under his belt, near his gun. I shuffled my feet, nervous that something was about to go down.

"What the fuck you doing here?" said one of the five teenagers dressed in baggy attire with a gold chain around his neck.

"Fuck off," replied Franklin.

"This is our territory, bitch." He quickly stepped up to us, but in that instance, Franklin pulled out his gun and aimed it at his face.

My entire body was on alert and ready to leave the scene, but Franklin didn't budge. The older couple at the bus stop wisely moved away and left us at the bus stop. The eye contact from everyone was sustained with hatred. There was no sign of anyone backing down or even looking away.

In seconds, Franklin fired three shots at the teenagers who ducked to the ground; some getting shot. He ran off the sidewalk as I quickly followed behind him through the gravel and towards the commercial property.

Shots erupted from the bus stop. I ducked my head and continued running away, hoping I wasn't going to get hit. My feet felt like they were full of strength but still weren't running fast enough.

We made our way in front of a tall building, still in sight of the rival gang. Two more shots fired. I heard them explode into the wall in front of me. Screams for us to die chased us into the alley as more gunshots fired.

We made it to a fence that surrounded a business property and jumped over it. Our feet landed and immediately dug into the ground to start running again. I passed Franklin and was now leading the escape. I looked back to make sure he was behind me, but he had turned a different direction.

I ran behind a utility office and slammed my back against the wall. Feeling lost, my head looked to each side. It remained quiet but I could still hear conspiring voices in the distance. One wrong move and I would be in the view of someone's gun, ready to take revenge.

Sirens erupted through the streets, causing me to run forward and veer into hiding. The rival gang members had scattered, likely deterred by the police. Franklin had disappeared, so I made my way behind another building and away from the blaring lights. My body tumbled into a small ditch that was covered in darkness. At the end, a large pipe was sticking out and trickling leftover water into a puddle. I looked in with a disgusted face and crawled inside to hide.

A helicopter flew above us, adding to the coverage of blue and red lights shining around me. My body forced itself into the pipe that smelled of a disgusting aroma of trash and dirty water. I found a broken cardboard box and moved it in front of me as I continued to crawl to the back. I was finally stopped by a grate and couldn't go back any further.

I waited the night in the cramped pipe, unaware of what was happening outside of me. I couldn't believe Franklin had shot someone; possibly more than one person. My life was under threat and my face had been seen by the survivors ready to seek vengeance. For now, I felt safe. A light shined over the pipe but drifted away near the outside fence. My silence went undetected by anyone investigating the area.

In the morning, I crawled out of the pipe, unable to bear the stench anymore. I moved out of the ditch and away from the vacant crime scene that had occurred last night. Unfortunately, I didn't have Manuel's number stored in my phone so I walked home in a hurry.

Once I made it to my room, I smoked some weed to calm my nerves. I didn't want to go to Manuel's house for fear that the police were there; so instead, I walked over to Sofia's apartment, hoping she was home.

She answered with a delighted face, like I was a long lost friend. A hint of suspicion was behind her eyes, but I ignored it.

"Can I come in?" I asked.

She let me through, and we walked back to her room.

"How have you been, Juan," she said, "I missed you."

I stopped to think about what she said, wondering if she missed me as a boyfriend or as a friend. Before I could decide, she gave me a hug and held me tight. My arms folded around her until she let go. Her hair was still damp from getting out of the shower and the perfume on her neck intoxicated my senses.

"I think I'm being searched for by the police," I said, "Franklin got us into some deep shit."

"What happened?" Sofia asked concerned.

"He shot another rival gang member, and then the police chased after us. I got away."

"But you personally didn't shoot anyone?"

"No."

"Who are you these days? First you get kicked out of school, and now you're in a gang? What going on?"

"It's what I do now," I said, and admired her face. All my feelings for her were rushing forward, and I knew I couldn't do anything about it.

"What are you going to do then? You can't stay here?"

"Why? Are you here with Joel?" I smirked in her direction.

"He's at school."

"And you aren't going to school anymore?"

"Stop being a dick," she replied, "I'm going to one of those private schools. You can graduate the same and go to school for half the time. They say you learn at a quick pace to recover credits, but it's easier and faster than regular school."

"Good for you. Maybe you'll grow up and be famous because of it," I said, jealous that she was in school and I wasn't.

"If you're going to be like this, then just leave," she said.

"I can do what I want." I reached my hand behind her hair and pulled her in to kiss her.

"Stop it." Her hands tried to push my face away.

I shoved her hands down and kissed her again. Sofia struggled, but as I continued to press my lips against hers, she fought less. I held onto her tightly and ripped off her shirt. My hands continued to pull off her pants as I kissed her shoulder. She moaned and kissed me back on the lips.

I threw her onto the bed and jumped over her, knowing I was going to fuck her.
Chapter 6 – Returning to unknown territory

Franklin was caught by the police and sent to jail for murder. He was tried as an adult and awaited trial to become part of the criminal justice system for the majority of his life. I didn't hear much from him nor was I able to visit. I vividly remembered him shooting three shots into the group of teenagers, and then my memories were scattered after that.

As for my gang, everyone was surviving to make money and stay out of jail. My future seemed doomed as I lived like there was no tomorrow, and after a while, it didn't bother me anymore. We were at war with the rivals that Franklin had shot, and Manuel didn't have any patience for them. Two more of the rivals were shot and killed, but nobody was caught from our gang. If I hadn't been selling that day, I might have been one of the participants to put out the hit.

Now, it seemed like violence was everywhere in the streets. I was always watching my back and had to be ready for anything, because one wrong move in the streets could result in death. I didn't know whether violence created gangs or if gangs created violence, but I never have had to carry a gun for safety.

My other worry was that I was on probation. Shortly after Franklin's incident, I was arrested for selling drugs and although I never stopped selling completely, there was always the risk of getting caught again. It was fast money but dangerous at the same time. According to probation, I was forced to go to a charter school, but it only gave me more customers to sell drugs to. Drugs and girls were the only two things on my mind.

It was Saturday evening, and I was helping my dad move out of our old apartment. He was going to be living in South Phoenix near the dry river that stretched through the desert. I didn't have plans to live with him since I spent more time at Manuel's house. My dad was disappointed the entire morning that we were separating and knew that I was using drugs.

We were finishing up with the rest of the boxes when two police officers walked in. They both wore police hats and their guns were holstered to their side. My probation officer followed in behind them with a collared shirt and a badge around his waist. He was a strongly built man with a square face and a thick neck. I was rarely home whenever he had visited me in the past.

My dad bitterly looked my way and then turned to the officers, "you can't just walk into someone's house. You need to knock and wait at the door in a respectful manner."

"Doesn't look like you are the owner anymore," commented one of the officers, "we need to ask your son Juan a few questions real quick."

My dad crossed his arms, standing behind me. "What do you have to ask?"

"It's about his gang involvement," one of the officers replied.

"Yes?" He seemed reluctant for the officer to proceed.

I remained silent behind my dad, pretending I was busy. I didn't know if he was protecting me or insulted that the officers had walked in his apartment without knocking. I watched the probation officer take out some photos, ready to question my involvement in gang activity.

"And take off that hat when you're in my house," my dad ordered. He swiped his hand behind the officer and smacked him in the back of the head.

The officer's hat dropped into his hands. With a stunned face, he stepped back and was ready to pull his gun out, but stopped. The probation officer stepped between the officer and my dad, almost showing that he came in peace.

"We're sorry for barging in like this but we thought nobody was home," the square faced probation officer said.

My dad grunted and then glanced at the other officer with his hat on. I knew he wanted him to take it off. His eyes continued to stare as he nodded his head, waiting for recognition.

Without further thought, the officer grabbed his hat and put it in front of him. Out of respect for my father, both police officers stood back and kept their hats below them. I let out a chuckle but quickly coughed afterwards to cover it up.

"What are you going to ask him?" my dad asked the authorities.

"We need to question your son about an incident that occurred last night. He's not in trouble. We just want to have a civilized conversation."

My dad never liked dealing with my legal issues and was becoming grumpier every time he had to answer for me. "When did this happen?"

"Last night," the probation officer replied and then looked my way, "Juan? Where were you last night around ten? You're already hanging on a thread with your drug tests and your absences with counseling classes."

My dad spoke up, "he was with me. Anymore questions?"

"All night?"

"Yes," replied my dad, "here at home."

I knew he was lying but I kept my mouth shut and agreed when my probation officer asked me if 'this was true.'

The officers got the hint that I wasn't going to talk about anything, and my dad's insistence to end the conversation made them feel uncomfortable.

The probation officer asked, "Where are you guys moving to. I will need the address. You need to tell me these things or else it's a violation. Understand?"

My dad looked at me to answer this time.

"I understand." I knew he wanted to arrest me so he didn't have to deal with my bullshit anymore. If my dad hadn't covered for me, I probably would have tried to run.

I wrote down the address for him and watched my dad usher them out with disregard. He closed the door and turned to me with worry. His expression changed to grim.

"If you get into trouble again, I am not going to court and you will face the consequences of what happens. You are old enough to make the right decisions."

"Thanks for helping me," I replied.

"I didn't help you. I just don't like the police."

I grinned, thinking of him hitting a cop and getting away with it.

"This is not funny. You need to stay away from your friends. They are bad influences. Start working, go to school, and stop using drugs. You don't know how much of a future you're wasting."

"I'm not wasting any—"

"You are wasting your life, son," he interrupted, "remember when I told you that you have so much opportunity in America. You wouldn't believe how many kids would want to be in your shoes. Do you think you'd have this opportunity in Mexico?"

"Umm, no."

"Get your shit together Juan."

I opened my mouth to reply back, but I held in my sarcastic comment.

"I... I've learned a lot since moving to America. Especially about sports because there are so many available. Here, everyone loves to score. So much scoring involved. Remember playing soccer in Mexico, Juan?"

"I remember."

"It can take forever just to score one goal. It's possible that nobody will ever score, but we are ready to jump up and celebrate when it happens. We work so hard for one goal. We work and we work just for that one moment."

"Why do we work so hard when it doesn't mean anything?"

"Because when we score, it's the most magnificent thing in the world. Everyone's cheering for the glory of the goal. Many never know what it's like to work so hard and achieve something like that... But sometimes, the struggle is worth it in the end. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

"Yea, I'll be fine," I replied, "I have my plans."

My dad sighed, "Sometimes, you have to realize what playing field you're on and accept it."

"I know," I replied to agree. Despite his motivation, I could sense some surrender in his voice. I never wanted to be a slave like him.

We took the remaining boxes outside and packed them into his friend's truck. My dad gave me a hug and invited me to join but he knew I wasn't going to leave with him. He got into the passenger side and watched me through the side mirror until the truck sped away and left me alone at the apartment complex. With nothing else to do, I was ready to walk back to Manuel's house. I wanted to do another line of coke, or possibly get some alcohol before I met up with everybody. Using and selling never went well together.

Before I left, Joel and Sofia appeared in the distance and were walking together through the parking lot with their arms around each other. Joel's face was full of confidence and his chin lifted high in my direction. I hadn't talked to him since I had discovered that he and Sofia were a couple.

As they approached, he whispered something to Sofia who laughed.

"What's so funny?" I twitched my head in their direction, thinking that they were talking about me.

"Nothing," Joel responded and continued laughing.

"Calm down Juan," Sofia added.

I felt insulted from the way Joel was acting, and he had never shown disrespect to me before. My envious eyes followed them, wishing I was in Joel's place. Instead of watching them leave in sadness, I yelled from behind, "Hey Sofia! Did you tell Joel that we've been fucking?"

My comment caused Joel to stop and pull Sofia back with her. He approached me with forceful eye contact and tried to size me up. "What the fuck did you just say?"

"Go ahead," I looked at Sofia, "tell him that we've been fucking behind his back."

Not wanting to answer, Sofia shrugged her shoulders. She knew it was true. She put a hand on each of us, "No fighting. I don't want this hatred between you two."

"Is this true?" Joel asked me as he started breathing heavily through his nose. He didn't look at Sofia and wanted an answer from me, or an invitation to fight.

"Fuck yeah its true," I said, "now you know how it feels."

Joel quickly swung his fists at me as I stepped back to dodge each punch. I moved to the side to gain some space, waiting for a good time to hit him back.

Joel regained his composure and put up his fists. "You're fucking dead!"

"How is this different from what you did to me?!" I screamed back. I held my fists in front of me, ready to counter more of his punches. I had been in fights before, losing some and winning some, though it was a lot easier when I used my gun.

Sofia rushed in the middle of us before either of us could swing at each other.

"Stop this!" she yelled, "you guys need to chill the fuck out!"

She turned and looked at me in the eyes, begging for me to stop.

Before she said anything, I interrupted, "You're gonna have to choose. Me or Joel. Right now."

"I don't want to do this right now," she replied.

"Then get out of the way," I told her, angry that she didn't want to stay with me.

"Ugh! This is stupid!" she yelled, "Go ahead. Fight, and see where it gets you!" She stormed off and turned the corner towards her apartment.

"Sofia..." Joel trailed off and then looked to me, "thanks for fucking up our day."

"Consider it payback," I replied.

"You know what," Joel shouted, "Fuck you!"

"You _know_ you did the same to me."

"Bitch." Joel grumbled.

My head perked up, knowing that when someone was called a bitch, it was not only an invitation to fight, but the ultimate form of disrespect. Something about that word stuck with everyone on the streets, and you needed to stand up for yourself or else you had no credibility. But then again, I could have walked away.

I clenched my fist and threw it into Joel's face. It made perfect contact between his eyes; part of my knuckles rolled over his nose as he flew backwards. I followed through with my hand and watched him drop onto the ground.

Standing over him, I yelled, "who's the bitch now?!" I felt like a new person after swinging all my anger towards him; like everything was better. Never seeing Joel fight, I didn't know why I was startled that he had swung at me. I had more experience and was bigger than him.

Facing the ground, Joel moved his hands over his face and began to groan. I chuckled that I had won, but then watched blood trickle from the side of his face. I wanted to walk away but instead knelt down by his side to see if he was ok. He _was_ my friend some time ago.

I turned him around to see the damage I had done between his eyes. He flinched, thinking I was going to hit him again, and then put both of his hands over his face.

"What the fuck is your problem?!" he groaned.

"You know what my problem is by now," I replied, and stood up to walk away.

Sofia came around the corner and immediately ran over to Joel. She looked at me with disgust. "What did you do?"

"I punched him."

With tears in her eyes, Sofia put her arm around Joel and kissed the top of his head. It immediately turned me off as I walked away with a bitter-sweet feeling. She had clearly chosen Joel over me.

"We need to take him to the hospital," cried Sofia.

"Then take him," I replied unconcerned. In a way, I felt bad but knew I had proven my point. All my animosity towards their relationship had been in that punch. As I left them behind, the tension in my hands released and my shoulders loosened.

I walked by Sofia's apartment, remembering the enjoyable times I had spent with her. There was something about good memories that couldn't be taken away, even if the present changed them to bad. The comfort assured me that I was ready to move on.

At the corner of the street, I admired my old apartment complex one last time and moved on. I was the last one to leave the home of my family, but for some reason, I had a feeling I might return someday.

My phone rang in my pocket as I reached for it with a sore hand. I studied the dried up blood on my fist, realizing that it might be broken. The adrenaline had worn away and exposed the throbbing pain in my knuckles.

Tara's name was displayed on the screen of my cell. She usually called when she wanted to smoke or buy some weed. She was attracted to the bad boys like me on probation, which gave her imagination a thrill—like we were running away from the law together. But the only thing I wanted was to be free of probation.

I answered my phone, feeling in the mood to smoke and have sex. After picturing her large breasts bouncing up and down over me, I changed directions towards her house that was near the school.

"Do you want to smoke?" I asked her.

"Duh," she replied.

"I'm heading over," I said, "I need some pain killers for my hand. It hurts like a mother-fucker."

"I'll take some from my dad's medicine cabinet. He's got a lot of shit in there."

"Take all that you can." I hung up the phone and stopped at the liquor store to buy some alcohol. The attendant knew who I was and sold me whatever I wanted. He always saw me with Manuel and wouldn't deny me a sale. I bagged some Four Lokos that were extraordinarily high in alcohol and caffeine content and then bought a pack of cigarettes from behind the counter. Drinking two cans usually got me drunk, but I bought more just in case.

I met Tara in her backyard with my bag of alcohol, and she greeted me with a bag of pain killers. Sitting down on some lounge chairs near a table, I opened two large cans for us and handed one to Tara. She wore her pajama pants and a tank top shirt as she sat back in her chair. She hadn't left the house for the day and her lack of motivation told me she wasn't planning to leave anytime soon.

"Are we getting fucked up or hanging out?" she asked, "because that's a lot of alcohol."

"Shut up," I replied, "I've had a bad day. Where are those pain pills?"

Tara handed me the pills. "My dad uses these for his back. I've had them before and they'll leave you feeling like you don't care about anything."

"Good. That's what I need," I said and took them from her hand. I threw the pills into my mouth and followed it with my alcoholic drink.

"Oh my god," Tara gasped, "your hand is swollen. It looks broken. What happened?"

"Nothing. It doesn't concern you." My warning subdued her interest. Tara leaned back in her chair with a discouraged look and read the label on her can.

We finished the drinks, and I began to feel drunk and light as a feather. The pain pills combined perfectly with the alcohol, but I still wanted more.

"Let's light up," I suggested.

"You don't feel fucked up as it is?" asked Tara.

"No."

Tara assembled her bong and set some weed in it. She took a hit, leaned back, and then tilted her head to blow the smoke out. She tried to hand me the bong but was out of reach, so I stood up and snagged it from her hand.

I took repeated hits, feeling it instantly in the brain. My entire body was numb, yet I was becoming dizzy. I looked at Tara leaning back in her chair with her arm over her head. She had a cute and tan body that never got old. I stumbled over to her chair and began feeling her up, but the dizziness of the alcohol, pain pills, and weed took effect and nauseated any pleasure that developed. It caused me to return to my seat and sit down. I didn't think she had noticed that my hands were touching her, but I decided that I would try again later. Her eyes were closed and body looked limp.

"Tara?" I asked.

"What," she mumbled.

"You got some more?"

"Some spice in my room," she replied, slowly tilting her head down, "I use it when I run out of weed."

"Good," I said and took out a bag of cocaine. I wanted the drowsiness to stop and needed to gain some energy for the walk to Manuel's house later in the day. Showing my face to them while under the influence was disrespectful and aroused suspicion. However, the more drugs and alcohol I used, the more I forgot what had happened with Sofia and Joel.

I snorted some lines of cocaine to get me moving.

"What are you doing?" asked Tara, raising her head.

"Coke," I replied, "you want a bump?"

Tara didn't respond, but seemed to crawl over the table to reach the line of coke I was making for her. She snorted it and returned to her chair, with a little more liveliness in her.

"When did you start doing coke?" she asked.

"A while ago... I don't remember."

I aligned some more powder for another bump, trying to wake myself up. My hand shook as I opened up another Four Loko and drank half of the can.

"Take it easy," said Tara, "I know your hand hurts a lot but don't get too fucked up." Tara's eyes slowly closed but she quickly opened them, not knowing whether to fall asleep or stay awake.

"Where's your spice?" I asked, "I want to try some."

"In my room under my sock drawer."

"I'll go get it." I stood up and let Tara decide to sleep or stay awake. She seemed incapable of getting up, though I felt the same.

I stumbled into Tara's room and carelessly dug through her clothes, throwing everything onto the ground. Tired of reaching into the drawer, I yanked it out and poured everything onto her bed. Her bag of spice appeared in front of me as I grabbed it and walked back outside.

I sat down next to her and finished the last of the alcohol. "You want some spice?"

She didn't respond but finally shook her head no, battling with her own blurred state of mind.

I shrugged my shoulders and set the spice in the bong. My head felt like water was rushing through it as it spun everything higher into the air. There was no control, and I felt like I was going to throw up. I held it in and took a deep breath into the bong.

Spice tasted different from marijuana. It was smelled terrible and I could taste the burnt pieces in my mouth. I remembered why Manuel never told me to smoke spice because there was better shit available. But spice was good to smoke when under probation because they didn't test for it.

I immediately remembered that I had to take a drug test for probation.

"Fuck!" I yelled. It didn't seem to disturb Tara who mumbled something back.

As the intensity of wooziness increased, I took another hit of spice that was in the bong. The world around me was no longer surreal as it turned everything into filmy waves of indistinguishable light. I tried to set the bong on the table, but my body continued to fall forward. It felt like forever until the bong shattered from under my body and my head slammed onto the ground. I could feel the shards of glass sticking into my chest and the upside-down table resting over me. The dizziness in my head spun higher until it turned everything to darkness.

My eyes opened in a hospital room as I tried to focus on my surroundings and ignore my pounding headache. The moonlight shined through the window that also let in a faint sound from the traffic outside. Water was being fed to me through a tube and a trash can was placed next to my bed, which was great timing because I immediately threw up.

Tara's father was standing in front of me with his arms crossed and a displeased look of judgment. In the bed next to me was Tara lying on her back and eyes closed to the ceiling. Her father walked over to her bed and put his hand on top of her head, almost protecting her from line my sight.

"What did you do to her? What other drugs did you use with her that the doctors didn't find in her system?"

"I don't know," I said, holding my head.

"You little shit, messing up my daughter's life. She doesn't do any of this."

I chuckled for some reason, thinking about all the times I had smoked with Tara.

"Is something funny," he said, "I want to speak with your mom and dad to let them know the trouble you've caused my daughter."

"They won't come. So fuck off."

He raised his finger, but before he could say anything, a nurse came in and directed him out of the room.

"I'm coming back you little twerp," he yelled, "you're a terrible influence and have hurt my daughter enough!"

Ignoring him, I looked over at Tara lying on her bed. She was asleep and unresponsive to her father yelling at me. I didn't know what time it was, and after looking at Tara resting comfortably, I felt exhausted. My head and chest were covered with bandages and my fist had a hard cast around it. There was no way of moving my body, so I laid my head back down onto the pillow to rest.

When I awoke again, it was daylight and my probation officer was standing over me. I looked to my side for Tara, but she was no longer in her bed.

"Where's Tara?" I asked.

The probation officer's unfriendly face didn't seem to care or know who Tara was. "When you get out. You will be going to detention where you can sober up. Your gang involvement has also come onto question. Once the nurses clear you, you will be going with us. Your father has not responded back and we cannot find him. Most likely, you will be staying in detention until we can provide something for you."

"Shit." I slouched my head low, knowing I was stuck with the consequences.

The probation officer discussed with me the drugs that were found in my system and how I had violated the rules on numerous occasions. I was set for a court hearing with the judge who had given me chances before not to screw up. I never saw my probation officer much, but he always showed up when something bad happened. He discussed with me more incidents that had occurred with my gang and asked if I could point out any names.

I replied, "I'm not telling you shit."

With that, he got up and left, closing the door and leaving me alone in the room. It felt like a barrage of cops were going to kick down the door and take me to detention, but I had discovered that the juvenile justice system was lenient and could be taken advantage of with the right manipulation.

I couldn't think of any excuses that I hadn't used before and began to panic, not wanting to be arrested once I was better. Probation was difficult when drugs were on the mind, and I didn't want to be sober in a cell. My hospital room was silent except for the outside noise of nurses and doctors moving around. For the rest of the day, nobody visited me, which caused me to obsess about when I was leaving for detention. Being treated as a hospital patient for any illness was more desirable than being a customer in jail.

I waited until night to sneak out; it seemed like the rational thing to do instead of waiting in bed to be picked up by the police. After the nurse left my room, I painfully stood up from my bed and prepared to leave. Nobody was patrolling the hallways, except for the night nurses doing their rounds and tending to the needy patents. Wearing boxers and having no clothes to change into, I took off my hospital robe and put it around my pillow with the covers over it to make it look like a sleeping body, though it wasn't fooling anybody.

I stepped into the hallway and quickly ran over the cold tile. I passed some open doors with patents lying in their beds and nurses with their backs to me. Not many people wanted to escape from a hospital, but my reasons were better than most.

Some of the night-shift nurses were behind the counter talking with each other and studying the computer screen. I swiftly passed them in the background and turned the corner towards the stairs. I opened the heavy door and made my way down until I was at the first floor. I waited a moment to hear if anyone had seen me, but nobody opened the door and it remained quiet. My wounds ached as I cracked open the door to see if anyone was around. It seemed vacant so I casually slid through and followed the hallway lights overhead.

Ahead of me was a spacious front entrance with glass doors that led outside. Before making a break towards the front, I crept to the edge of the wall and tilted my head around the corner. A security guard was reading a paper next to the entrance and the receptionist was talking on the phone. Patents were waiting for care and sat on aligned chairs in front of a television hanging on the wall.

Suddenly, a nurse started walking in my direction and if she turned the corner, she would see me. I stepped back and ran through the hallways to search for an exit towards the back of the building and followed the signs that displayed _exit_ in red. Hearing a doctor from around the corner, and knowing the nurse was trailing behind me, I opened the nearest door to my right and jumped in, quickly closing it behind me. The condensed room was small and dark as I felt my hands around to create a picture in my head of what was in front of me. From the outside I could hear more talking and people walking by. The hospital was too crowded, even at night, and there was no way escape undetected, especially when wearing only boxers.

I felt a cord above me, so I pulled it, and a light-bulb illuminated the small closet. Shelves with equipment and janitorial materials were stacked around me. In the corner was an old pair of pants that I put on. I moved a pile of old rags around and found a doctor's coat at the bottom. I took some scissors from the bottom shelf and cut around the white coat so that it looked like a shirt. Carefully putting it through my broken hand, I pulled it over my shoulders and tucked it into my pants. I had cut the sleeves slightly short and didn't know if it looked suspicious or not, but it had to be good enough. My fingers buttoned up the shirt to the neck as I straightened it to look proper.

I pressed my ear against the door, waiting for a moment of silence to sneak out. I slowly pushed the door open and began walking towards the exit. It seemed conversations were around me, and the intercom made it sound like I was being chased. I gave a nod to the nurse that was walking towards me. She smiled but didn't say anything, looking occupied with the clipboard in her hand.

I walked out into the open where the front lobby was, passing the receptionist behind the counter. The security guard continued reading the newspaper without lifting his eyes.

I didn't want to look at him, knowing it would portray as suspicious. A family opened the door and walked inside, causing me to wait. I stepped around them so they blocked the view of the security guard and let them hold the door for me as I walked outside. The cameras were pointing down on me, but I kept my head low and advanced into the parking lot. My fast walk turned into a run as I separated myself farther away.

I rushed to Manuel's house and changed into comfortable clothing. Manuel listened to my stories of the probation officer wanting to arrest me and then my escape from the hospital. There was no mention of the drugs I had used with Tara, and I explained to him that I had fought someone and had to go to the hospital for my broken hand. Everyone else was curious as to why I hadn't been around. Sergio and Thomas, gang members that sold drugs near my territory, asked me questions about my probation officer. I gave them a fake story and changed the subject about the streets. Last night, they were accomplices to another shooting of a rival gang member that sparked an episode of violence. Manuel seemed agitated after he had talked with me and instructed that everyone was 'lying low' for the next week since there was so much heat on us. I now realized why my probation officer had asked me about my gang and my personal involvement.

I stayed at Manuel's house for a couple days but became bored, so I left for a while to go check on Sofia. Visiting Tara wasn't an option, and her father would call the police if he saw me near his property.

Walking on the streets, I remembered I was a wanted man who was undeterred by the laws of society. Although it felt like a normal day, it seemed like there were more policemen patrolling the neighborhoods, so I took the side streets, not wanting to be stopped by a nosey officer. One suspicious look by a cop driving by could lock me away.

I knocked on Sofia's door, but there was no answer. To the side of the mat were burnt filters of cigarettes and candy wrappers. The apartment looked empty, so I sat on the porch and waited for someone to get home. I didn't know why I had walked over to her place; but maybe I just wanted to see a familiar face.

A new family walked out of the apartment I used to live in, which sent a nostalgic sensation to my stomach. I grabbed the hard cast that fit around my broken hand and nervously waited for Sofia to show her face.

It wasn't until two hours later that Sofia arrived at her apartment. Dressed in a dirty white shirt, her stride was unsteady as her busy eyes scanned the porch. She stopped once she saw me, but continued with reluctance to the front door.

"What are you doing here Juan?" she asked, still showing frustration from our last encounter.

"I... I wanted to see you." It was hard to explain the reasons for my actions when she was involved.

"About what?" she asked, holding onto her keys. With hands shaking, she searched for the right key to unlock her door.

I stood up, hoping to go in with her. "I just wanted to see how you're doing. And to check on Joel."

"He's at the hospital. And I'm still trying to recover from that stupid fight you had with him." She studied me for a moment and put a hand on her hip. "What's wrong with you, Juan? You're acting different from just a few days ago."

"I was going to say the same for you. What's up with your eyes? They are red."

"No sleep. I've been up all night."

"Doing what?"

"Just been up and couldn't go to sleep. Do I need a reason?"

"I guess not," I replied, feeling unwelcomed.

Finally, Sofia let me in and we moved to her room.

"When does Joel get out of the hospital?" I asked, sitting at the end of her bed.

"He should be leaving soon with his family. After you fought him, we haven't been talking much..."

"Why?"

"Stop asking so many questions, Juan."

I shrugged my shoulders and looked around the room, remembering the good times we had together when nobody else was involved. It seemed my selfish desires always got the best of me.

Sofia took out a small bag of crystal meth and set it down on her desk. Licking her dry lips, she studied her pipe and then placed everything into the bowl.

"What are you doing? That shit is dangerous."

"Thanks for the reminder dad," she sneered and lit up her pipe.

"When did you start doing meth?" I asked.

"When all the other drugs stopped working for me. This shit makes you feel invincible. You can do anything you want. I feel like a famous singer on stage in front of millions of people cheering me on."

"Is that why you haven't slept? You're been playing make-believe?"

"Stop asking questions, Juan," she said irritated. She exhaled the smoke and blew it towards my face. An idea suddenly formed in her head. "You want some?"

I hesitated and didn't say anything. Everything I had heard about meth was awful from users losing their family, friends, or themselves; but Sofia didn't make it seem so bad. In fact, she looked sexy doing it.

She held the pipe in front of me, insisting that I take it. "Just one hit."

I grabbed it from her, like she had challenged my manhood. Looking into my eyes, she put her hand on my knee to encourage me to smoke with her.

"No problem," I said, taking the pipe and lighter from her. I lit it and inhaled through the pipe, instantly receiving a bitter taste in my mouth, but I continued to suck in more of the potent smoke. I finally exhaled, feeling transformed from just a moment ago. It hit my head like a ton of bricks as I stood up, startled from the surging energy.

Sofia snickered and took another hit from the pipe. " _This_ is my new favorite drug. I haven't smoked weed because this shit is all I need."

Listening to Sofia with vivid awareness of everything in the room, I was thinking at a fast pace and wanting to do a million things at once. Instead, Sofia and I talked about what we had missed in each other's lives when we weren't together. Most of the topics didn't seem important, but we talked nonetheless. I soon gave Sofia some money to buy more meth. After visiting her dealer, I stopped at the liquor store and bought some beer to drink with her. It was like old times again; just her and I having a pleasant time.

We spent the entire night smoking in her room and then moved out to the park to explore. It seemed like an adventure every time we found something new to occupy ourselves. I soon professed my feelings and told her how much I had missed her, though she didn't seem to care. I tried to suppress any urge I had for her and pushed it below my heart. Despite the lumpy feeling in my chest, I felt alive with her for the entire night and didn't realize the sun had been rising as we talked in the park. I was able to get information about her and Joel. Sofia said that they had separated after our fight, which made me feel better.

The morning commuters were waiting at the bus stop and the cars began to fill the streets as we walked on the sidewalk, ready to continue our day. I felt tired but the meth kept pushing me to do something great with Sofia. She was right; this was a different feeling than anything else I had tried before.

"Dance with me," said Sofia. She didn't wait for me to answer and put her arms around my waste.

On the sidewalk, we began slow dancing to the music in our heads. I never enjoyed dancing much, but the meth took away any embarrassment I had from other people watching. I ignored the cars speeding by and the commotion that surrounded us. Soon, nothing mattered anymore.

"It's always nice to have you with me," Sofia whispered into my ear.

"I like being with you too." I wanted to kiss her neck but knew she would disapprove. Resisting the temptation, my mouth stayed shut as my hands wrapped firmly around her body. Passing voices shouted our way, but we ignored them and the world in transit.

Our happiness sparked more energy in our bodies as we began dancing at a faster pace. The streets and buildings seemed to enflame around us, and the uproar of noises intensified with each movement. I watched Sofia move her hips to the rhythm of a song in her head. The sun was her spotlight, shining over her while the rest of the world watched.

Wanting to be in the spotlight together, I pulled her in and spun her around with my hands. She set a hat over my head, and it seemed to make me the slickest dancer in the city. More voices continued to cheer me on. I took Sofia's hand and swung her around me and brought her back for a hug. She pushed me away and continued dancing alone. It was a great day for the both of us.

As I became tired and snapped back into reality, I noticed we were in the middle of the street. Sofia was sitting down with her head tilted forward in a deep sleep. I bent down to lift her up but a street cone fell off my head and landed on her. I immediately swiped it away and kicked it to the side. I carefully lifted her up as the noisy cars in the intersection waited for us to move. Horns were honking and inconvenienced voices were yelling at us from all sides.

"What are we doing?" I asked Sofia, standing in the middle of the intersection.

"Dancing," she mumbled while trying to maintain a smile without fatigue.

I smiled with her but tried to sober my thoughts as to why we were in the intersection, and why a cone had been over my head. Carrying ourselves onto the sidewalk, we both started laughing together.

Suddenly, police sirens rang in front of us and our progress of walking forward came to a halt. Two police officers quickly exited their cars with their guns drawn. I didn't let go of Sofia but knew I had to say goodbye to her. Knowing I would soon be behind bars, I kissed the top of her head and continued to hold her hand as we approached the officers. The night and morning had been special to me, and I would never forget the fun we had shared together.

"I'll miss you," I said.

"Why would you say that?" she asked.

"Don't forget about me."

"Don't worry," Sofia said, "we'll hang out soon."

"We better." My eyes looked to the ground with uncertainty. I couldn't believe how stupid we had been, dancing in the street for every cop in Phoenix to see. Did the drugs take over, or was I losing my mind? It had to be the drugs....

Once the police ran my name through the computer, they arrested me and let Sofia return to her apartment. From the back of the police car, I watched her stand alone on the sidewalk until I was driven away. Sooner or later, all good things come to an end.

I checked into detention and lived in my cell until court started. But even after, I wasn't going anywhere and knew that my fate was with the judge who never liked me in the first place. He was just another disappointed person in my life.

Staring at the wall, I visualized all my brain-dead decisions I had made, followed by thoughts of regret. A craving for drugs was always present in my mind and tortured me with false temptations. One more hit was all I needed to achieve my buzz, high, or whatever it was called that gave me the power to forget the real world.

The court process was always delayed and patient with my violations; however, once I was actually in the courtroom, it seemed expedient and only interested in the brief facts. The judge was tired of seeing my face after every time I had violated probation or obtained a new crime.

At the end of court, the judge proposed, "You can either admit that you have a drug problem and take six months of inpatient treatment, or I can incarcerate you until you are eighteen."

I thought about it for a moment, unconcerned of how precious a timely response would be. The judge looked at me like I was crazy for not accepting his offer of rehabilitation. He picked up his gavel, ready for me to make a decision.

"Can I say something?" I asked.

"What is it?" said the judge impatiently.

"I think I got a cop problem. If the police and my probation officer left me alone; I would be doing just fine."

"Anything to say about your drug problem?" he asked with a long exhale.

"You know what," I said raising my voice, "I got a people problem too. And a money problem."

The judge set his glasses on the table and shook his head with disappointment. "Is there anything else relevant that you'd like to say before I make a decision?"

"So you think I have a drug problem?" I asked the judge boldly.

"I can repeat the numerous probation violations from failing your drug tests and the offenses that occurred while you were under the influence of drugs. It seems if you didn't have drugs in your life, you'd be doing better. What do you think?"

"Better, maybe. But I don't think it's a drug problem. More of an everything problem; like a life problem."

"I'm having trouble following you on your logic."

"We are all born into this world without knowing right or wrong. Some of us have different struggles when growing up that privileged people never have, and we are taught differently of what is considered a crime. It's all unfair. So what if it's against the law, and who makes you the decider of all of this? Why do I have to be punished because society says so? This is how I live."

The judge sighed, "I think we are done here. I ask that you work on your maturity like most adults do when they grow up. But nonetheless, I am going to send you to an inpatient program where you will receive treatment. I feel that you're a good person when you don't use drugs and you can turn your life around. You need guidance and have no one to seek this with. A youth without guidance is a menace to society. Please don't make me regret my decision."

I studied him for a moment, expecting the dreadful opposite. Despite all my violations and failures, he still had hope in me. "Thanks?"

"You will still be under probation supervision, but if any violations occur, you will be sent to detention until you are eighteen years of age. Understand?" he said firmly.

"Yes, I understand."

I stepped away from the podium and turned my back on the judge, passing the next kid awaiting trial. Most of the juveniles in detention came from poor neighborhoods and were never able to gain an advantage over the rules. Instead of using the law to solve something, we found street justice on our own. The police, courts, or anyone working for the system were against us because they were interfering with the justice we took. Nobody ever thought about calling the police in our neighborhoods; it was a personal issue that was nobody else's business.

I was put in my cell where I thought about the decision the judge had made. He was crazy if he thought he could save me. I was beginning to realize that there wasn't much of a future for me unless if it was earning cash by selling drugs in the streets. Most people in the civilized world denied anyone with a criminal background and skipped over any useful quality. It was going to take a lot of work to be legally successful, like Gabrielle. It seemed my entire family had separated into their own interest, whether good or bad. I still thought we all died inside when the cartel had killed my mom. I closed my eyes and tried to remember what she looked like and pictured Alfonzo running with me through the cornfields.

I stayed locked down for my beginning days and went out for breakfast and dinner with the other juveniles in neighboring cells. Since everyone was under the age of eighteen, we were required by law to attend school classes. Most of the time, everyone talked shit about other kids, sometimes resulting in fights. Some were alright to get along with, but others didn't have any street credibility and tried to talk themselves up, only to reveal who they really were on the inside. I made some friends and learned new ways to sell and steal but was mainly waiting for my time served to be finished. No matter what, we seemed to have a bitter taste for whoever had locked us up; whether probation, family, friends, or anyone else to blame. Denial usually drove many of our emotions and helped cover the fear.

One morning I was greeted by law enforcement agents and taken to an interrogation room. After useless chit-chat, I was told that I was an accomplice to the murder that Franklin had committed. The officers explained my involvement, and that I was being charged with him in his trial. That usually meant that Franklin had snitched on me. I wasn't the one that pulled the trigger, but it probably helped reduce some of Franklin's years in prison.

While waiting for my new trial with Franklin, I was transferred to the adult jail and was tried as an adult. I immediately wanted to return to the juvenile system where I had more privileges and was treated fairly. Two meals were given to us each day. In the morning we ate peanut butter, bread, and an orange; and then for dinner, we ate the same thing. I was beginning to smell like peanut butter every time I curled up in a ball to sleep. It didn't matter what time it was, if I was tired, I slept. It helped pass the time while awaiting trial since there was nothing else to do.

Disrespect was a concept that wasn't tolerated, and if someone was disrespected, then they had to fight or else they were considered a bitch. Everyone wanted to know who I rolled with as I had to pick a race, or a gang. Choosing a gang was better for protection in the end, and had less of likelihood that someone would get taxed or charged, though it still didn't guarantee safety from the other gangs.

Neither Sofia nor any of my friends visited me; but most were not allowed to anyways. The only person I could think of that would visit me was Gabrielle, but she didn't know where I was. I wrote some letters to the university, hoping that they would look up her address and send my mail to her, but it seemed useless. I also sent letters to Sofia but she hadn't sent me anything in return.

One thrilling moment of the day was watching the female officers walk by. They weren't the best looking but were women nonetheless to jerk off to. After understanding the system, I knew when they would walk by and started jerking off once they were in front of me. It helped envision the realities I was deprived from. Other times, I folded the mattress to make it look like a pussy, slammed it up onto the sink, and pretended I was fucking the female guard from behind. Sleep and masturbation were my only ways to cope with jail, though very ineffective and depressing.

More cold nights passed by as I thoughtlessly sat in my cell and then occasionally attended court. I viciously peered at Franklin from across the courtroom, thinking of why he had to include me in his murder charge when he was the one that pulled the trigger. On other days when we weren't locked down or in court, we sometimes went to a class, but nobody listened to the teacher who taught life skills to a jailed society. Our minds were always in a different place even when we wanted to learn. We were able to order food every Wednesday, but I never had any money, so I had to eat more peanut butter and bread.

After more months, and thinking I already had enough problems, the Immigration and Customs Enforcement, or I.C.E., was now involved with my case. And that meant that I had a high probability of being shipped back to Mexico. I didn't know what was worse: spending a long time in prison, or going back to Mexico. My gang involvement and high profiled crime that I didn't participate in had given me a bad reputation.

More months passed by and sentencing came to a close for Franklin and me. I had a different plan than Franklin who was going to spend thirty years in prison. I was going to return to Mexico to face whatever consequences were ahead. All the juveniles envied that I was going to Mexico because it usually meant I wouldn't do as much jail-time. The United States was always good at prosecuting people back to Mexico, but a lot of the times, Mexico didn't care to make offenders a burden of their country, so they usually let them go. For other juveniles caught up in the Arizona adult criminal justice system, they were looking at punitive sentences and would not step outside of prison until they were middle aged and dependent. In a way, it had a deterrent effect, but it didn't make me want to change.

Closing the same book I had read fifty times, I pictured myself breaking through a shattering wall and running away from the outside of my cell. Once reality crushed my dream, everything slowed down as I thought of the reasons I was here and what I could have done differently to be free. Not doing meth certainly would have been a solution. But the high was engraved into my brain, and I wanted more. I didn't think about marijuana as much, though it was always welcoming.

With handcuffs strapped around my hands and ankles, I walked out of the jail and boarded a bus that was departing for Mexico. I had finished my paperwork and signed every line at the bottom without reading the conditions. It summarized that I was being deported, but I thought of it as my way to escape.

I sat down across from other kids being deported and shackled to their seats. We exchanged looks but didn't say anything. Some I recognized from the jails and others I had seen in the streets. All in all, we were speechless of what to do next.

The bus engine rattled and let out a puff of smoke as the wheels began to move. The windows were barred and a steel gate separated us from the driver. Two more officers with guns were sitting to the side and keeping watch. Outside the bus window was the jail from a distance, resembling a small refugee town in the desert. Watch towers surrounded the tents, and fences with spiraling barbed wire detained everyone on the inside.

We traveled through the city of Phoenix and out of the metropolitan area until we reached the freeway that led us into the barren desert. The dust devils twirled in the distance through the cactuses and dead shrub, blending in with the mountains in the background.

We continued south until we reached the border and were dropped off into Mexican custody. Their process consisted of less paperwork and we were released from our shackles. After waiting in a cell and talking with a representative, I was released into the foreign city. I didn't know where I was on the map or what direction would lead me back to Arizona.

Feeling like a free man, I walked down the streets with cars honking their horns and venders selling their food. The black exhaust circled through the air every time I crossed an intersection. Although I understood the bulletins, street signs, and conversations, everything seemed foreign because I had no money and nobody to help me.

The desolate sky looked hopeless and the city smell was unfamiliar. I dug through the garbage and found some discarded fruit from the market and an empty food can with some residue that I cleaned out. I then held it out in front of me and began asking for change to the onlookers passing by. There was nothing in my pockets that could afford a simple phone call to Arizona. Life was much different from the eyes of the penniless
Chapter 7 – The Struggle

I was such a shitface. I had fucked up my chance to live in America and was one of many illegals that were deported because of a stupid mistake; and we were all so desperate to cross back over in a heartbeat. I had been sleeping behind a small restaurant and continued to panhandle for spare change to strangers with empty pockets. Starvation was a concern whenever I lifted my head from the pavement in the morning, but I was able to dig through the trash and find something to feed my meager body. The rotten food tasted sour, but it kept me going. My clothes were darkening from living on the ground and my hair had matted together. My poor condition twisted the scenery around me which made me feel despondent to a cruel world.

It was the third day since talking with Gabrielle, who said that she would come pick me up. I told her that I would wait near the courtyard in front of the seafood restaurant. She was the only person I could contact who would pick me up. I didn't know how she was planning to cross the border back to Arizona but I tried to think of some possible solutions while waiting.

I held out my small can for the people passing by, hoping for the sound of a coin to hit the bottom. This morning, I had no luck in collecting any change so I went exploring into more dumpsters. Sometimes, there were already people in them, which meant I had to find another one. I walked behind a gas station and began digging into a wide dumpster for any available food. From the side of my eye was a damaged guitar laying over some trash bags. I immediately stopped digging and picked up the guitar that had a chunk missing from the side and one string remaining. I plucked it with my finger as it made an off-tune ring and hummed to silence. Not wanting to drop it, I brought it back to the street corner where I begged for change.

I sat down cross legged on the sidewalk, pretending that I was a talented guitarist, and held onto my broken instrument. I plucked the one string, trying to create some attention, but it only seemed bothersome to the crowd. I then asked the strangers that looked my way if they wanted to buy a guitar, but they ignored me. Although it was a slow day, I received more coins than normal with the guitar in my hand; it was like a good luck charm. With my earned change, I bought a loaf of bread and a piece of fruit.

Walking back to my sleeping area near the dumpster and holding onto my lucky guitar, I saw Gabrielle on the sidewalk with her head peering around each corner, trying to find me. She carried her purse and was wearing her college shirt.

I delightedly signaled her over and continued to run towards her. Her relieved face showed she had missed me as she gave me a hug. I held onto her like I hadn't seen her since we were kids on the farm.

"Thank you so much," I said loudly, "I missed you."

"I did too," she replied, "I can't believe you are in Mexico. What are you not telling me that got you here?"

"I got deported; but before that I got arrested." My eyes averted away from her, not wanting to tell her more. "If the internet didn't exist, I don't know how I would have contacted you."

Gabrielle rolled her eyes after I mentioned that I got arrested. "Why do you do this to yourself? I've heard enough of you getting in trouble." She began to crinkle her nose with disgust. "You smell Juan. Where have you been staying?"

I turned around and pointed to the dumpster next to the restaurant in front of the courtyard. "Over there."

"That's terrible," she replied, "Let's go back home."

"How do we do that? And how did you come here?"

"I have a visa for my schooling. It's temporary, but I can get across. You should be going to school too so things like this don't happen," she scolded.

"No lectures. What's the plan to get across?"

"The plan is you hide in my car," she replied, "remember when we were kids and we hid in the seats? Same thing applies here too."

I regretfully sighed and knew I would have to contort my body into a small compartment. I noticed Gabrielle had cut her hair shorter and matured since I last saw her. "I like your haircut."

"Thanks," she replied, "and why do you have a broken guitar in your hand."

"I..." I studied it for a moment. "I think I want to play the guitar."

"It looks broken to me. And you can't think about wanting to play the guitar. You either want to play the guitar or you don't."

"Then I want to play the guitar." I plucked the string on it, showing her my limited capabilities.

"Looks like a piece of trash to me, but I admire your desire to hold onto a broken guitar in the middle of Mexico. Let's go to the car, rock-star."

We walked down the sidewalk and across a dirt lot as we approached her car parked on the side of the street. After getting through the jammed doors, we both sat in our seats and shared a moment of silence until Gabrielle started the car. She set my broken guitar in the back and handed me a water bottle with a bag of food. She put the car in drive and merged into the chaotic streets.

"Go ahead and eat. You need it. From the look of it, you haven't had anything in the past week."

I drank all the water and began picking out the dry snacks from inside the bag. "Everything I've been eating in the street dumpsters have kept me alive."

"Barely."

"I'll be fine once I'm in Arizona again."

"This cannot happen again," Gabrielle interrupted, "you need to stay away from jail; but most importantly drugs... And don't go play with your gang friends. Oh, and especially that Sofia girl."

"That's a lot of things," I replied, "I like Sofia though."

"Oh god. Please don't say that you like her." She shook her head. "You've completely changed ever since you met her."

"Maybe," I said and scanned over the interior of her old car, wondering what year it was made. "Thanks for all of this. I probably would have been dead if you didn't come get me."

"You're welcome," she replied with irritation that I wasn't listening to her, "if you like Sofia, then promise me that you'll stay away from drugs and that gang of yours. Do it for me as my reward for helping you."

"I will. No problem."

"Good. Because if you had talked with dad, then you would have known that Maria is in prison for drugs. She's been using meth for a long time and it finally caught up with her. You've never tried meth, have you?"

I thought about dancing with Sofia in the streets while meth was running in our blood. "No. What's that?"

"It's an amphetamine and it ruins lives. I visited Maria in jail and her life revolves around that drug. It makes you do stupid things and you become a different person. Don't ever do it."

"I won't," I replied, "how's dad?"

"Working like usual. You should visit him. He always asks about you. I think he misses you but he's embarrassed about you're legal troubles."

"I know..."

"Listen, Juan. You're going to stay with me and you're going to start up school again," Gabrielle insisted.

"But I'm not allowed back into the U.S. because of my crimes, so I definitely can't go to school. They would find me."

"If you stay away from trouble, then the system won't see you. Don't worry about it anymore. School is you're new focus."

"I don't feel welcomed when I'm in both countries. How can this be?"

"Just worry about yourself and not others, no matter how terrible it seems," she replied and looked in her rear view mirror, "by the way; you're going to need to hide in the back seat soon."

I climbed to the back seat and lifted it up, which instantly brought back terrible memories. "This looks smaller than when we fit in it before."

"That's because you're bigger, Juan."

"I know." I set my feet in and rested my arms on the side, waiting for her to tell me to hide. "There's got to be an easier way to get across."

"This _is_ the easiest way."

"The easiest way always has its problems," I commented and then chuckled, "It's funny that we've been living in this country for most of our lives and we are sneaking in."

"This isn't the first time we have snuck in," Gabrielle replied, "now get down and hide. I don't want to get caught."

I squeezed myself into the compartment below and cramped my arms and feet together. Gabrielle pushed down to secure it into place. My life was going to change for the better once we were on the other side. It had to improve; exactly how Gabrielle was saying. Getting taken away from Arizona showed me that I didn't have a comfortable place to live. I envied all my friends that were legal, knowing they were privileged.

The car came to a halt, and I knew we had reached the border. My body perspired as Gabrielle spoke with the officer outside her window. A small crack in the top corner let in some light, but I could only see the back seat.

"Any green aliens traveling with you today?" the officer asked. His voice was slightly muffled.

Gabrielle quickly replied with confidence, "No sir."

The car doors opened and closed as the officer continued to talk with Gabrielle. His voice was becoming suspicious as he instructed Gabrielle to stand to the side. Muzzled inside my seat, the shaking tension in my body wouldn't go away as I counted each delayed second in my head. I imagined us driving away from everyone outside the car, but we remained stationary.

Suddenly, a dog barked from the side of me, followed by the car door opening again. A furry canine body stepped over the backseat and started sniffing above me. It let out another yap as the door opened from the other side. I grabbed the sides of the compartment, trying to hold it down from the dog's intrusion.

Gabrielle's voice was louder with a hint of desperation as she spoke with the officer, mainly about the dog that was scratching the seat above me. I could hear its nose sporadically breathe over me and its paws swipe the crevice that let in a slit of light.

"Go away you fucking mutt," I whispered angrily.

Everything shook around me until the top lifted up, exposing me curled inside of the seat compartment. An officer stood with the dog next to him and pulled me out. He began speaking Spanish to me, but I told him to 'go fuck himself' in English. After I said that, he arrested me and wasn't polite for the rest of the day. I feared what was going to happen to Gabrielle since she had risked her life for me.

We were separated into different border patrol cars, and I was processed and taken back to Mexico. Gabrielle didn't accompany me, which made me feel better that she might be in Arizona, though she was probably facing the consequences of the law.

I was soon released into a different Mexican city by myself again. Worried that nobody else would help me, I started roaming the streets, thinking about what had happened to Gabrielle. She had risked her citizenship, college, and reputation in Arizona, and I had perhaps fucked it up.

I awkwardly looked around, doubtful of what to do next. I finally decided to walk north towards the border since panhandling hadn't worked out for me in the past. I held my thumb up, trying to hitchhike towards the border. The thought of living behind a dumpster sent chills down my back, but what scared me most, was being stuck in Mexico.

Reaching the edge of the city, a car stopped for me to get in. It was an older truck and had a low rattle that made a powerful sound. As I hopped in the passenger side, an overweight man sat behind the driver's seat with his son in the middle. They both looked friendly and willing to help.

"Where you going?" he asked as I closed the door to fit in. His son gave me a smile and rested his head against his dad's shoulder.

"Arizona," I replied, "my family is on the other side."

"I'm sorry to hear. We aren't going to the border cities but we can drop you off close by."

"Thank you. Where are you driving to?"

"We are going back home."

The little boy added, "to see mamá." He took out some photos and showed me his mother, including everyone else in the photos, and described what each family member liked to do.

For the rest of the drive, we talked about our families. It seemed that once I was away from my gang, I was friendlier and had less of a need to commit an unmoral act. However, desperation made me think that I may return to doing something bad if I couldn't reach the other side.

After he dropped me off, I continued to walk north and hitchhike my way to the border. Once I reached the city bordering Arizona, I walked into the desert at nightfall and prepared to cross. As hours passed, I finally reached the border fence and followed it down until I found some boards that leaned against it. I slowly climbed up and reached my hands to the top, feeling jagged metal that pierced into my palms.

Still holding on, I raised myself over and lowered my body over American soil. The fence shook at the top and creaked with the movement of my weight. I finally pushed myself off and rolled onto the ground, feeling a burning sensation in my ankle.

I slowly got up and limped away from the fence. My ankle had swollen up to the size of a baseball, but I ignored the pain and continued north.

As morning passed, I reached a small street that was as quiet as the desert. With nobody in sight, the stillness in the air convinced me that every sign of life was hiding from the sun. My feet stumbled over the rocks embedded into the dry ground, causing my body to sway with exhaustion. I needed someone to pick me up and drive me back to Phoenix or else I would collapse under the cloudless sky. Some small houses that were abandoned were ahead of me as I searched through everything, trying to find water, but there was nothing to be scavenged. I stayed in the shade until the sun disappeared.

The next day, I was stopped by border patrol. Almost thankful they had found me; I was given some water and then sent back to Mexico in the same city I had been in before. With my appetite growling, I started begging for food and searched through more dumpsters for anything to eat. I realized I had no experience in survival and didn't know how to make money, except for when I sold drugs.

With the few coins collected, I tried calling friends in Arizona that might have phone numbers for anyone that could help me. After some calls, I finally was able to contact Manuel. I told him my story and asked him for advice on how to cross the border. He calmly gave me a phone number and said that he would see me in a couple days.

After finishing with Manuel, I called the number he had given me. The man who answered instructed me to meet him north of the city where I would be smuggled across. He gave me the directions and then hung up before I could say anything else.

In preparation for my journey, I found an empty jug in the garbage and filled it up with a hose from someone's backyard. Clumped dirt at the bottom blended with the water pouring in as it swirled to the top. I quickly ran away once the jug was full and continued towards my destination.

The address given to me led me to a junkyard behind an old business with a crooked sign. I followed the foot imprints in the dirt towards into an open area surrounded by stripped cars. A couple with two kids, two men wearing caps, and a short woman gathered behind a large truck. Two men in black suits guided me to the group of people behind the truck and instructed everyone to stay. We were then escorted into the back and told where to sit. Their rough hands forced us how to sit, where to put our hands, and where to rest our feet.

I studied the two men in suits who were clean cut and wore black sunglasses, looking vicious compared to the normal gangster. Before I could get more information about their appearances, a blindfold was tightly placed around my eyes and my hands were tied together. They moved around us, assuring that everyone was tied together. The children began to plead, but their parents quickly hushed them.

"No one makes a sound," he ordered, "or you will be killed."

Butterflies swept through my stomach from his command. I took them seriously and didn't make a noise, nor did anyone else. The doors closed and the car started up. Although I knew there were people sitting around me, the only sounds I could hear were tires rolling over the gravel, the engine rumbling, and brakes squealing. At times, it felt like I was alone.

Hours passed, and we finally came to a stop. Everyone sat quietly in their dark worlds; for fear that they might be killed. Soon, I began to hear movement in front of me, but I stayed still, hoping that I wasn't going to be attacked. The door opened as the light shined through my blindfold.

I was lifted up from my crouched position, pulled off the truck, and then dropped onto the dirt. The sun's rays began to warm the back of my neck.

"Keep your blindfold on," said a voice.

I remained still and listened to everyone being carried out of the truck. Nothing was said, making it hard to determine what was happening. More doors opened and closed as the engine started back up. I could hear the truck drive away, leaving us in the desert. I didn't move for some time, thinking they were still watching.

"They're gone," a man's voice said from across me. I could hear him struggling with something.

I tried to unbind my hands, but was having difficulty, so I stood up and rubbed my face against my shoulder, trying to take off my blindfold. After that didn't work, I slowly walked forward, trying to find something to free me.

"Hold on kid," said a voice in front of me. He took off my blindfold and cut the binds around my wrists. "They left us here. It's just us." He moved to the woman sitting on the desert floor tied-up and blindfolded. His friend assisted him until she was free.

The couple with their two children were standing together and holding hands. Their eyes studied me, looking for an answer, so I introduced myself to them. The man and his friend walked up behind us followed by the woman joining our group. I spotted my water jug laying on its side and picked it up, knowing I was in for a long walk with everyone.

"Fucking coyotes," said the man next to me. He took off his hat and brushed his hand through his hair. "How can they do this? They take our money and flee like cockroaches."

"We have to start walking," said his friend.

"This is unbelievable," complained the woman, "do they want us to die out here?"

"I think that's the idea," I replied, knowing this had happened to me before.

As everyone started walking, the two men took the lead as the woman who reminded me of Aunt Rita jogged to catch up with them. I walked next to the family that looked stunned that they were stranded in the desert. I tried to give them encouragement, feeling like an expert on crossing the border through the desert.

During our trip, I handed some of my water to the two kids in front of me. Their parents thanked me and watched them quench their thirst. I drank the rest of the water and finished it off at the end of our first day. All of us stayed together and sat in a circle in the shade during the hot part of the days. My mouth was already becoming dry and my lips chapped. I took off my shoe and examined my ankle that had decreased in size, but still ached.

"What did you do to your foot?" asked the little girl.

"Jumping the border fence," I said disappointed.

"You've tried before?" asked the mother.

"This is my fourth time trying to get across," I said, "Only made it once when I was a little kid."

"Sorry to hear that. I pray that god will help us," she said.

Her husband put his arm around her shoulder. "It's a big risk to cross the border. Getting caught is always a concern but dehydration and death slowly pushes everything out of the way. We need to find safety."

After some rest, we continued through the desert. The family was lagging behind, so I felt obligated to slow down and help them out. The two men and woman were now ahead of us but still in view.

I grabbed the hand of the little girl and pulled her with me. She reminded me of Gabrielle. "You can do it," I said with enthusiasm.

She was breathing hard, so we finally stopped to rest. I looked ahead and didn't see the three in front of me, which only left me and the family.

"I feel sick mommy," complained the little girl.

The mother picked her up and kissed the top of her head. She started reciting song lyrics into her ear and rocked her back and forth. Trying to form a smile, she was able to make her daughter giggle.

The father held onto his son, "they better not forget us up there. We can't last out her much longer." His defined moustache was thick and his straw hat rested over his head.

I looked north, wishing something would appear that showed hospitality, but it was vacant. "We need to continue through the night." I said, "No matter how tired or thirsty. Our only chance to live is to find something ahead of us."

The mom and dad agreed. He nudged his son forward and picked up his daughter to carry her.

"Are you meeting anyone?" I asked him.

"In Tucson," he said, "but they don't know we're lost in the desert."

"We will find something ahead."

We walked all night and found a bush to stay in during the day. We were all in need of water. The little girl had thrown up as the sun rose and was crying until noon, and then closed her eyes with heavy breathing. Her face had lightened and looked like she was going to lose consciousness soon.

As her head tilted back in her mother's arms, she let out a small whimper.

"Do something!" screamed the mom to the father.

With no options, he desperately stretched his arms around his family. I was pulled in by the mother as we held onto each other in the shade. As the sun fell over the horizon, the boy began complaining of headaches. The father picked up his son and the mother picked up her daughter, and we continued walking north.

"Do you want me to carry her?" I asked the mother.

"I will be fine," she replied.

I checked on the girl in her arms who looked dead, but I didn't say anything.

As morning came, we noticed a cloud of dust ahead of us, followed by a faint rumble. With a hopeful smile, I ran towards the rising dust to investigate. The roar of an engine increased as I stepped on the dirt paths covered with track tires, which relieved me to think that people were nearby. It didn't matter if they were the border patrol, we needed help.

Ahead was an expensive off-road vehicle speeding over the paths it created and circling around the dead bushes. I ran towards them and waved my arms, trying to get their attention. "Help! A little girl is dying!"

I continued to chase after them as the car swayed recklessly and its tires rolled over the desert landscape. American flags soared above each side of the hood and patriotic bumper stickers were displayed on the back window. The car honked and started driving towards me.

I dropped my arms at my side, happy that they had seen me. The car with tinted windows and red flames approached and slowly stopped to the side of me. The radio was blasting from the inside but quickly muted once the windows slid down.

"You crossing illegally?" asked the man, resting his arm on the side of his car. He was wearing a militant uniform along with his two other friends; one in the passenger seat and the other in the back.

"I've lived here before. Two children are behind me and they are going to die. They need help. Can you take them to a hospital?"

"They illegal?" asked the man in the passenger seat.

"Who cares," I said quickly, "they need help."

The men nodded at each other and instructed me to get in the back seat. The door opened and a towel was placed over the black leather seats before I sat down. I leaned forward, wanting them to hurry up, but their eyes coldly stared at me, indifferent to my needs.

"I can show you where they're at," I said, "I think they are ahead—"

The man in the back lunged towards me and forced my hands behind my back. He took out his personal handcuffs and wrapped them around my wrists, which had occurred to me so many times before. "You are crossing illegally. We'll be turning you in to the authorities."

"Fuck you," I yelled, not caring, "go help the family out there. They are dying."

"You speak English good for an illegal," said the man next to me. He had a toothpick in his mouth and shaggy hair.

"That's because I've lived here my whole life asshole. Now, go help the family." My anger was being tempted from their brainless objective to bring me to the authorities, and uneasiness was in the air that held in hatred for us both.

"Let's go see who else we got out in the desert," said the driver chuckling.

The car drove over bushes and small hills until the family came into sight. They looked depleted and hunched over as they pulled each other forward.

"There they are," I said.

Everyone exited with guns in their hands, ready to draw them at the family. As I tried to follow, my shoulder was pushed down to stay in the car. The door was closed as one of the men stood outside to keep watch.

The family was quickly handcuffed and shoved into the back seat with me. We sat on each other, shoulder over shoulder, trying to stay calm and pleading for water.

"It smells in here now," said the man driving, "Don't you Mexicans ever take showers?"

"We've been walking all day and night. If there was a hotel, we'd gladly stop and take a shower."

"Not on my tax money you won't," he joked.

I ignored his comment and asked the mother how she was doing. She held her daughter with her bounded arms and pulled her in close.

"She's... She's not alive," she said weeping.

The father rubbed her daughters head and began crying.

I turned my head angrily towards the men in uniforms, "Is there any water we can drink?"

"No," he replied and turned on the radio, "I've spent enough money already to protect our country. We aren't getting paid ya know."

I bitterly looked away, not wanting to act out and lose our free ride that was keeping us alive. By the sound of his callous voice, I didn't think he understood that he was saving our lives. If it wasn't for him, we probably would have died. I looked at the mother holding her daughter. "Let's hope we get to where we are going fast so your daughter will live."

She held her daughter tightly with her tied arms and began praying. The father wanted to join her but was tending to his son who was still breathing hard.

The men didn't speak to us at all during the drive, though they snickered at their jokes in the front seat; the speakers in the back muffled their voices. We were dropped off at a border patrol station and given water. They sent the little girl into intensive care and didn't give us any information on her condition. Once we had settled in our jail cell with a sink to drink out of, a doctor finally appeared to tell us that she did not survive.

The mother broke down crying and the father rushed to her side to comfort her, followed by the son who held onto the father's leg. I held my head down, thinking that could have been Gabrielle. Crossing the border through the desert was never safe, but it seemed like the only way.

Later in the day, we were driven back to Mexico and dropped off in the same city I had been in days before. The family waited for their daughter's body to be transported across the border. Their sadness was overwhelming, so I wished them luck and walked into the city to panhandle.

I thought about what Sofia was doing who was probably resting happily in her own bed without the worry of starvation and smoking a joint to achieve the perfect high. I desperately wanted to smoke; anything was desirable at this point. I had failed at crossing the border and accepted that it was a dangerous feat to accomplish, especially more than once.

After begging for food wasn't enough, I began stealing what I could; mostly from small convenient stores. I ran away with a handful of snacks and then found a secluded alley to eat the food. It was better than the dumpster leftovers that caused me to throw up. Picking the right time when the elderly store clerks were working was the easiest time way to get away, but I also had to make sure nobody else was around to catch me.

I slowly traveled north to Nogales by hitchhiking and riding the roofs of trains. Manuel didn't answer my phone calls so I tried calling the schools to find information about Sofia, but they wouldn't give me anything. I did the same for my dad but I couldn't contact anyone that knew his information. If I had remembered numbers instead of storing them into my contacts of my phone, I would have been able to call whoever I wanted.

Sitting on a bench in Nogales and watching the cars cross the border; I questioned why it was so difficult to cross an imaginary line. The random searches depended on luck of the time and how much work the officers decided to accomplish. Almost three hundred and seventy miles spread across the state of Arizona and I couldn't sneak across. It was so transparent, yet difficult.

I impulsively stood up from the bench and walked on the sidewalk towards the border crossing. I maintained my distance from the officials and crossed the street through the cars where everyone was entering and exiting the country line. Keeping my head forward, I attentively listened for anyone to tell me to stop or someone to grab my arm to pull me back. Street venders were selling food to the idling cars as I passed them. It made me hungry to watch the kids sell their candy and local food to the Americans, but I didn't steal anything.

I nodded my head to a family waiting in their car to enter Nogales, though they didn't think too much of it. Still moving forward without resistance, my feet stepped onto Arizona soil. There was an officer standing on the other side of me but he was busy helping someone in a van. The small child selling candy was watching me; the only one suspicious of my actions. The border seemed impossible to cross, but I had never given thought to try walking across the entrance.

My pace quickened and my stomach boiled with fear of being stopped. Nogales, Mexico was a city that had an imaginary line through the middle, and just like that, I was in Nogales, Arizona. I felt my shoulders begin to slouch but immediately corrected them, lifting them up confidently. A grin formed on my face that I was in Arizona without the effort of running in the sun, crossing the fence, or becoming dehydrated.

"Hold on," said a man behind me.

My body twitched but continued walking. I had created some distance from the border line but everyone was still close behind me.

"Sir," the man's voice repeated.

"Yes?" I stopped as he caught up to me.

His gun was against his green camouflage uniform and his helmet looked too big for his head. "Where did you come from?"

"I was just walking around, but I have to meet my family at the restaurant ahead," I said, "I think I wandered out too far." I didn't know what he was thinking but I started walking forward to display my hastiness.

Checking his gun at his side, he grunted and walked away from me. He began talking to the people approaching him in their car with their window down.

This time, luck had definitely been on my side. Nobody else was stopping me, and I had just successfully crossed the border where it seemed most impossible. I was now anxious to see what had happened to Gabrielle and all my friends. For some reason, I wanted to go back to school.

I moved out of sight from any officers that had the capability to stop my progress. One wrong look my way could turn into an interrogation and send me back to Mexico. Behind a gas station, I found a water faucet and rotated it open for a drink. I splashed the water over my face and then drank as much as I could. I checked the dumpster for any food and found some leftover chips and spoiled sandwiches.

I begged for change to a family waiting outside their car and filling up on gas. They kindly gave me more than I needed to call someone. I contacted Manuel who answered and warily listened to my story of crossing the border. I then asked for someone to pick me up but never received a straight answer if he would help me.

I waited behind the store for someone to show up, becoming doubtful that Manuel and my gang were still loyal to me. Phoenix was fresh in my head along with everyone that lived in the city. There were many things that I needed to do, and a second chance was all I needed.

Finally, a van drove into the parking lot, followed by a whistle in my direction. They motioned for me to get in the car, and I complied. I didn't know the men who had picked me up, but they knew Miguel, so I agreed to whatever they demanded. To avoid any suspicions, they stuffed me underneath the car-seat. We were taking the long way back, which meant I was going to be cramped inside for the entire time.

We finally made it back and I was let out of my tiny compartment. I was helped out but immediately collapsed onto my hands and feet, feeling like none of my muscles functioned. Everything felt broken as I whined in front of the gangsters who had smuggled me in.

I slowly stood up and noticed we were in front of Manuel's house. Everyone seemed thrilled to have me back as they came out to give me handshakes, including the unfamiliar faces that joined the welcome. Many of the new gang members were younger than I was and looked at me like I was their enemy.

We walked into Manuel's house and found him in the kitchen eating a plate of food he had just cooked. The spices and meat smelled delicious, but I didn't dare reach over and grab anything until he told me I could. His expressionless face left me puzzled of whether I should be scared or initiate a friendly conversation. Instead, I showed him my gratitude for helping me get to Phoenix.

"Thanks for—"

"Shut up," he interrupted, and finished putting the lettuce in his taco, "do you want a taco?" He held his own taco under his palm and brought it to his face. He gave me a side glance. "This shit is my grandma's recipe. Go ahead. Try some."

I moved next to him and began making a taco as he ate next to me. I put it all together and took a bite. "It's good."

"No shit," he replied, finishing his taco. "Now. You owe me money for getting you across the border."

"Those men that smuggled me left me in the desert to die. I walked across myself."

"Are you lying to me?" His eyes met mine. "You're my little cousin's friend but that doesn't mean that you should lie."

"I'm not..."

"Are you calling my homeys liars?"

"No, but they left us there. I was picked up by the border patrol and had no other way to get a hold of you. That's when I called you at the gas station."

Manuel rubbed the back of his head with frustration. "First you owe me money for the drugs you've been selling. Then, you disappear on us; and then I get a call from you in Mexico. What's going on with you?"

"Nothing. Just got caught up with the cops."

"How are you going to pay me back?" he asked, "smuggling people isn't cheap."

I was ready to tell him I walked across but I didn't want to create controversy, especially in his house. "You know I'm good for the money. I'll pay you back."

Manuel let out a laugh, slamming his hands on the kitchen counter. "That's all I wanted to hear."

"Thanks for picking me up," I said, "And smuggling me across." It bothered me that he thought the coyotes smuggling me across the border were honest and caring. They had left eight people in the desert, killing an innocent little girl.

"I got something for you, Juan," he said dismissing my appreciation, "There's this fucking Asian that's been stealing shit from our guys. He's a one man operation but he's good at pick-pocketing. He follows people on the bus then takes their shit, but the other day, he scrapped with our guys and took their shit. You need to take him out for me."

"Kick the shit out of him?" I asked.

"Kill him," he replied, "that's your debt. Here's his picture and your piece back."

Manuel handed me my gun and the photo printed from his computer. I studied the photo, only able to see the side of his face, but it was distinguishable. He was a darker Asian, but something told me that he belonged to a gang, but I didn't ask any questions.

"Here's where he lives," Manuel ordered, "waste him."

Without argument, I agreed and was directed outside. My loyalty was in question because I hadn't been around for some time and lost him money. Something in me no longer wanted to be in a gang. I didn't feel close to any of them since Franklin had left.

I felt my gun through my clothes, not wanting to kill someone after my struggle to cross the border. Doing someone else's work for revenge was not appealing to me. If anything, I wanted to go see Gabrielle and Sofia.

Leaving Manuel's house, I noticed two younger gang members following me in their Cadillac. They were going to make sure that I finished the job or else they would report to Manuel. My eyes diverted away, trying to ignore them. I walked by Sofia's apartment, wanting to go see her, but I knew they were watching me, so I decided to return later once the job was completed.

I boarded the bus and looked out the window to see the Cadillac following me. I had only been in Phoenix for an hour and was already being told to shoot someone I didn't know. Trying to find him in the streets was going to be challenging, but he was known to hang out in a specific neighborhood, which was unknown territory for me. For all I knew, it could be filled with rival gang members. I glanced at the photo again and saw the face of the kid I needed to kill. His hands were in his jacket and his cold eyes were staring at me through the picture.

Once I found out where he lived, I paced around the neighborhood, still being followed by the Cadillac. Finally, I approached them and asked what they wanted.

The two boys shrugged their shoulders, insisting that I "finish the job."

His house was on the corner of the street, which allowed me to walk along the side fence to see who was home. At sunset, I began to see lights turn on in certain rooms. With one last look at the Cadillac, I unwillingly climbed the fence into the backyard. Luckily there were no dogs chasing me to the other side.

I looked through the window to see a woman sitting with her son at the dinner table. The Asian looked exactly like the kid in the picture, though he didn't look as harmful.

Not wanting to ruin their moment together, I peeked over the fence to see the Cadillac parked down the street. Their insistence for me to complete the job was terrorizing my thoughts and keeping me aware of the consequences if the murder didn't follow through.

I grunted and sat down with my back against the fence, trying to think of a way out. I couldn't just walk in there and shoot someone. Despite my current hardships, I wasn't a murderer.

I carefully thought of a plan to make it look like I had attempted to shoot the Asian. For all I knew, he could be a random stranger and Manuel was testing me; or he could be a dangerous rival. Either way, I was being watched.

Preparing to leave the backyard, I raised the gun in the air and shot it three times. I quickly jumped over the fence and ran in front of the Cadillac so they could see me. They drove away as I ran through the alley towards the other side. I threw the gun into a trash can and continued running until my feet were sore. The Cadillac was no longer in sight, and I felt like I had completed my duty but didn't want to see Manuel again.

I navigated through the streets and back to the apartments where Sofia lived. I continued to look around for the Cadillac but I never saw it once, though I was disillusioned every time a similar car drove by.

I knocked on Sofia's door, occasionally glancing behind my back, paranoid that someone was going to creep up from behind me. The door opened as her mom pushed her head through with a cigarette in her mouth.

"Is Sofia there?" I asked.

She turned her head and yelled Sofia's name, leaving the door open. Smoke billowed out of the apartment from her cigarette and the leftover smoke trapped in the apartment.

Finally Sofia walked out of her room out with eyes wide open. "Get in here Juan," she said quickly. It was almost like she had forgotten what we had gone through together before I got deported.

With scandalous, yet drowsy eyes, she pulled me into the hallway without a word. I glanced at her mom sitting on the couch with a bong in front of her as Sofia dragged me into her room and closed the door. She was skinny but her face brought me peace and her voice reminded me of when we were together.

"Do you got any money Juan?" she asked.

"No, why?"

"Shit!"

"What's going on? You look pale in the face. What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing." She began pacing back and forth. "Have you seen any shadow people yet? They fucking freak you out."

"What are you talking about? Are you still smoking meth?"

She stopped her pacing and looked at me with a smile. "Juan! It's been so long! I've missed you!"

I smiled, "thanks for noticing me. I missed you too."

Sofia ran into my arms, hugged me, and began to cry. "We cannot split up ever again. Promise me you will always trust me."

"I promise," I said, feeling comforted by her hug. I pulled back and examined a cut that she had under her eye. "What happened here?" My hand held the side of her face as my thumb lightly touched over her wound.

"It's nothing. We need some money." She kissed me on the lips. "Do you have any money?"

"No," I replied.

"Shit!" She started pacing around her room again.

"Do you have any weed?" I asked.

"What?"

"Any weed"

"Fuck that. Ask my mom if you want it so bad." She began picking up things off her bed and then throwing them to the side. Groaning irritably, she ran into her closet to search for money.

I didn't want to interrupt her and really wanted to smoke marijuana. Sofia was tweaked out of her mind and wasn't going anywhere, so I decided to see if her mom would lend me some weed to smoke. She _did_ have a bong in front of her.

I stepped out of Sofia's room and into the living room, ready to ask for a favor. I cleared my throat to declare my presence. "Excuse me... Uh..."

After laughing at a joke on the television, she turned her head and asked, "what is it?"

"Can I take a hit of that bong? I really just need to smoke some weed and I haven't in such a long time and—"

She lifted her hand with a lighter in it and stuffed some weed in the bong. "As long as you do it in her. Right in front of me."

"Sure," I replied. I sat down on the lazy boy chair next to the couch and set the bong in front of me. I looked up at Sofia's mom staring at me, almost like a parent, but one that was high.

"I remember you," she said, "you haven't been here for a while. Nice to see you... What's your name?"

"Juan," I replied. I lit the bong and inhaled some smoke, and then quickly did the same thing again.

"Easy there Juan. I don't want you too messed up."

"Thanks," I said, coughing up some smoke.

"This isn't a usual thing, ya know."

"I know."

"Good." She looked into her bong and lit it up herself, inhaling the smoke.

Feeling better, I sat up and walked back towards Sofia's room. The high came at me quick, and I immediately remembered the feeling through my muscles. I hadn't slept for some time and decided to go lie down on Sofia's bed.

I opened her door, keeping my eyes on her bed. Sofia was still in her closet, rummaging through her clothes and searching each pocket.

"I'm going to take a nap," I announced and sprawled out on my back onto the wonderfully soft bed. It was the best I had felt for a long time. It dawned on me that I didn't have a place to stay, but I tried not to think of that. The noises Sofia was making slowly droned out, and the only thing I could feel was the smoke flowing through my head.

I woke up early in the morning to a door shutting. Sofia walked in with a bag of meth in her hand and sat down next to my feet that were hanging off the bed. She was mumbling to herself with a gleeful tone but I couldn't understand what she was trying to say.

"What are you doing?" I asked sitting up.

She jumped up, startled that I was lying in her bed. "Juan! What are you doing here!?"

"Sleeping. Your mom gave me some weed and then I passed out."

Sofia was no longer listening to me and took out her pipe. Her hands shook as she assembled everything together, continuing to talk to herself.

"You need any help?" I asked.

"No!" She waved her hand dismissively and inhaled her lit pipe.

The smoke rose above her and reached my nostrils. It brought back a sense of what it was like to be high on meth with her, dancing in the street without a care in the world.

I crouched down next to her and gently put my hand around the pipe she was cradling.

"What are you doing? I earned this. It's mine!" she yelled.

"Just let me have a hit. I'll pay you back," I said, grasping onto the pipe harder than before.

Sofia released and watched me take a hit of meth. "Wonderful. Isn't it?"

"It sure is," I replied, immediately feeling a spark in my veins.

"We need to get some more today and you're going to help me," she ordered, taking the pipe from me and inhaling the rest of the meth.

"We just need to make sure we have time to visit my sister. I need to see if she's ok."

"She's fine," replied Sofia, hugging me from the side.

I turned my head towards her, admiring her looks. "You're so beautiful."

"Stop hitting on me." She slapped my face and then turned away. Her head looked back and forth as she began pacing around her room again. "The shadow people are back. Ugh!" She put her hands over her face.

"You're talking crazy Sofia," I commented.

She ignored me and went into her closet, tossing through her clothes.

"Can I use your computer to look up Gabrielle?" I said peering over her shoulder.

Startled, she looked at me deliriously. "No time for that. We need to go."

"Where?"

She grabbed my hand and pulled me out the door.
Chapter 8 - What I have become

My youth had been wasted on instant gratification and then chasing the next high. Whether I was in or out of jail, I was finding ways to survive with drugs in my life. Liquor stores, park benches, street corners, crack houses, and bushes in empty lots were places I considered as residency. Police officers that confronted someone homeless usually told them to leave the area; and they had to do it over and over again with each day. That is to say, the police began to know me in the streets. If they arrested me, I was usually released from jail the next day. Sometimes I could feel when I was about to leave my holding cell, since it had occurred to me at least once a week.

The unfortunate truth about the inner cities was they were rarely acknowledged, despite the fact that most crime occurred there. It was common for theft, robbery, grand theft auto, and even homicide to happen in a blink of an eye without the public noticing. Crime shows, novels, and culture in the media concentrated on violence in the suburbs or some sadistic individual that entertained the viewer. However, the majority of crimes were predatory and opportunistic that occurred in the inner cities but never paid attention to unless if it was extremely eventful—which was then easily forgotten the next day.

I had been sent back to Mexico only twice and somehow found evasive ways to cross the border, though the failed attempts far surpassed the victories. I was now twenty five years old and it seemed like I had only become dumber from smoking, stealing, manipulating others, and lying to family members, especially Gabrielle. I felt sorry for her because she was always there for me when I got into trouble. Luckily, she had finished school and gained the trust back with her reputation of being a well-established graduate at the university. She was given a second chance, like so many people needed. It felt like all my chances had evaded me, and I was left with a bitter eye to the public.

When Sofia wasn't prostituting herself out for money, she was considered my girlfriend. She mainly used the money for meth. That drug had grabbed the both of us by the neck and was directing our lives into nowhere. It took over my thoughts, feelings, and judgments with every decision I made. But the positives to being high was that it made me feel like I belonged, and whenever Sofia came to visit me, I didn't need anything else.

A fair-sized bush was my home, and I claimed it as my own property. Sometimes, other bums would try to take it when I was out and about, but I had to fight them off with fury when I returned. An empty thirst-buster cup always told me that someone had been near my bush. That was one thing in my life that was mine—my fucking bush—and no one was going to take it from me.

Once someone established their reputation on the street-corner as homeless and in need, people tended to accept that person into society as wasted. Once I was assimilated, it was easy to play the helpless role as a street servant. In a weird way, it helped me stay connected with everything as the careless faces walked by, not ever paying attention to me. I once stared at a woman for an hour at the bus stop until she looked my way. Another man who was listening to music through his headphones, I stared at for forty five minutes. Nobody knew I was illegal, and the police didn't ever tell me to leave the country; they just told me to leave the area if someone reported my loitering. I was a member of American society, and they couldn't take that away from me.

Although I had many problems, finding meth was my number one issue out of anything. Once I got my high, I was already preparing to find more money for my next big fix, which usually occurred hours later. Begging, stealing, taking advantage, lying, fighting, and robbing all helped me achieve my high. Holding up a card board sign with the same pitiful message for the onlookers to give me money became a tactic. I had figured out the most profitable time of day, the types of people who gave me change, how to lie to them, and when to tell the truth. Sometimes, another bum tried to take over my corner and it soon became a battle for territory. I would always have to fight Sebastian off and yell at him to move to the other side of the intersection that was under the freeway. He was a nuisance to my begging and tried to take my customers whenever I wasn't looking. He wore a shaggy outfit with a dirty cotton hat and his begging sign always had a different message written on it.

I flipped him off and stood with my small cardboard sign in my hands. Too many bums made the intersection overcrowded with beggars, which didn't look admirable, especially when Sebastian had his shopping cart next to him. I wanted to get back to Sofia to see what she had made today so we could put our earnings together for drugs. Overall, I felt good, though the lack of money was a problem. Being sober and homeless was not a good feeling, but when I was high and homeless, it was great. Most of my gang had left me alone, most likely out of pity. They had kicked my ass several times but none had beaten me enough to kill me. A gang stuck with you for life, and as much as the past was forgotten, there was no way to erase it. Besides, my motto was to live in the present because the future didn't matter.

Once rush hour was over, and less people were out, I folded up my sign and walked back to my bush to meet with Sofia. We never argued if one made more money than the other and made sure to finish what we bought together, because if someone fell asleep first, the other would take the rest of the drugs. Our relationship wasn't built on trust but it somehow worked since we had a past connection and the desire to smoke meth.

I began counting all the change and dollar bills I had collected for the day—almost one hundred dollars. It was a profitable day, considering my late start in the morning. If I was on a binge to get money, I could sometimes rack-up five hundred dollars, though a lot of stealing and manipulation was involved. I reached into my coat pocket to eat the food that had been given to me; a leftover slice of pizza, an apple, and some crackers. If it wasn't for the sympathy of the public, I wouldn't have food to eat.

Once Sofia returned, we put our money together and went out to find a dealer. As using drugs and being homeless became a common theme, I began to learn the demeanors of certain people who were selling. By just looking at them, I knew if they used or sold. If they didn't, they were possible onlookers to beg to. Finding someone was as easy as going to the closest gas station. Once they saw me, I knew they knew I was looking to buy.

Not walking far from the bush, Sofia and I found a dealer near the canal. His baggy pants were hanging low over his old basketball shoes. Dark patches were around his puffy cheeks as his bloodshot eyes sized us up from head to toe. Although we were always at risk of being caught, staying near the canal brought us security that no cops would drive by, and it was easier to escape if needed, especially when it was dark.

"Bust out the cash," he said holding the drugs in his pocket.

Sofia handed me half of her money as I combined it with my earnings. We handed the dealer the money who started biting his lips as he counted the money. After folding the cash in his pocket, he turned his shoulder and ran away from us.

"Hey!" I yelled, swiping my hand out to grab him. I chased after him as he turned into a line of tall oleander bushes that were parallel with the canal. They were like a fence that blocked anyone from seeing our illegal actions.

"Get him!" Sofia screamed behind me.

I dashed through the oleander bushes and saw the thief lifting himself over a brick fence, but was struggling to get to the top. I quickly jumped on him to keep him from escaping and pinned him against the fence. My arms hugged around him as I yanked him down to the ground.

"Get off my shit!" he screamed.

"Give me my fucking drugs!" I dug through his pockets and found my money.

Sofia yelled behind me. "Bring him out here."

Without him seeing, I pulled out a butter-knife from my pocket and pushed it against his side, knowing he would have to cooperate with my demands. I lifted him up from behind and dragged him out of the oleander bushes to where Sofia was cheering me on. I continued to hold the butter-knife against his side, telling him 'not to fucking move.'

"I was gonna give you your shit," he pleaded.

"Shut the fuck up."

Sofia took out the drugs from his pocket and quickly stashed them into her back pocket. I found a pipe that I gave to Sofia and a torn brown wallet. I opened the cashless wallet and searched for anything of value. An identification card and some family pictures were in it.

"You got your money. Don't take my shit from me," he begged.

"It's mine now," I said, shoving the butter knife harder into his side.

"You ain't taking my pictures of my family. They're all I got!" He quickly pushed me away and swung his arm over me. "Give 'em back!" His fist slammed into the side of my shoulder from another punch.

"No!" I swung at him but missed.

Sofia pulled me away. "We got what we need. Just give him his stupid pictures."

"Fine." I stepped back and threw the wallet at his face. Still staring at him with hatred, I put the butter knife back in my pocket.

"Was that all you were packing?" he yelled, "You don't have shit on you!" With a malevolent look in his eyes, he cracked his back and then charged me. His feet dug into the dirt as he stepped over his wallet and collided into me.

Our hands flailed in the air, trying to gain leverage over the other. He moved to the side and punched me in the ribs, causing me to huff in pain. I bent down and wrapped my arms around him, using the strength from my legs to drag him to the edge of the canal. I freed my hands and then pushed him as hard as I could.

The man fell backwards and tumbled into the canal—a splash quickly followed. Sofia ran up to the edge next to me to watch him.

"What the fuck!" he yelled, paddling his arms through the water.

I picked up his wallet and threw it at him while he was trying to find a grip on the side to pull himself out. Reaching for the soaked wallet, his body spun around as he was pushed downstream.

I turned back to Sofia who was picking out pieces of meth from the bag. She started packing everything in her pipe and then lit it up.

"Give me some. I did all the work."

"Hold on," she said with a temper.

After she took her hit, she passed it to me. "We got free drugs."

I shook my head and took a hit. "I knew he was going to try to take our shit."

Sofia nudged me on the shoulder, "Why did you push him in the canal? You're making a big scene around here."

"He attacked me."

"What if he wasn't able to swim?"

I watched the man float down the canal trying to hold onto something. "I never thought of that."

"Whatever," she said, "Let's use the money to get a hotel, and then some more drugs for later tonight."

"Let's do it." I was accustomed to sleeping in my bush while Sofia always had a bed. When I stayed with her overnight she would sometimes have sex with me. She was desensitized to sex since she prostituted herself out every day, but it seemed special when she slept with me without charge. At this point, getting a hotel was like our own honeymoon.

After we bought a cheap hotel room and then smoked some more meth, Sofia received a phone call from a client. We were both lying on the bed, and I was happy to be sharing it with Sofia until she stood up and paced around the room with the phone to her ear. I didn't enjoy hearing her giggle to someone else, but it was her job. Part of me ignored the fact that she was getting fucked by a different man each night.

I walked into the bathroom to wash my face and thought about showering, but it felt normal to be dirty. To be honest, I rarely worried about my scent and didn't know what I smelled like. Ignoring the thought of turning on the shower, I heard Sofia finish her conversation and walked out of the bathroom to question who she was talking with.

"I have a trick tonight and I need this room."

"No way," I replied, "we both spent money on this room and I want to spend my time with you."

"I'll be getting twice as much money than before. I'll give you some of it."

I rested my hand on the side of the wall, feeling discouraged that someone wanted to fuck her. "Ugh..." I groaned.

"Well, it's already a deal," she said, "so you're gonna have to leave."

"You better give me some of that money!" I yelled and kicked the bed.

We exchanged spiteful looks until I finally walked out, knowing it would get feistier the more I resisted. I punched the door after closing it and decided to return to my bush. It never let me down and was always there for me.

I was reluctant to walk near the canal for fear the soggy drug-dealing thief was looking for me. He had probably floated downstream far enough that he didn't know where to find me. His face was already vague as the next person I had inconvenienced in the streets. Eventually, they knew where to find me at my unprotected bush where I didn't pay rent, have bills, or any other obligation to society. I was able to focus on nothing, and I liked it that way.

My home was in a small desert lot that nobody wanted to acknowledge. Recently, Sebastian had been rolling his cart near my area and was resting in another bush closer to me during the day. The night was never a time to sleep and always seemed more opportunistic for cash, but before I closed my eyes during the day, I made sure Sebastian wasn't in the vicinity.

The next day, I called Sofia on a pay phone. She owed me money and I wanted to buy drugs; plus I wanted to see how she was doing. She didn't answer, so I returned to my usual position at the street corner under the freeway bridge. Sebastian came in later during the day, holding up a bigger sign than mine. I grunted his way, trying to ignore him and his shopping cart.

I didn't have a profitable day and waited for night to come so that I could steal something. I walked around the neighborhoods, looking for anything to take so I could pawn it in. I peeked over backyards, garages, and porches for anything that had cash value. It didn't matter if I was caught because it seemed like the same process of me going to jail and then getting released was going to happen. I was always risking my illegal status, but as long as I was fucking up on small things, it didn't seem to matter. Additionally, I had gained recognition in the community and with the police that I was living in the area regardless if I was illegal or not.

Sofia was always in and out of jail, and her visits were becoming more frequent than mine. It wasn't until later in the night that she visited me near my bush.

She kicked some rocks my way as I sat in my bush and counted the leftover coins that were in my pocket; the small amount wasn't enough to get high. Her shadow stood over me like a monster, which startled me at first, but I was always able to identify her anywhere she was.

"Do you have any money?" I asked, knowing she owed me some.

"It's gone. We need more," she said bluntly, "I need about one hundred dollars. You got anything?"

"Does it look like I have one hundred dollars on me?"

"Hmm. Find some and we'll meet back in a couple hours."

"You still owe me money."

"I know. You'll get it. I just need one hundred soon," she said and itched the side of her neck.

"The things I do for you," I complained.

"I'm helping the both of us, Juan."

"Maybe..." I looked up at the full moon and followed it down over Sofia's face. I couldn't see if there was truth in her eyes or if she was going to fuck me over, but the outline of her face made me feel good on the inside. I noticed a scar was on the side of her cheek.

"What?" she inquired.

"What happened to your face?"

"Nothing. It's fine."

"How did it happen? Did someone scratch you?"

"I accidently scratched myself. Nothing more. Stop acting like you're gonna do something about it."

"I care if something happens to my girl."

"Ugh," she grunted, "I am not your girl. You don't know how many close calls I've been in that have been worse than this."

"So you didn't accidentally scratch yourself?"

"It doesn't matter." She brushed it off. "Meet me here in a couple hours with cash. It's important."

"This shit isn't easy. I can't whore myself out like you do." I yelled at her as she started walking away.

"Find a way, Juan," she yelled with her back to me.

My eyes stayed locked on her until she blended into the darkness. I leaned back into the bush and thought about how I was going to get money for tonight. First of all, I needed to get cash for myself to buy drugs, and then help Sofia. Her comment about me not being her girlfriend had upset me; but then again, she was with a different man every night; sometimes several.

Sebastian walked past me while pushing his shopping cart. I leaned forward and watched him meander down the sidewalk until he found an area to rest in. After I knew he wasn't going to pester me, I tightened my belt an extra notch over my worn-out pants and ventured out into the city.

The first thing I did was enter the nearest store to steal some liquor, but before I made it to the alcohol section, I was stopped by a security guard and forced outside. I went to three different stores in the area and was kicked out of all of them with no time to loiter. Security was alerted the moment my face displayed on the cameras. I used to be able to grab a jug of wine and sneak into the bathroom where I would chug it all on the toilet. Sometimes I staggered to leave, and other times, I pass out in the bathroom stall. I then woke up to someone tossing me out or throwing me into a jail cell. Now, I was caught before my fingers could even touch a bottle.

Offended that I couldn't get drunk, I refocused my attention on finding money so I could buy drugs. When I was using and stealing, time passed by fast and the night quickly turned into morning. Without realization, my eyes would be baggier, muscles tired, and mouth drier; but it never felt like a new day.

I stopped my progress of walking forward and read a sign that caught my attention, mainly because it read _reward_ at the bottom with money symbols on each side. An enlarged photo of an orange and black cat filled the poster with a phone number to the side. The cat answered to Fluffy.

I tore the paper from the light-pole and decided to go on a cat hunt to receive my reward money. As I walked down the street and held onto the reward poster, I kept my eyes open for any cats that ran across the street or were hiding in the bushes. I explored desert fields, ditches, and dumpsters for Fluffy, but the unique color was not on the coats of the stray cats I encountered. The darkness made it even more difficult to identify a match, which only increased my frustration.

I walked into a food store to buy some tuna, thinking that I could capture the nimble cats with a trap. I was ten cents shy of buying a can of tuna, and before I was able to steal it, a security guard stopped me.

"Get out," said the guard, who didn't have a gun on his side, "and give me whatever you put in your pocket."

"I didn't steal anything," I defended myself and crossed the exit doors.

"Come here sir," he ordered.

I quickly ran outside and made way around the corner so he couldn't see me. I continued down the street in search of the cat, knowing I wasn't going to be hunted down for stealing a container of tuna. I had got away with stealing far more expensive items. In fact, over ninety percent of crimes I committed, I got away with. That was very good odds, which only encouraged me to continue. I learned to never be violent, always look pitiful, run like hell, and always play stupid. It seemed ignorance _could_ be an excuse of the law.

Throughout the night, I ran through the neighborhoods chasing cats down. I had found over a dozen cats while using my container of tuna. I held them up in front of the poster to compare and see if I found a winner. But I never had the correct cat and wasted hours of my night chasing an unsure acquisition. I even forgot that I had to meet with Sofia, so I walked back over to my bush to see if she was waiting for me. It was always a disappointment when I failed to earn money. I threw the can of tuna on the ground, cursing at myself for all the time I had wasted.

A cat's meow caused my feet to stop moving as my ears perked up, waiting for another sound to guide me in the right direction. Another meow led me to where Sebastian was sleeping. I crept up closer to see a cat caged in his shopping cart. Sebastian had an old dirty blanket spread across the lower half of his body and was facing the other direction, using his shoe as a pillow. I took out the crumbled missing cat poster from my pocket and held it against the shopping cart to compare. The cat in Sebastian's shopping cart was the same color; orange and black.

I quietly stuck the poster back in my pocket and rearranged some things on his shopping cart to extract the cat. It was trapped by a piece of fencing over the top of the cart that I quietly set to the side.

I reached in and picked up the cat that immediately struggled to break free from my grip. Its back feet pushed off my chest as its front claws scratched my face. It caused me to fall backwards as I hugged the cat tightly, not letting it out of my arms.

The noise startled Sebastian who turned around to see me holding onto his feline pet. "That's my cat!" he yelled, sounding like something was caught in his throat. He stood up and held out his hands. "Give it back."

"I've been looking for this cat all night. It's mine." I stood up and backed away.

Sebastian stepped closer to me, grunting the entire time. He was older than I had thought and wore a new black coat that someone had probably given him. I held the scratching cat against my chest and ran away before he could say anything else. I made it to my bush and pushed the cat in the middle of my blanket that was spread out on the ground. I wrapped the cat inside the blanket, tied the top, and heaved it over my shoulder. Claws poked through the cloth, followed by a low disturbing groan from the bottom of its throat. I left the rest of my belongings near my bush, knowing Sebastian wouldn't take any of my useless things. Nobody would take them.

Sofia wasn't at my bush, which worried me, so I sprinted off to find a pay phone with the cat over my shoulder. I wouldn't be gone for that long. Sebastian was yelling at me from a distance but I knew he wouldn't catch up to me since he was old and the lazy type that never did anything athletic. He had no reason to anyways, and I was positive I could kick his ass if he tried to attack me.

The cat bounced in the wrapped blanket as my jolty stride left it in disarray. Its claws occasionally dug through my clothes, but I continued on with the thoughts of receiving my reward money.

Taking out the last of my change, I made it to a pay phone and called the number on the rewards poster, but there was no answer. I realized it must have been too early in the morning because of the flicker of light coming from the upcoming sun; or it could be my imagination playing tricks on me. I also realized I was only slightly high, which made me feel icky inside. Like I had said before, sober and homeless didn't go well together.

I continued calling the number until someone answered. The change fell into the machine as an agitated voice spoke through the phone. I immediately got to the point with the little time I had. "I found your cat! I want my reward!"

"We found our cat a month ago," said the angry voice hanging up. An operator soon began speaking through the disconnected phone.

"Fucking shit!" I began hitting the phone against the dial-pad and kicked it with the bottom of my shoe. I slammed against it with my body until it snapped to the ground. I fell over the pay phone while holding onto the cat wrapped in my blanket.

Sharp teeth bit into my fingers as I flinched away, releasing my hand from the top of the blanket. The cat squirmed out and ran down the street, leaving me toppled over the pay phone.

I straddled the pay phone and punched it left and right. The change inside shuffled around, which sparked my curiously to find an opening and take the coins. I spent an hour kicking it until I gave up and walked back to my bush, searching for Sofia. Sebastian wasn't there so I went through his things to see if he had anything worth selling, but I couldn't find anything.

I ventured back out into the city with fists of trickling blood drying between the crevices of my fingers. My shoulder felt out of place, though none of it seemed to hurt. Clenching my shaking fists, I walked through neighborhoods, looking for opportunities to steal something. First, I meandered through the apartments and then into the newer houses where the signs under the light poles read _neighborhood watch_.

Continuing through the neighborhood, I noticed an open garage door with a car in it. I stopped to investigate further, trying to focus on what I could take. Along the side of the wall were two mountain bikes resting against each other.

I looked both ways on the quiet street and crept through the front yard, staying in the darkness. My feet quietly made its way to the front of the garage as I waited to hear any noises, but nothing spooked me. I gripped my fingers around both the frames of the bikes and carefully lifted them to each side of me. I stepped out of the garage and turned around to run as fast as I could. From my past experiences, pawned bikes usually gave me more than enough money for drugs.

No cars were in sight as I ran out of the neighborhood and moved quickly through the alleys. After a while, I realized I could ride a bike while holding onto the other to make better time.

Luckily, the pawn shops were open all day and night. The owner Manny worked the late nights at my favorite shop and always knew I was bringing him stolen products. When I gave him something, he would try to erase any evidence that it belonged to someone else so they couldn't prove that it was stolen. He always offered me a low price because of my stolen goods, but I happily accepted.

After exchanging the bikes at the pawn shop, I immediately visited a drug house to buy some meth. I finally got my high and knew I was going to be up for the rest of the morning, and possibly afternoon. I decided to get an early start for the next afternoon and walked around neighborhoods looking for more things to steal.

For the rest of the morning, I pawned more stolen items and then waited near my bush for Sofia to return. I smoked all my meth and was ready to get some more when Sebastian approached me. His shopping cart was in front him as the tires squeaked over the cracks of the sidewalk. A large rag draped down from under his filthy hat to protect the back of his neck from the sun.

He stopped and watched me sit under my bush and smoke the rest of the meth from my pipe. I immediately looked up, waiting for him to say something. "What the fuck do you want?"

"You took my cat," he shouted.

"Shut up," I said, banging my pipe against a rock to empty everything out. "There are plenty of cats out there. Go find them. Tuna helps."

"I want my own cat, and you stole him from me. Give me something in return for him."

"No." Frankly, I didn't remember much of what had happened.

He took out an orange from his shopping cart and threw it in my direction. It hit me on my leg and dropped to the ground.

"Fuck you," I screamed and threw the orange back in his direction, but he ducked behind his cart.

He stood back up. "You stole my cat! Stay away from my things. They are mine!"

"Then get off my block and go somewhere else to beg." I stepped forward as an invitation to fight him.

He waved me off and continued walking down the road with his shopping cart and cardboard sign. Seeing Sebastian beg for money made me leave my bush and beg on the other side of the street. I grudgingly looked at him from across the street and flipped him off again.

The next weeks, I had to steal a lot of things to support my drug habit. Sofia hadn't returned to my bush, and scuffles between Sebastian and I continued. When he wasn't tired, he always wanted to battle me since I had taken his cat. He would sometimes sneak up on me and start throwing rocks while I rested. I got fed up with him and tumbled his cart over so he had to pick up his belongings. Out of our fights, he always got tired and then walked away, and I never felt like he was a real threat.

I checked the apartment Sofia used to live in with her mom, but she hadn't visited there for a long time; and the mom was a complete mess. The apartment still reeked of smoke and the same couch that I saw through the door was covered in dirt and was torn along the top. Before I had time to examine the rest of the apartment, the door slammed in front of my face.

I missed the times when I went joyriding with Franklin and Joel, being able to go home to something, and using drugs as experimentation rather than dependency. Everything seemed better when I had friends and Sofia wasn't a prostitute. I used to return home fucked-up on whatever drug and then watch the same repeating program on television from the night before, never remembering it in the morning.

Later on, waiting in line at the gas station with a thirstbuster in my hand, and high on meth and the leftover crack I had smoked earlier, everything around me became definitive, like I could focus on any object and be one with it. I felt invincible and began laughing in line, frightening the woman in front of me. She turned around and immediately walked to the back of the store to wait until I left. It was amazing that I had the power to make people leave.

I stared at the back the head of the man in front of me, thinking that his hair might jump off and smother me at any moment. His dark hair was combed down to his neck, which made it look like he had tentacles hanging off his head. I reached my hand and tugged it to assure that it was real. The man quickly swiped his hand between us to keep me away.

"What are you doing?" he said agitated. His slanted eyes looked at me with dismay and then sized me up.

"Sorry..." I said and looked the other way.

He turned back around and paid for the six-pack he had in his hand. Envious of his ability to afford alcohol, I let out a dissatisfied grunt and tapped my foot impatiently, ready to pay for my thirstbuster.

The man grabbed his six-pack from the counter and bumped into me, giving a fake apology. He moved his arm in front of me and turned towards the door.

"Asshole," I said. I set my thirstbuster on the counter and spread out the change in front of the cashier to sort it out. It probably wasn't enough but I turned away towards the exit.

Wanting to yell at the man for bumping into me, I made my way outside to search for him. It was out of boredom that I wanted to get his attention. He passed the ice machine and turned the corner of the building, throwing something out of his hand that clattered onto the ground.

I ran over to it and picked up a butter knife. I checked my pockets and realized the man had pick-pocketed me. There was nothing I had that was worth anything, but he must have grabbed the butter knife in my pocket, thinking it was something of value.

I sprinted around the corner, yelling out to stop him. "Thief! You stole my knife from me!"

He was standing with his back to me and holding something in his hand. My body collided into his back as I fell over his body. He quickly threw me off and backed away. We both stood up and started yelling at each other.

"You stole my knife!"

"You can have it back," he replied, "and fuck off."

A car light shined over his face.

"You look familiar. Who do you roll with?"

"Nobody."

"Have I bought from you before?"

"No. I don't sell drugs."

"Do you live around here?"

"Why would I tell you? Fuck off tweaker." He brushed off his shorts, gave me one last look, and started to walk away.

"I know!" I said, "I know where you live." I regrettably thought of what I just said and remembered Manuel had asked me to shoot him. Although I could have been making an assumption that he looked like every other Asian, but I knew for sure he was the same one sitting across the table with his mother.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Just a friend." I realized I missed having conversations. Talking with someone sane helped me feel better about myself; though I was yet to determine how crazy he might be.

"Do you really know where I live or are you just tweaking out?"

"It's a long story, but know we are friends. You are that pickpocking Asian, right?"

"Asian, yes. I take things sometimes, yes."

"Same here. We aren't so different then."

"What the fuck are you talking about, tweaker."

"It's Juan," I said, "What beef do you have with the gangs in this area?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, and started walking away, "Enjoy your drugs and go bug someone else."

"One night, when you were eating dinner with your mom, do you remember hearing a loud bang outside, like it was in your backyard?"

The Asian stopped. "I hear that all the time. It's nothing new."

"What if I told you that there are many gangs that want you dead?" I felt like I was embellishing the story to maintain conversation with him.

"What do you know of gangs tweaker?"

"Because I was in your backyard once. A hit was put out on you but I didn't do it."

The Asian's hands immediately surrounded my neck as we both hit the ground. "What the fuck were you doing in my backyard?" His arms shook my head back and forth, hitting my head into the cement. I coughed in his face which made him release his hands.

"Calm down," I said, pushing his head away and moving him to the side of me. "I didn't agree with it because I didn't know you. I can't just kill a person."

The Asian sat to the side of me, looking like he still wanted to strangle me. "So what the hell happened to you then? You turned into a real piece of shit," he chuckled.

"Fuck you," I said, "you could have been dead and I saved your life. If someone else would have done it, you wouldn't be talking with me right now. What I want to know is why they wanted you dead at the time. I don't roll with anyone anymore, as you see, since I'm such a piece of shit as you say."

"So you probably know that asshole Manuel then?"

"How do you know him? I know him. I mean... I used to."

"So you roll with him?" he asked.

"Hell no," I replied, "I never really considered myself part of his gang, but my friend got me involved. He was always telling me to do things I never wanted to do."

"So you were his bitch," the Asian said, chuckling again.

"No, I never was. And fuck you."

"If you would have known the whole story, you would have known that Manuel stole my girl, and then when he found out that she came back to me, he wanted me dead. That punk couldn't even do it himself."

"No way! That happened to me too!"

"With Manuel?"

"No, but with someone else. It's like you feel helpless when your girl is with someone else. Your manhood and everything you love in the world turns upside down. You just fall apart."

"You're getting too deep on me tweaker," the Asian said, "So where's your girl?"

"I don't know."

"She doesn't sound like your girl then."

"Well, she works the streets and..." I didn't want to tell him any more information about Sofia. "Where's your girl?"

"She left the state. Didn't want to be with me."

"That sucks."

"No shit it does. She thought either Manuel or me was going to die because of it and had to move away. If that fucking asshole never got involved, I would be with her right now."

"I feel like I'm living through you right now," I commented, "because this is the same shit that happened to me."

"You're weird," he replied, "but there must have been a reason why you didn't shoot me then. What was it?"

"I'm not that kind of person. Plus, you looked peaceful with your mom. I never really had a mom so I didn't want to take that away."

"She dead?"

"Yep," I said, "killed by the cartel when I was six."

"You have my sympathy. You don't fuck with cartel or any gang for that matter. You should have learned that lesson a long time ago."

"I guess so."

"Here," he said handing me some one dollar bills, "take it."

"You're giving me money?"

"It's your money," he said, "it was in your other pocket."

I felt my side pocket, not remembering if I had anything, but I took it anyways. "Thanks."

"What are you even doing out here. I've seen you begging for cash like you would suck the dick of the person who gave you the most money."

"It's not that easy when you're illegal."

"Go do landscape or work the fields like many Hispanics do."

"I don't want to do that."

"There's your problem right there. You feel too good to do that work?"

"No, and shut up. I don't need this from you."

"Just sayin man. You don't have many choices in your situation. A fuck-up like you would be lucky to do yard-work for money."

"Says the Asian stealing from the fuck-up." I crossed my arms.

"Don't call me Asian," he said.

"Don't call me tweaker then. What's your name?"

"Pedro."

"Pedro? But that name is Latin..."

"I'm half Asian, half Mexican," he corrected, "my dad likes Asian women."

"I see. You smoke weed?" I asked.

"When I go to sleep," he replied, "but it sounds like you live off of anything that distorts your brain."

"So what."

"Sounds like you need some money. You wanna make some?"

"How?"

"Follow me," he said.

I caught up to him and walked along his side. "What is it you want me to do, and how much do I get?"

"Five hundred for one job," he replied, "This house we already cleared out has an air conditioning unit on the roof. I need you to unbolt it and help me lower it down to the back of my truck."

"A unit? But those things are huge," I replied, "that's impossible."

"No worries. We got a crane. I just need you to be the man on the roof."

"Five hundred you'll give me?"

"Five hundred."

"Fuck yeah. Let's go."

"We'll be at the bottom with the truck. You just need to hook it up so we can bring it down. I'll show you in clearer light how to do it."

We walked to a nearby park bench and discussed the strategy underneath a flickering light pole. I had many questions but figured that it wasn't that hard to steal an air conditioning unit. Pedro explained it thoroughly but it still left me confused.

Once we finished, we made our way over to a one story house with a large front window and double garage doors. No cars were in the driveway, though the porch light was on.

Lights shined behind me from the tow truck that slowly drove up onto the driveway. Clatter from the back of the truck told me that it was preparing to attach to the air conditioner on the roof.

I turned around to the side window of the truck, "Is someone home?"

"No," said Pedro, "get to the roof." His hand swept me forward.

I crept to the side of the yard and jumped onto the fence. The roof was higher than most houses but I used the palm tree on the side to gain better footing. My hands gripped the rough surface of the roof as my foot swung up to raise my body. I pulled myself up and rolled onto the hard surface. I continued to the air conditioner and began unbolting it with my wrench. Everything was tight and I used all my strength for each screw. Sweat rolled down from the top of my head as I scrambled around to each side of the unit to free everything.

With much work, I loosened each bolt and then ran to the edge that was over the driveway. The tow truck was no longer in sight and the streets were dark, like the truck had disappeared.

"Hey!" I yelled, "Pedro?" But there was no response in the quiet neighborhood. I looked over the backyard and didn't see anyone. "Pedro!"

I put my hands over the air conditioning unit and tried to move it. The roof was at a slant, which made me think that if I pushed it hard enough, it would move forward. It was heavy but budged slightly, showing me that I had been successful at loosening it.

Concerned voices came from the front yard. I leaned over the edge, "Pedro?"

Two children in pajamas were holding the hand of their father and looking up with frightened eyes. They screamed and were pushed inside the house. The startled man took out his cell phone and put it to his ear.

"Intruder!" he screamed, "Stay inside kids!"

"Shit!" I yelled, and returned to the air conditioner.

"Get off my roof!" the man yelled and followed me around to the side.

I tried to push and then pull air conditioner with me, but it just shook and wouldn't budge. Everyone had ditched me and it wasn't worth stealing anymore. Disappointed I had failed, I jumped up and drop-kicked the air conditioner with both of my feet, tipping it towards the edge of the house. My body landed hard on the roof as I sat up and watched the square unit fall over the edge. I braced myself for an impact below me.

The air conditioner crashed to the ground, echoing throughout the neighborhood. Lights turned on from nearby backyards and more voices shouted in my direction. I dropped my wrench and climbed down the side of the house.

As I stepped down, the giant air conditioning unit was over the man's leg. He was wincing in pain and holding onto his thighs while the rest of his legs were crushed. A puddle of blood formed around him as he coughed red onto his shirt. He looked at me like he wanted to say something hateful, but was in too much pain.

"Sorry," I apologized and stepped over him. As I ran out of the yard and down the sidewalk, neighbors followed me with their phones to their ears. Distant screams from the house erupted behind me and more lights turned on from surrounding houses.

Neighbors maintained their distance from me and continued to talk to the police on the phone. It seemed when people worked together, they were successful at getting what they wanted. It made me feel unaccompanied as I darted into a front yard and climbed the fence to get out of sight. I then jumped over more backyards, meeting dogs and screaming people trying to fight me off. It seemed the entire neighborhood was awake for me.

Soon enough, a helicopter was shining a stream of light over me, ordering me to surrender and fall to the ground with my hands on top of my head. I looked up occasionally, but ignored their requests.

As I hopped over another fence and started running, a body abruptly came at me from the side and tackled me to the ground. My head whipped backwards and my body instantly changed directions with the force of the man running into me.

I was subdued and taken to jail. The rush from the incident continued to flow through me like it was still happening, though it could have been the drugs. Some of the cops knew me and others didn't, but it was always entertaining to have them search for my identification, which I never had.

"You're lucky the man survived and is in stable condition at the hospital," commented the police officer. He was always driving by the street corner where I begged on the streets in the morning. He would usually tell me to leave a place whenever someone complained about me.

"What man?" I asked.

"The man who you almost killed," said the police officer, "what were you doing up there anyways?"

"It's Pedro's fault. He said he'd give me some money if I—"

"Enough about Pedro. You've been blabbing about him this whole time when you were found on the top of the roof." He paused, "That's not that other guy with the shopping cart, is it?"

"No." I stuttered before speaking. "This doesn't look good for me, does it?"

"That's not my decision to make," he replied, "but if I had to say anything; you're fucked."

"Thanks."

"Maybe I'll see you, maybe I won't again," he said and brought me into jail to get me checked in.

I went through routine procedure of getting my blood drawn, which was going to show numerous drugs in my system. I knew I wasn't going to get released this time, so I mentally prepared myself to do a lot of time.

While passing by the cells, I looked inside each one to see if there were any familiar faces that might have drugs. We stopped at my holding cell where Manuel was resting his head against the door window. He stood up tall and deviously smiled in my direction.

I was fucked no matter what.

Chapter 9 Liberation

Time was easier to handle when the amount of prison to complete was known. I spent time in American prison and then the rest in Mexican prison. Routine was the most important thing. Finding something to occupy my day was the most difficult. Once the orderliness was established, coping with my situation was manageable. However, prison was stressful because word got out about my history with Manuel, who controlled many of the Hispanics. For leaving his crew, I was jumped on occasion and finally had to move to protective custody until I was transported to Mexico's prison. Half of the time I was sober, and the other half I wasn't, depending on how much money I made.

As months turned into years, I became a better criminal in prison; learning different ways to cook meth, steal someone's identity, or deal drugs. The prison ground was a recipe for criminality, and I made many friends in America and in Mexico that showed me better ways to undermine the system. We were all customers of the institution, and if we were going to be released, we carried a great burden in society. The only thing our criminal behavior provided was more jobs in society for the criminal justice profession. As more time went by, I learned that prison was political, and we were at the center of discussions and arguments for everyone on the outside. But everyone on the inside had their own problem with the system as well.

Ten years passed by and I was released at the age of thirty five. I had nowhere to go, no money, and no one to help me; so I started dealing drugs in Mexico until I was able to make it back to Arizona where I belonged. The cities in Mexico were dangerous and murders occurred like drug dealing in Arizona. I had a few close calls but needed to get away from the lawlessness.

The city of Phoenix looked different after ten years and had grown into a giant metropolis. It was a county rather than a city but still had the same people and same drugs to use and sell. I always wanted to change my ways, but it seemed selling and using drugs was what I knew how to do, and learning something new seemed impossible to accomplish.

For the time being, I was living with Gabrielle who wanted me to stay with her until I had independence and responsibility in my life. She was nice enough to fix my broken guitar that I had found in Mexico. I didn't know how to play it, but I decided to try to learn. When I was with Gabrielle, I didn't use any drugs and enrolled into some basic education classes. Gabrielle paid for them as she held an important job at the university where she was a professor in research. She was the connection to my family and kept me updated on any new information regarding my father, Maria, or Aunt Rita, though I never agreed to see them, for my own embarrassment of being a past drug user and thirty five years old with nothing to show for.

"You should help people with drug problems," suggested Gabrielle, "you should go to school for it and be a counselor."

"I want something more with the law though. Something about the absurdity of our prisons and helping those who get screwed over by the laws in this country."

"So you want to free everyone from prison?"

"Not necessarily. Some people belong in prison, and many do not. But prison life ruins you. The outside world is never the same. There's got to be something I can do."

"Sounds like you want to be an advocate," said Gabrielle, "people need advocates or else the law focuses too much on the system rather than humans."

"That's a good idea," I said, "how do I get paid for it?"

"That you have to make for yourself."

"Hmm. I can find a way I bet."

"By the way," Gabrielle said, "how's the guitar going? Are you getting any better?"

"A little. It's something that takes practice, and I have the seven major chords memorized. Moving my hands is the hard part, but I'll get used to it."

"Good. Keep up with that every day. It will exercise your mind," Gabrielle smiled, "I also got you a bike to exercise your body."

"Really?" I said excited, "my own bike. One that I didn't steal?"

Gabrielle didn't laugh. "It's in the garage. You can use it to get to work when you get a job." She gave me a kiss on the cheek. "I have to go. Let me know how your day goes and look for some work. I'll see if I can get you in somewhere at my work, but it will probably be janitor or something. But a jobs a job, right?"

"Right."

Gabrielle walked out and started up her car, leaving me alone in her house. She had a big house for her age but was rarely there because she worked a lot. She was always striving for something better whereas my dad was happy with his strenuous job, waiting on the streets to get picked up for landscaping duties. I never understood how I became such a fuck up and Gabrielle was such a success.

I practiced with the guitar for an hour and then left on my bike to explore the city and search for work. I passed new building structures too high to climb and homes in new gated communities being built inside of poor neighborhoods. Everything was changing yet there was somewhere that always stayed the same.

I stopped at businesses and filled out applications, either getting rejected or told they would call me when there were openings. Most turned their shoulder when I mentioned I was a convicted felon. That became tiring after a while as I made my way downtown near the jail, remembering the countless times I was released back into the wild just to get sent back.

Picketers were in front of the jail entrance protesting the sheriff. My eyes lit up as I thought of what Gabrielle had mentioned about being an advocate. To be honest, I didn't know what it entailed, but I had the time to investigate. I sat down on a bench and watched them for more than an hour, thinking about what they were trying to accomplish. They looked passionate about their cause, but nobody was paying attention to them. Feeling bored, I hopped onto my bike and peddled away without learning anything.

From the crowd that was crossing the street; I recognized a familiar face in the middle. Her skinny jeans and black shirt hugged her body tightly as she carried a small backpack to her side. Though older, it was Sofia, and her grungy appearance didn't match the rest of the citizens dressed in business casual.

"Sofia!" I yelled and chased her on my bike, "Sofia!"

She stopped and turned around with a frightful look. A scar wrapped around the side of her face, starting from her mouth and up to her ear. Strands of her hair rested over her forehead but hadn't been combed for days. Her paranoia faded once she saw my face, like she was relieved that I wasn't someone who she was thinking.

I let go of my bike and ran to her with open arms. With a smile on her face, she moved against the flow of the crowd. Her shoulders bumped into bodies until she was free and met me against a wall with graffiti on it.

She gave me a hug that lasted minutes and began crying in my arms. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," I replied. My hand held the back of her head as she rested it against my shoulder. It felt good to have her in my arms again.

We sat down on the closest bench and talked about what we had missed in each other's lives. The more I saw tears in her eyes, the more I wanted to cry, but I held it in. She was still working as a prostitute but was trying to quit meth. Much of what she said didn't make sense, but I listened and tried to understand. We mentioned the small amount of time that we've been sober and exchanged numbers.

"I've had a rough past couple of weeks Juan," Sofia said, "and you're not gonna like what I do next, so I think you should go."

"Why? What are you going to do? Do you need help?"

"It's not that," she replied, "I need to get high."

"Oh," I leaned back on the bench, contemplating on what I should do. "After a week of sobriety?"

"I was sobering up in jail. And that's being sober from meth; not from heroin and spice."

"You're slamming heroin now? What the fuck Sofia?"

"After a while, you just begin to not care anymore. Our lives are already fucked, so why not."

"I don't know what to say. But I'll help you with whatever you need."

"You're so kind, Juan," she said and rubbed the side of my arm, "I'm glad I have you back in my life."

We walked back to her place, which was a small room at the side of an old house. The windows were broken and torn rags covered the openings around the shack. There was a bed and some food scattered on the ground. Sofia reached under her pillow and brought out her drugs that were tightly packed in a baggy. She set some powder down on a spoon and lit a flame underneath, waiting for it to turn to liquid.

She took out a used syringe and filled it up. She then tied herself off with a band and injected the heroin into her arm.

"What does that feel like?" I asked her, "I'm more of an upper guy but I've never tried heroin."

Sofia let the feeling immerse through her body. Her ecstatic eyes told me what she was going through at the moment until she cherished it and then closed her eyes. She slowly lifted her heavy eyelids in my direction. "Nothing beats the first time. After that, it's a chase for the rest of your life."

"You got anything else?"

"No." She lied back on her bed and closed her eyes.

I watched her sleep for some time, and when I realized she was going to be like that for a while, I curled up beside her and closed my eyes with her. I dug my arm underneath her and let her head rest on my shoulder. I tilted her head over my chest and brushed her hair with my hand. Soon enough, I fell asleep.

Hours later, Sofia startled me by lifting her head off of my shoulder. She left the bed and began rummaging through her things on the ground. I knew she was preparing to slam more heroin.

"How long were we asleep, and what time is it?" Waking up to the darkness reminded me of my experiences of living on the street. The street lights from outside was our only way to see inside the small room.

"I don't know." Sofia seemed disinterested with my question.

I sat down next to Sofia who was filling up her syringe. "Hold this for a sec." She said and got up to search through her bed sheets.

"Can I try?" I said, holding the syringe in front of me and imagining what the high would feel like.

Sofia hesitated, and then checked her bag to see if she had more. "Just once."

"Can you show me where?"

Sofia sat down with her bag of heroin and instructed me of what to do. I remained still for her to wrap the band around me as she felt around my arm. The needle broke through my skin as I felt everything inside pull and then push through my veins. The rush was like something I had never felt before. Feeling relaxed, my head slowly leaned back on the hard floor. Nothing felt the same after that moment.

I woke up again; this time to daylight, and looked around to see nobody home. The door was cracked open, which meant Sofia had left early in the morning. My body felt cold and weak, like everything had become dull after experiencing the feeling that I had last night. Although I liked being up and about when I was high, heroin was unforgettable.

I went out to search for Sofia, though I knew I wouldn't find her, so I finally returned to her shack to wait for her. My wallet had disappeared and my bus money was no longer in my pockets. I looked through Sofia's room for any money or drugs, but there was nothing. Two pills were on the ground to the side of the bed. I studied them and threw them into my mouth, hoping to get a good buzz. In the meantime, I waited on Sofia's bed for her to return.

It wasn't until nighttime that she came back and brought more drugs with her. She sat down next to me without a greeting and slammed more heroin.

"Where's my bike?" I asked.

She didn't respond.

"Can I have some more?" I asked, trying not to intrude on her.

She looked at me and rolled her eyes. "If you're going to do this, you need to learn to do it by yourself. I'm going to show you one more time and that's it. You need to get your own syringe too."

"Deal," I said.

After she finished explaining the process, I injected it into my own arm, and happily watched her prepare it for herself. I finally nodded my head forward and enjoyed the high for the night. Nothing seemed to matter anymore.

Months went by, and it was the same routine of going out and finding money, and then returning to Sofia's shack to use drugs; most of the time it was heroin. I discovered that Sofia had two daughters, but she never saw them and she didn't seem to care. I didn't ask her who the fathers were because I didn't want to know. Our time spent together seemed like the old times of when I was living in a bush and Sofia would visit to smoke meth with me; except this time it was heroin.

On a warm and dry morning, I was pawning stolen items in at the pawn shop and found my bike leaning against the wall. I immediately walked over to it and rolled it in front of the counter so the owner could see. "This is my bike! It's mine!"

"Says who?" he replied with a witty tone.

"Me! My sister gave it to me!"

"And you probably don't have the receipt. Do you?"

"It doesn't matter. It's mine." I began pushing it out the door.

"You know what happens if you walk out with that bike, don't you?" He stepped in front of his phone, ready to call the police.

"I'll be back to prove it to you," I grunted, leaving the bike against the counter. I stepped outside irritated and took the bus to Gabrielle's house, realizing that I hadn't talked to her since the day I had left on my bike and met Sofia. She was going to be upset that I had ruined everything.

After getting off the bus, I walked through her neighborhood and made it to her front door. I had lost the key she had given me and couldn't find the spare key she usually hid under the pot plant, so I waited for her to return home.

Hours later, my head perked up to see her driving into her garage.

Gabrielle quickly got out of her car and walked out to me standing on her driveway. "What are you doing? Are you high?" Her voice showed frustration. "Nevermind," she shook her head, "I know you are high. What else is new..."

I didn't say anything and held my head down. "I'm sorry, but—"

"I don't have any money," she interrupted, "the only thing I'll pay for is if you go to inpatient treatment right now. Until then, we aren't talking. I can't deal with you when you're like this. Drugs make people selfish. The whole thing is a selfish act and I never understood it."

"I..." my voice trembled.

"Are you willing to go to inpatient treatment right now? This is your chance." She waited for a response as her keys moved in her hand.

"I... I haven't been doing meth, but I don't think inpatient is right for me."

Gabrielle angrily walked back to her car, and then stopped. She turned around, "then what kind of help do you need?"

"I don't know," I replied, "Someone stole my bike and I found it at a pawn shop and—"

"What were you doing at a pawn shop in the first place?" Gabrielle yelled back.

"Do you have the receipt for the bike? I mean, it's mine and I can't—"

"Leave," Gabrielle pointed away from her house. "Just to let you know, if you try and break in, the alarm will automatically call the cops. Only come back when you want treatment. There's nothing else I can do. You're thirty five years old. Maybe one day you'll see what you are doing, and only then can you change." She walked into her garage that slowly closed behind her.

She was gone.

"Fuck!" I screamed into the air, and walked back to the bus stop.

My thoughts were irate on the drive back, thinking about how Gabrielle had shut her door on me. She had offered help, but I never thought of it as an option, and she knew it. She was sick of helping me. She was right that only I could make the decision to change. Help was help, but nothing would change if I didn't want to. It made me feel defensive for some reason.

I returned to the pawn shop and walked through the beeping door, announcing my presence to the owner. I gave him a nod with my lips pressed together, and stopped at my bike. I grabbed the handle bars and pushed it past the counter.

"Don't you do it," he warned.

My feet bolted into a run as my shoulder carelessly hit the door. I looked behind me to see to the clerk jumping over the counter. Once outside, I quickly jumped onto my bike and peddled as hard as I could, creating some distance. I cautiously rode through the alleys and waited for things to calm down. For the first time, I actually felt righteous about stealing something.

I made my way back to Sofia's neighborhood with a paranoid sense that the cops was going to drive up from behind me. I stopped once I rounded the corner and saw two police cars in front of the Sofia's shack. The owner of the property was outside and talking with the police. Soon enough, Sofia walked out in handcuffs and was placed into the back of the police car.

"Shit!" I whispered to myself. I quickly walked away from the scene, thinking of where I could go next. The only place I knew so well was my bush.

I rode my bike to my bush that was under the freeway pass. I was expecting to see an older Sebastian, but he wasn't in sight. My bush was bigger than before and looked to have housed many homeless people in the past ten years. I pushed my bike into it and sat down, plotting ways to score drugs. I also needed to steal a bike lock so nobody would steal my bike.

Knowing Sofia was getting booked into jail, her unhappy face drifted into my mind. I decided to visit the jails every morning to wait for her to be released. Sitting in my bush only made me feel lonely as I thought about Sofia behind bars. I couldn't rest until she was free.

For the next months, I went through my same routine of stealing things, begging for cash, and robbing people. I tried to kick heroin by switching to meth, but that seemed to have a negative effect. In fact, over the months, I had become a medicine cabinet; I did whatever drug was presented in front of me, usually the most inexpensive. I didn't care as long as I felt something from it. Sofia still hadn't been released from jail, and I was becoming worried if she had done something that was going to lock her up for a long time.

Sleep was becoming less frequent and would creep up on me at random times. I still wore the same outfit that Gabrielle had bought for me from when I was living with her. My face was scruffy, and the stench expelling out my clothes was putrid. I could always smell my rancid breath from the dryness of smoking meth. I would sometimes steal alcohol to drink the dryness away; and to get drunk.

I walked into a gas station to grab a forty ounce of the cheapest beer. I was never picky as long as it wasn't low alcohol content. This time I had money, so I waited in line. The bright lights in the shop always made me feel uncomfortable, like I was being exposed to the public for who I really was.

The man in front of me turned around with a side grin. He wore a red shirt and his basketball shoes were black and red with shoelaces that were untied. It was Pedro, the half Asian. "That's all the alcohol you're gonna buy? What are you, a rookie?"

"Where the hell were you ten years ago when you left me on the roof?" I yelled, reliving the moment in my head. "You were supposed to be there for me!"

"Like you are there for your girlfriend. What's her name, Sofia is it?" He walked out the door, holding his bag of food and alcohol.

I wanted to chase after him but I also wanted my alcohol first. The cashier looked at me confused and asked me if I was 'ok.' I didn't know if he was going to call the police or not, but I handed him my money like nothing had happened.

"Hurry up," I told the cashier while holding my forty and wanting to chase after Pedro.

He gave me my two cents change as I ran out the door. Pedro was standing over my bike with one foot on the pedal.

"Nice bike," he complimented.

"Thanks," I said, "don't touch it. Where have you been? I did ten years because of you."

"We had to leave. We yelled at you from below that it was the wrong house, but you didn't respond back. You were fucked up, and we thought you'd left. Actually, it's better you didn't roll with us because we got picked-up by the police for something else. Not as much time as you though."

"Fuck you asshole. How am I supposed to get ten years of my life back?"

"That sucks that that happened, but it wasn't my fault."

"And my five-hundred dollars?"

"You never finished the job."

"I know but—" I stopped to think, "Wait... How did you know Sofia's name?"

Pedro chuckled, "you told me about her, jackass."

"Oh," I replied with uncertainty, "what are you doing now? You still smoking weed?"

"Duh. I'm smoking till I die." He finally took his foot off my bike.

"Well... You at least owe me some weed for the time I did."

"Let's go smoke then," he replied, "I got some alcohol and munchies with me."

"Fuck yeah," I cheered.

"By the way, where's your girl?" Pedro asked.

"She got arrested and I don't know when she's getting out. Who knows... That's why I was all defensive about it when you mentioned her name."

"Don't sweat it," Pedro replied, "Let's get fucked up to forget. Maybe this time you can do some jobs for me that don't get you arrested with the police."

"Hell no," I replied, "I'm not going back to Mexico again, and I hate crossing the border."

"It's no risk," he replied, "these days all you need is a name, zip-code, birth date, and social security number, and you can buy anything you want."

"What do you mean?"

"Identity theft, idiot. It's the easiest fucking thing ever. All you need is a computer with someone's information and you get money easily."

"Interesting. Why the fuck have I been robbing and stealing shit from stores when I could have safely done this from behind a computer? I'm so fucking in."

"First, we smoke," Pedro said with a smile.

"Do you always go to this gas station? I know I've seen you here when I was growing up."

"I am always around the place."

"That's a good talent to have," I joked.

"So you think Sofia is ever going to get out?"

"I hope so. We've been doing some crazy shit lately."

"Like what?"

"Heroin. I haven't slammed it since she was taken away, but I've been smoking whatever I can get my hands on."

"That's some dangerous shit. All's you need is a little weed and you should be good with life."

"I wish it were that easy."

We started walking down the sidewalk as I pushed my bike with me. Neither of us had a destination, but we seemed to continue forward.

"You sound upset about her. Things will get better."

"Thanks."

Pedro took out one of his beers from his bag and opened it up. I did the same with my forty ounce as we stopped behind a bus stop. We found an electrical box to sit on and continued to drink with conversation.

"I really thought if I saw you again I was going to beat the living shit out of you; but now, I'm glad I didn't. This is far better than making an enemy."

"Aren't you glad you didn't pull that trigger that one day?"

"I did... I mean, I shot it in the air. But yes; I'm glad. You're a cool guy."

"You're going to like me even more," he said grinning. He pulled out a joint from his pocket and lit it up. After he took some in, he passed it to me.

"I haven't smoked weed for a long time. Thanks." I took some hits and passed it back. "This may sound sad, but alcohol and weed just doesn't do it for me anymore."

"You just have to go back to the past and think of how you felt when you smoked it."

"I can do that, but my body isn't used to it."

Pedro thought for a moment. "I think it's in your head. It's a mental thing." He took a hit and blew the smoke into the air. "You got to find something in your life worth living. Stay busy with something. And then, smoke if you have time."

"Why are you always so insightful? I feel like you try to help me, and then you set me up for something that gets me ten years in prison."

"Stop being paranoid. I'm just a friend."

I shrugged it off and chugged the rest of my drink. We finished the joint together and then listened to the city sounds around us.

"Call me at this number tomorrow," Pedro said, handing me a piece of paper, "I know your poor ass doesn't have a cell phone. If you want to make money, call me. In the meantime, when you dig through the dumpsters, and if you find any identity information; save it."

I took the piece of paper and stuck it into my pocket. "I have a whole collection of identity information; so don't worry. Where you going now?"

"I'm going to sleep. I told you already; I smoke and then sleep."

"Lucky," I shouted back to him.

Still holding the leftover beers in his bag, he walked away and disappeared into the darkness. There was no reason for me to be nice to Pedro, but the alcohol and drugs had distorted my perception of him. He had caused ten years of my incarceration, and I was over it after we got high together. He had a certain way of talking that made it hard to fight him, and I always wanted to hear what he had to say next.

As my buzz quickly wore away, I explored parking lots, looking for money inside cars; or something that was unlocked and easy to grab. I wasn't opposed to breaking the window if there was a good amount of money on the dashboard. Using my cunning expertise, I was able to steal two cell phones and some change, which totaled enough money to smoke meth for the rest of the night.

In the morning, I watched the sun come up over the horizon and waited near the women's jail to see if Sofia was going to be released. It already seemed like I needed more meth to spark my fatigue. My eyes felt like anchors were holding them down, but somehow they continued to stay open.

Along the outside, barbed-wired fences separated me from Sofia. I wasn't allowed to visit her like every illegal person that had a friend or family in jail. The tents were far on the inside and separated the men from the women. Since I had been jailed in the tents before, I knew where Sofia might be and peddled my bike around the perimeter, but there was no helpful view from where I was standing. I then rode near the visitor's area but couldn't see past the blocked windows.

I decided to try to contact Sofia by making a kite and throwing it over. This wasn't an ordinary kite that you held in the air and let the wind lift it up. This was used as a messenger to communicate with inmates that lived in separate areas outside of the tents. I wrote Sofia a warm hearted letter and put some weed in it for her to smoke. I missed smoking marijuana with her instead of slamming heroin. The shine in her eyes had disappeared, and she didn't seem like her cheery self anymore. She only dragged me down to my already low shit-filled level.

I finished writing her letter and read it over and over again. It was full of cheap sayings and different ways explaining how I missed her. I finished it by describing our memories together when we were in high school, signing my name at the bottom. If anyone were to read it, they would laugh at my desperation, but they might have a sense to bring it to Sofia. I wrapped it around a rock and found twine from an old shirt in the dumpster to tie it together so nothing would break it apart upon impact.

"I hope this reaches you, Sofia," I said wishfully. I checked the durability of the kite which seemed to be secure.

I peddled my bike on the sidewalk, closest to the female tents, and looked around to make sure nobody was watching. I threw the kite as hard as I could as it sailed over the fences and landed near a tent, dropping where I couldn't see it anymore. My brother Alfonzo had taught me well at throwing, and luckily I still had it in me; or it was the strength from having meth in my system. I walked away, happy that Sofia might receive the letter. But I knew the weed was going to be used up by the first inmate who picked it up.

The end of the note repeated in my head: _I will be out here every day, waiting for you to come out. I will fight for you to be freed. I will do anything to have you with me again._

I turned around with my bike to see a police car behind me. Butterflies jumped in my stomach as I waited for them to get out and question me. I had some weed and my pipe in my pocket, but it could still be a criminal offense if I was caught. I tried to empty out the meth residue with my thumb while my hands were in my pockets.

"What are you doing sir?" asked the officer. He didn't seem to want to get out and made me approach the window.

"Nothing."

"What are you doing here?" His sunglasses covered most of his face.

"Just visiting a friend."

"You look like you're up to something. I've seen you circle around the jails on your bike at least five times," claimed the officer, "you look suspicious."

"What are you basing that off of?"

The officer looked offended, "No need to show me attitude. Usually when someone is hanging around here, it's not for anything good."

"But it's a jail. People go in and out all the time."

"On the other side, yes," replied the officer, "I'm sure you're doing nothing though, right?"

"Of course."

The officer looked at his computer sitting in front of him in the car. "You know what would make you look less suspicious on that bike?"

"No. What?"

"Wearing a helmet."

"A helmet?"

"Or anything else that doesn't make it look like you're loitering around the jails. But suit yourself. Hopefully you'll be gone when I make my rounds again. I won't be as nice next time if you're still here." Fixing the sunglasses with a grin on his face, he turned the car around and drove away.

"Now I'm going to have to steal a helmet," I whined to myself.

An interrogation by a police officer was something I couldn't afford, but I needed to make contact with Sofia. I tried to think of a better way to not look suspicious in front of the jails if I was going to wait for Sofia every morning. I always had drugs on me and I _did_ loiter, which always put me at risk. Sometimes I could be just what the police wanted, and other times they looked at me like I was a nuisance—and then I was told to leave. But there was always the chance of them searching me.

I left the jails and begged for money to call Pedro. His proposition sounded like it was less effort and more money. The handwriting was messy on the piece of paper as I tried several attempts with different numbers. For each call, there was no connection, or Pedro didn't answer, but I left a message on every number just in case.

I started dumpster-diving later that day and found some leftover food to eat and a bag-full of cans to exchange for coins. After I did some more begging, I was finally able to round up enough money to buy more meth. After smoking it all, I continued to dumpster-dive and slowly made my way to the center of the city. It seemed I had explored the city in and out and scraped up every cent from every place and person, but I still needed more. I passed the picketers, holding up their signs and protesting inequality. Their shouts expressed discontent and frustration; but still, nobody paid attention to them.

Thinking about what the officer had said about needing a reason to hang out near the jails, I thought of a way to loiter without getting arrested. Wanting to copy the picketers, I found a walking cane and some cardboard in the dumpster. I put them together to make myself a sign. I stole duck-tape from the store and wrapped my blank sign to the back of my bike, resembling a flag behind me.

I studied how the protesters wrote demands on the signs they held proudly in the air. I stopped my bike in front of them with a blank sign, trying to find a cause to protest outside of the jail.

"What are you going to write on that sign?" asked a picketer.

"I don't know yet," I replied, and peddled away.

With the elevated sign behind me, I rode my bike through the city, wondering what to advocate for. After completing some laps on my bike, I finally decided what I was going to write on it. I returned to the picketers and borrowed a marker. My hand steadily wrote two words on each side of the sign.

"Free Sofia?" asked one of the picketers, "What's that mean?"

"My girlfriend is in jail," I said, though I never knew what Sofia considered herself to me. "And I want her back."

"My condolences," he said, "this is a messed up time that we live in. I know some people belong in prison, but most need help, probably like your girlfriend."

"Thanks," I said and left him behind.

I scavenged for more accessories to put on my bike and stole a front basket from another bike chained against a fence. I screwed the basket in front of my handlebars, making it look less mischievous and more innocent; but I also wanted my bike to symbolize what I was trying to accomplish. One thing that resembled freedom was a bird, so I ventured out to find one to decorate my bike. I went into a clothing store and searched through old Halloween costumes that people didn't want. After searching through five different stores, I found a bird costume that had a giant head. I moved into the corner and ripped off the head on the costume. I stuffed it in my pants and left the rest of it on the ground.

I walked outside to my bike and put the bird mask over the front basket, giving it some character. It was also a good way to hide drugs from the cops if they wanted to search my pockets. With a sign that displayed 'FREE SOFIA' and the eagle-like head over the front basket, I rode through the city attracting the attention of the onlookers trying to read my sign. It still felt like I was missing something before I started protesting for Sofia. Every superhero needed a cape, and that was what I was going to get.

As the sky began to darken, I wandered the streets looking for a cape. I tried to call Pedro with the phone numbers I had for him, but nobody answered. I hung up the phone and glanced over the streets and houses to see an American flag in the distance, clearly in the neighborhood of someone's yard. I kept my eyes on it and walked towards the neighborhood, knowing that I wanted to steal it.

I waited until later in the night to return to the front yard where the flag was still hanging in the sky. I stepped on the dim light that faced the flagpole and started to climb up with my body hugging the pole tightly. Reaching the top, I unbuckled each piece that securely held the flag into place and yanked it away until it was free in my hand. I slowly descended and quickly slid to the bottom, almost falling and losing my grip on the pole.

Once I was away from the neighborhood, I wrapped the flag around my neck, preparing to protest for Sofia's release tomorrow. I might have overdone it, but I wanted her to return to me, and my protesting would allow me to loiter.

For the night, I waited for Pedro in front of the gas station with a forty hidden underneath my cape. I dozed in and out of sleep, and was beginning to feel restless that I didn't have anything to smoke. I begged for money and didn't receive much; but had enough to buy another forty. Sitting against the wall with slouched shoulders, I thought of how I was going to protest for Sofia and wrote another note for her while I waited for morning to come.

Feeling confident with my American cape on, I walked into the gas station to buy another forty. The lights shined overhead as I looked at the red, white, and blue colors on my cape in the reflection of the window doors over the section of cooled beer. I grabbed the forty and patriotically walked to the line in front of the register. I blinked my eyes tensely to stay awake and tried to read the ingredients on the label of the can in my hand. I chuckled, not knowing what I had just read and stared at the back of the head of the person in front of me. He had a blue shirt and his dark hair was halfway down his neck.

He turned around, and I immediately knew it was Pedro. His sly grin told me he was up to something as he quickly took out a credit card and slipped it into my pocket.

"I've been calling you—" I started.

"Shhh," he quieted me, "use what I just gave you." He bought his things and walked out the door.

I set my forty down and took out the credit card that Pedro had put in my pocket. The name on it was Spanish but certainly not mine. I handed it to the cashier who was giving me an odd glance. He read the card quickly and then asked, "anything else?"

"And some smokes," I said, pointing at the boxes behind him. "That red box of cigarettes."

"Sure thing." He gave me the total and swiped the card through the system.

The card processed into the register and cleared, giving me a sigh of relief. He handed me a receipt as I walked out with smokes and a forty. I met Pedro, standing against the wall.

"Ah c'mon! A free credit card and that's all you got with it? You're fucking lame."

"It worked," I said happily, "that's unbelievable."

"Not anymore," he replied, "the owner is getting a security warning that someone illegally used his credit card. But you can try again if you want. Sometimes it takes them days to catch on. Those are the real winners."

I handed him back the card.

"Keep it," he said, "maybe you'll get lucky."

"Thanks," I said, "I might try to buy another forty after I finish this one."

"Wasn't that easier than robbing someone face to face?"

"Hell yeah. I like your style."

"You find any more information in those dumpsters?" he asked.

"I got a lot more back at my bush."

"It's not your bush," Pedro laughed, "and it's not a dwelling. The city of Phoenix planted the bush that you stay in."

"It's my fucking bush," I said, grabbing my bike and walking with Pedro down the sidewalk.

"What the fuck did you do to your bike?" Pedro chuckled again. He touched the eagle's head that was over the front basket.

"It's for Sofia. You know, that girl I was telling you about."

"You're fucking weird. You're an illegal with an American cape around you."

"I know," I replied irritated, "So... If I give you the information I found in the dumpster, will you score me some meth?"

"I can get you money to score some meth, but that depends on what you have for me."

"I got a lot of info."

"Good," Pedro said cracking open a beer with me, "can I ask you a question?"

"What?"

"Have you _ever not_ done drugs when you were with Sofia?

"Yea," I thought about it for a moment, "Well... I remember the first time I met her we smoked weed, and then from there on out, we always did drugs together. I'm sure we've chilled without drugs."

"Would Sofia hang out with you if you didn't do drugs with her?" asked Pedro.

"Of course she would."

I tried to explain my use of drugs and the cause of Sofia's imprisonment to Pedro as we made our way to my bush. I handed him the personal information that I had found in the dumpster. He read through every folded and ripped document in front of me.

"Do you have any money?" I asked.

"I'll show you how we get money," he replied with a grin.

He took me to the local library and inputted the stolen information into the computer. He inserted a disc and his own thumb-drive into the computer. I watched him type as he opened up his email and began sending advertisements and corrupt data to people who were willing to open the messages.

"And once they click on it," Pedro said, "I'm able to read what's on their computer. I can order whatever I want using their credit card and information."

"What's in the emails?"

"Any fake product that looks irresistible to buy. Sometimes I just steal something popular and use that. They will then put in their information and send it to me. But if they don't buy it, I can still roam freely into their computer. For them, their computer just goes slower as I hack into it."

I watched him type on the computer, open web browsers, and save everything once he was finished. He searched through file systems, purchased receipts online, and any identity information that was available to him. He ordered new credit cards to his own personal address and repeated the process for every identity he stole.

"Is that address where you live?" I asked.

"No way," he replied, "I'm not that stupid. It's just a mailing address; like a PO Box."

"Impressive."

Pedro moved back in his seat. "Here. I'll even let you click on the last person we are stealing from."

I leaned forward and clicked the box on the screen, checking with Pedro that I did everything correctly.

"Not bad Juan," he congratulated, "now let's go spend some money."

He took me to the post office and showed me last weeks mail of new credit cards, checks, money orders, and newly ordered identifications.

"Let me show you how cool this is. How about we try it out, tweaker?"

"Sure," I replied, mad that he called me a name, "show me the way Asian."

We visited numerous stores and purchased phones, electronics, and whatever was hot in the streets to sell. Pedro gave me a small portion of the items we illegally bought. Once we used the cards at a store, or if the attendants asked for identifications, we left immediately. We stored everything in the back of Pedro's truck.

"Shit," Pedro said, "I gotta go. You keep searching for Sofia. I'm sure you'll eventually find her. Call me tomorrow, and don't wait like last time."

"But your handwriting sucks, and I couldn't read it," I stopped him, "Can you write it again."

Pedro took out another piece of paper and wrote it slowly and legibly for me to see. "This would be easier if you had a fucking cell phone. I say activate the one you stole." He handed me the piece of paper with a sigh.

"Thanks," I replied, "I'll call you tomorrow."

He left me with a flat screen television and a cell phone at my feet. I unraveled the piece of paper Pedro had given me and compared it to the previous note. As I set them beside each other, none of the numbers were the same and everything was jumbled, leaving me more confused. I kept them both and shrugged off the fact that I wouldn't be able to call him. Besides, he was always at the gas station when I needed him. I usually just had to wait the entire day to find him.

I put a trash bag around my illegally bought electronics and quickly found the nearest pawn shop to exchange them. The pawn shop gave me a small amount of cash but they didn't ask any questions, and I was impatient to smoke meth.

After finding a dealer, and then smoking everything, I looked up into the night sky, realizing I didn't know what time it was or what I had been doing for the past day. I grabbed some things from my bush and rode my flashy bike to the jails to wait for morning and Sofia to be released.

The eagle-like mask at the front of the bike elated my spirit, like I was soaring over the city with the thousands of birds. Sofia's sign was still behind me for the public to see. Everywhere I went; it caught the attention of people driving or walking down the street.

Once I made it to the women's jails, I finished my note for Sofia and threw another kite over the fence, hoping that she would get my letter. It seemed the desert was always cold and quiet in the morning, but as the cars began to drive by, my calmness was interrupted and brought me more paranoia.

As the sun rose over the eastern mountains, I tightened Sofia's sign behind me and the eagle's head over the basket on my bike, ready to start my protest. Being alone in the process was more challenging than I had thought. I pedaled around the front of the entrance, passing by only a few people walking inside as they looked at me with disbelief, but never said anything. I circled around the front of the building and through the parking lots. I sometimes chanted 'free Sofia' when people were close by, but none seemed to care.

As lunch came, I went to the dumpsters to retrieve information for Pedro. I found some half eaten fruits and Chinese food to satisfy my hunger for the day. I biked through downtown Phoenix and protested in the crowded streets for everyone to see. When I was waiting to cross the street, some citizens next to me questioned who Sofia was and why I was riding a bike with a strange bird head. Many discussed injustice with me and gave me a thumbs-up; others were rude and threw rocks at me.

Feeling exhausted, I rode my bike to the gas station to meet Pedro. We exchanged information and used people's identification to buy things, and then I pawned them in for drug money. Pedro was always happy to receive my stolen information and helped me pawn in some of the expensive electronics. He always gave me a different phone number and never answered why he wouldn't tell me his number, so I didn't bother him anymore since I was getting what I needed.

The same routine occurred every day in sequence. In the morning I would protest. In the daytime, I would dumpster-dive; sometimes returning to protest again. In the late evening, I met with Pedro, and we got paid using different identity information.

Everyone that walked into the jails was beginning to recognize me as a friend. Employees, visitors, and strangers passing by usually greeted me every morning. Neighbors living nearby knew who I was as well. Sometimes, the police officers would stop me, but I had a reason to be in front of the jails; and as long as I wasn't doing anything illegal, they didn't arrest me. It almost seemed like a regular work schedule when I woke up the morning.

After a day of protesting, I attracted the attention of a news crew reporting a story in front of the jails. They waved me over as I continued yelling in the direction of the jails to free Sofia.

"What are you doing sir, if I may ask?" asked the women reporter. Her brown hair went to her shoulders and her eyes were bright hazel. A news van was parked in front of her with a man working on his camera inside the opened sliding door.

"I'm protesting for my girlfriend, Sofia," I replied, fixing my cape that was hanging behind me, "they are keeping her in the tents."

"What did she do?"

"Well... Nothing, really. She was just trying to make a living."

"Doing what?" she intrusively asked.

"Umm... Prostitution." The words slipped off my tongue, but the reporter seemed genuinely interested.

"I see... And I know your girlfriend is in jail, but is that the only thing you're protesting for? Just to free your girlfriend? The prostitute?"

"I think so."

"So you're like a lot of people who have a loved one incarcerated?"

Her questions seemed intrusive but I continued to talk with her. "I take that back. My protesting is for everyone in jail. It's for liberation."

"Liberation? So do you believe all prisoners should be liberated?"

"Not all, but..." I stuttered as I looked into her hazel eyes. "Isn't it kinda fucked up that she has been in and out of jail over a hundred times in the past two years? Hell, I've been in and out of jail too and I'm illegal!"

"Really?" the reporter's eyebrow raised, "So a prostitute like Sofia should be released to continue her job?"

"What if that's what she does? You report the news and she works for sex. So what?"

"So what? You have a weird outlook on life... What's your name?"

"It's Juan. What if I said that you have weird outlook on life too?"

"Ok Juan," she started, "how would you like to do an interview with me?"

"About what?"

"What you stand for, and if it's good enough, I will put it on the news."

"You think Sofia would see it?"

"I don't know," she said, and grabbed her microphone from the back of the van. She then brought the cameraman over to film us.

"You know," she said, "I have interviewed many people like you protesting something they want changed. They all have the problem in mind, but no solution. You can protest all you want but it doesn't change the law. In your case: you're not born of this country and you're protesting possibly the inequalities in society. But will it change the law?"

"Gotta start somewhere."

"So you want this prostitute free?" she asked.

"Stop calling her a prostitute like she's a terrible person. I don't call you a reporter that distorts the news."

"Fair enough," she nodded her head, "What do you do for work?"

"I protest."

"That's it? Where do you live?"

"I'm homeless."

"Why?"

"Because I am."

"Someone just doesn't choose to be homeless. There has to be a reason."

"There isn't a reason." I gave her a disconcerting look.

"How did you choose your life?"

"I didn't choose it. I never wanted it, but maybe I'm content with my life how you're content with yours. Unless, you're not content?"

"Thanks for your concern but I am fine," she replied candidly, "let's sit down and discuss this more."

We walked under a tree in the shade, and she listened to the reason I was protesting in front of the jails. I didn't care how she portrayed me; I was going to get my name out to the city, and everyone, especially Sofia was going to hear my voice.

A police car drove by, ignoring me as I sat down with the reporter.
Chapter 10 – Infamous

My interview was aired on the news and helped me earn local popularity in the streets; soon becoming viewable from television to the internet, though I still hadn't seen it. I asked the curious citizens who approached me on the streets what parts were discussed, but I never got a clear picture, as some praised me and others threw rocks at me. Things would zoom by my head whenever I rode my bike down the street, and I immediately knew when to duck my head and find cover. As for the cops, I was able to deceive them with my intent to protest, even though I was using and buying drugs most of the time. All in all, there were mixed feelings among the public from my interview.

My illegal status must have been mentioned as well as Sofia's prostitution, and if she was known as a prostitute to the media, she was going to kill me. The reporter's advice reiterated though my head, that I was seeking the 'American dream' through the illusion of drugs and alcohol. Although the American dream had changed throughout the years, I was content to continue seeking it until I died. There always seemed to be something else better, and it pushed me forward with immense stress. When there was nothing real to worry about, I found a problem to create for myself. In the past, Sofia usually helped balance out my chaotic life with hers, sometimes providing me sex and drugs; but when I was alone, it was masturbation and drugs. I was certain I told the reporter something like that, but then again, I was high and forgot what I had said.

Outside of the jail, I stomped my foot down to stop the motion of my bike as Gabrielle walked out of her new, yet highly priced sports car. She swiped off her sunglasses when she saw me in front of the jail.

I looked away with embarrassment and continued to ride my bike in a circle, shouting 'free Sofia' to anyone near the jail entrance. I tightly gripped my handlebars and pretended that I didn't see her.

Finally, she spoke up. "What are you doing Juan?"

"I'm protesting. I'm being an advocate," I said, commending myself for my effort.

"You're being an advocate for one person, your girlfriend. Doesn't that seem kind of strange? You're on a bike, decorated and looking a like a clown. What are you doing?" She brushed her hair to the side and put her hands on her hips. Her sunglasses were hanging out of her front pocket.

"That seems like a lot of questions... Why are you here?"

"Are you high?"

"No," I quickly replied, "I've been too busy to do things like that."

"Are you sure?" Gabrielle asked, and then dismissed her question, "It doesn't matter. I saw you on the news, Juan. What were you thinking? I know what she said did not come out of your mouth."

"At least it got me known, Gabrielle." I said her name firmly, making it seem I had the upper hand on the matter. "My goal was to free Sofia, and I feel that interview helped—"

"You mentioned my name!" she interrupted, "now I have to deal with the controversy about my illegal drug using brother."

"I am your brother though," I said, "Why does it matter?"

"If you knew what was going on with my life instead of doing drugs, you would know."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm the head of the university committee and have been elected to run for an important position; not like you care." She adjusted the strap of her purse around her shoulder. "And if I know you, you were high on something during that entire interview."

"You look good." I changed the subject. "I haven't seen you for a while. Give me a hug."

I embraced her with my arms and pulled her in close. Gabrielle began to pout but she accepted.

"Juan," she said, "you always surprise me. I have never understood you since we moved here, but I guess this is how it's going to be."

"What do you mean?"

"Are you ever going to stop using drugs? Are you ever going to understand that you can't date a prostitute? And then magically have her released from jail?"

"But I like her," I replied.

"I know you do, but don't you think it's time to find something else to keep you occupied? I can name over a thousand things for you to do. Wanna hear?"

"I do, but I have to do this. I'm an advocate."

"For one person! And she's a prostitute!"

"I want her back."

"What are you going to do? Ride around your bike like a madman and wait for her to be freed? You have no control. Even if it is injustice, you can't change it."

"You told me that the law was a living document and that we can change it if we try..." I held my head down like, feeling like she was discouraging me.

"I did, but sometimes we have to accept this is the way things are when we can't change the law. You have no power, and when you do something wrong in society, you are incarcerated."

"I feel incarcerated in this city. I can't do anything without someone spying or looking out to get me."

"Maybe you should get out of the streets and stop parading around. If drugs were legal, and you could do what you wanted, would you still feel injustice?"

"No."

"I think you would," Gabrielle said, "you are always going to have a difference of opinion with someone else, and you can't change the perspective of someone powerful. That's life. You can only persevere your own cause and ignore the injustices in life." She took a deep breath and then exhaled. "I don't even know your motive anymore, Juan. I just want you back every time I see you homeless in the streets. And it's all because of your stupid drug addiction."

"I live in the city," I said, "Just a little down the street."

Gabrielle sighed. "Do you want to come over for dinner tonight so we can talk about this more?"

"Dinner?" I thought about the last time I sat down with someone and ate a balanced meal, but nothing came to mind. "Sure."

"I'll give you some clothes too," she added, "come over around seven tonight."

I agreed and walked back with Gabrielle to her car as I pushed my bike with my hands. My body was sweating more than usual, and I felt optimistic while standing next to her. I didn't know what she was doing now or how she got such an expensive car.

"You got twenty bucks on you for some lunch?" I asked.

"You know better than that," she shook her head no. She sat down in her car and closed the door. Her window rolled down. "Be careful Juan. I'll see you tonight at my place." Her face was unsure, but she gave me a smile and then drove away.

Later in the day, I mustered up enough cash to buy drugs. My usual dealer wasn't around, so I had to be creative in finding someone else. I passed a few users who were high but not selling. They directed me down the street and gave me an address for their dealer. I searched for the house, thinking about what Gabrielle was going to have for dinner and what I was going to say to her. She never wanted to give up on me, which only saddened my guilty conscience.

I counted the numbers on the houses as I approached a neighborhood with crime-free signs on every corner, attempting to deter people like me from entering. Once I found the address I was looking for, I studied each window and around the front door. The wide garage was closed, and a boat was at the side of the house, showing me that the owner was not the normal street dealer.

I paced around out front, wondering if I had the right address. The porch looked welcoming and the front yard was landscaped to perfection, reminding me of my father who was working out in the sun every day.

Suddenly, the curtains shifted and a head appeared from inside of the window. In a moment, the head moved away, leaving the curtains to sway back and forth. I decided to continue walking to the front door and take a chance.

I knocked on the door that opened immediately before I could put my hand down to my side.

"Whattaya want?" asked the obese man behind the door. He wore a basketball jersey and had a piece of liquorish hanging from his mouth.

"Larry sent me," I said with a hint.

"Who's that?"

"Just give me some crystal."

"Woah," he held up his hands, "What's with the attitude? I don't come into your house and act all fucked up."

"Are you going to give me it or not?" I held out the money and then slammed it in his hand.

We exchanged eye contact for a moment, unsure if we could trust one another. Finally, the obese man took out a small bag of meth and handed it to me. He told me to 'to bounce' and then closed the door.

I found a secluded area behind a dumpster that had a broken chair and some old magazines to the side. A slight breeze blew against my body in the corner as the fire swayed underneath the glass pipe, and my dry mouth opened, ready to inhale. I smoked all the meth in minutes, which made me feel more alive than usual. Impressed with the quality, and knowing I was going to want more, I roamed around neighborhoods looking for things to steal and identities to take. It didn't matter from whom. Familiar faces and names seemed extraneous to me, even if they were family or old friends from the past. Dinner with Gabrielle sounded welcoming but it was going to be challenging to have a serious conversation with her while in my drugged-up and sleep deprived state of mind.

I started humming a song that was playing from inside a house with its windows open. It was a catchy tune but I would never know who sang it. The acoustic guitar sang in my head beautifully, almost in synergy with the movement on my bike. After seeing someone inside the house, I crossed streets and stayed on the sidewalk to look over the backyard fences. I stretched my head high to see what was on the other side and if anything was worth stealing.

Behind the last house at the end of the street, I saw a toolbox and some flashlights on a wooden table. With an opportunistic hope to make some money, I peddled my bike to the front of the house to see if anyone was home. No cars were in the driveway, and the blinds on the windows were closed. I set my bike along the side, knowing I would be back in less than a minute, and then jumped over the backyard fence.

My feet landed on their red gravel next to a dirty pool that had a broken fence around it. I quickly grabbed all that I could from the wooden table, which looked to be some sort of workbench. I put all the tools, flashlights, and batteries into my pockets and held the rest against my chest. I scanned the backyard for anything else to take, but what I had on me seemed like it was worth enough money to score drugs.

The porch door abruptly opened as a surprised middle aged man holding a beer stepped outside. His mouth opened, confused at first, and then he let out an angry shout. As I ran away, he dropped his beer can and chased me to the fence. A dog jumped out of the door and barked in my direction.

Tools were falling out of my pockets as I climbed over the fence. More tools fell to the ground as I straddled my bike, but I grabbed what I could and started riding away with haste. The man who saw me jumped the fence and ran behind me, but looked exhausted. As he slowed down, his yelling was more persistent, which concerned me that other neighbors would hear. The dog was still barking from the backyard, aware that it was too late to catch me. Another man from the house started jogging in my direction, but I turned the corner at a faster pace.

The only possessions I had remaining with me were a flashlight, a wrench, and batteries in my pockets. I peddled my bike around several corners to confuse the pursuers and then rested in an alley to catch my breath. The stolen goods I possessed didn't seem as worthy as before, but I was going to try to pawn them nonetheless. Just as I was about to leave, a truck full of men stormed in front of me with screeching tires that quickly came to a halt.

"Get 'em!" yelled the man to his three other friends. They hopped out of the back of the truck as the driver quickly swung his door open. I tried to run with my bike to slip pass them but was immediately punched in the face. My head jerked back with the motion of the punch, causing me to stumble backwards. I turned away to run but another body quickly invaded my space to prevent me from escaping. He grabbed onto my bike and threw it out of the way.

"You got the wrong person!" I pleaded while holding my hand over my bleeding nose.

"What the fuck is wrong with you!" he shouted, ignoring my lie.

I didn't look up to respond and tried to pick up my bike that was to the side. The men huddled in closer to me as I tried to squeeze through them, but I was immediately pushed back into the fence. The sign that read _Free Sofia_ was broken in half and at my feet; but that was the least of my concerns.

"Hey," said the friend, "he's that illegal that's been on the news wearing that American cape. See his stupid bike."

Before I could look at my bike, the driver initiated a punch to my forehead that knocked me to the ground. Laughter arose from around me as I stood up without looking at any of their faces.

"Want more?" asked the friend. He swung his fist into my stomach, knocking me to my knees.

Everyone surrounded my curled body and began kicking me to the ground. I formed a protective ball, trying to absorb the kicks, and concentrated on my breathing from the punch to my stomach that had knocked the wind out of me.

"Don't ever steal from me again!" yelled a voice.

"He made me spill my beer," commented the other.

The kicks were getting harder and forming more bruises, which turned into painful aches. I tried to ignore the injuries, but every blow to the body I withstood hurt with increasing intensity.

He took his tools back from my pockets and studied his flashlight. "Keep the flashlight. It's broken anyway," he chuckled, "and you don't deserve this cape." He ripped of my American flag and stuffed it in his pocket.

His friends picked me up and pushed me against the fence. Everyone grabbed a limb of my body and hauled me over to a small ditch that had line of water flowing in the middle.

"Don't ever show your pathetic face around here again or we'll break your fucking neck."

Holding onto my arms and legs, they chanted, "One. Two. Three!"

My body was suddenly airborne and flew over the dirt until it landed on a downward slant into the ditch. I uncontrollably rolled in circles from the momentum of the powerful throw until I finally came to a stop, feeling a terrible burning sensation inside of my bones. My head leaned on a rock and my legs rested in the small line of flowing water. My eyes opened to see the group above that had beaten the shit out of me. Laughing together, they lifted my bike and then launched it in my direction. I watched it soar in the air until it landed in front of my legs.

"Nice throw," commented one of the men.

They laughed and walked away, leaving me hurt with a mangled bike next to me. I should have been smarter, but after stealing so much and getting away with it, the thought of getting caught never seemed important; and it always sucked when the other side overreacted.

My legs, arms, and stomach were aching terribly, and my ribs felt like they had been shattered, which inhibited my breathing. I laid my hands out and watched the sun set, knowing I wasn't going to meet up with Gabrielle for dinner tonight. I stayed on my back in the ditch for the rest of the night and morning, grimacing in pain with no ability to get high. I never lifted my head until someone shouted from a distance. Once I looked up to see who it was, the concerned voice stopped, and then I was left alone again.

More hours passed in the morning until a woman walking her dog stopped to see if I was alive. She stood over me with her dog curiously sniffing my side.

"Sir?" she asked, taking a step back," Sir? Are you alright?" She was dressed in a gym outfit and had short brunette hair.

"Yes," I bitterly grunted back. Although she was pretty, her voice sounded annoying.

"Are you sure?" she said, "you have blood all over you."

"I'm fine," I replied, trying to sit up. I slowly used my arms to move into a sitting position, but a burn sparked through my ribs. I tested my aching feet and brushed off the dirt that was over my stained clothes.

"I think you need to get looked at by a doctor," she suggested.

"I think you need to get lost. I'm fine. I was just sleeping."

Appalled, the short brunette woman pulled the dog with her leash and strolled off.

I slowly stood up and limped out of the ditch, pushing my bike with me. The creaky wheels managed to stay intact and the handle bars wobbled as I rolled it onto the sidewalk. The basket was sideways and the eagle mask was slightly torn but still observable. I carefully sat down on the seat and biked my way through the streets, using my foot that was less injured to push down on the foot-peddle.

I rested outside of a gas station with my back against the wall and begged for money. My battle wounds were displayed to the public, and blood crusted over the side of my face that had dried onto my clothes. After an hour, I was given some food and bought a forty of alcohol to numb the pain. I also fixed everything on my bike to how it used to look even though it was still banged up. The bird head on the front was dirty, so I cleaned it off and set it over the crooked basket. I wrote a new 'free Sofia' sign and attached it behind my bike seat.

Sitting next to my bike, an ambulance drove up and parked in front of me. Holding out my can for change, I thought they were going to walk past me, but the paramedics kneeled down next to me and began asking me questions. I was reluctant at first to cooperate, but I finally joined them for a ride to the hospital. They ensured me that my bike would be fine since that was the only thing I was worried about. They operated on everything that was wrong with me and fixed me up, though I was still suffering. The doctors didn't understand how I had survived living in my damaged condition. Once they fixed me, I was released rather quickly because I had no insurance, but it didn't bother me— I was given a bunch of pain pills.

The pills given to me were supposed to last three months but I finished them in less than a week. They helped keep my mind occupied and added to the buzz from the street drugs I was using. I thought about visiting Gabrielle to apologize for not showing up but I didn't have the courage to look her in the eyes. After I was badly beaten, everything seemed a bit harder, and the drug-use only increased, which meant I had to steal more. The simple task of walking or bending my body made me feel ill-equipped. My one good leg did most of the peddling when I rode my bike, and it seemed I still walked with a limp.
I returned to the front of the gas station and sat down against the wall to beg for food. The hospital bandages that wrapped around me were turning into a dirty black color to match my clothes. I wanted to find an American flag to masquerade my shitty condition and continue my protest. Although they had stolen my cape, I still had the broken flashlight that I held out and tried to sell it to every person walking by.

"If only your mom could see you now," Pedro's voice came from the side.

"Shut up," I said with an exhausted tone.

"Coming from such a respected culture on the farm and now you're begging in the streets. You used to have a family, and now everything is broken apart. What happened to you?"

"The streets are my home now."

"You need to fucking move. Maybe get an upgrade?"

"No," I said and let my head hang, "I don't have anything for you today. I just smoked everything I had and don't have a penny."

"What about that drink in your side pocket," Pedro pointed out.

"And that." I cradled it through my jacket like it was my baby. "You got any weed?"

"Why? You want to smoke my shit again?"

"C'mon," I said, "I'm hurting like hell and I used up all my pain medication."

"Maybe you shouldn't have abused it. That is your problem, isn't it? Abusing drugs?"

"Who cares anymore... Just help me up and let's go smoke a joint."

"As you wish," he replied.

We walked behind the buildings and hid in the alleyway to smoke. I took the joint from Pedro's hands and lit it up in front of my face.

"You need some help, man," he commented.

"Fuck off," I took some hits and then passed it to Pedro.

"Did Sofia get released yet?" Pedro asked.

"No. She's stuck in jail at the moment. Probably awaiting trial."

"That's a shame." He passed me the joint. "Your bike is looking all fucked up like you."

"I know. I got jumped. It doesn't matter though."

"You're worthless," Pedro laughed.

"Why are you always laughing at me like I'm some kind of joke?" I said upset.

"We are all a joke, but you my friend, are the best joke around."

"I'm doing all this for Sofia," I declared, "You don't know what this is like."

"What if I told you that I do know what this is like?"

"Now you're just fucking with me."

"I'm not," Pedro said defensively, "I'm also waiting for someone like you are."

"You don't have someone in your life that you care about," I grunted, "Who's important to you?"

"Sofia."

"That's not possible," I said, "You don't even know her."

"She's more important to me than you. I am the one waiting for Sofia."

"No you're not," I said, "stop fucking with me. You're starting to piss me off."

"I'm not. Sofia is coming home to me. She's mine when she is released."

I immediately stood up and clenched my fists. "Take it back. I don't care if you're joking. You know Sofia is mine."

"I do have to say," Pedro said, "She's a classic bitch."

"I'm going to give you one last chance to stop fucking with me," I said, holding up my finger, "And I don't care how injured I am. I will fuck you up."

"It doesn't matter what you do. Sofia is my bitch." Pedro sounded firm, yet unreasonable.

"Die!" I charged him, ready to throw him to the ground. My first instinct was to punch him, but I wanted to savor it on the ground when I was straddled over him.

I swung my hands up, trying to lift him off the ground, but I didn't hit anything. My arms followed through him as I moved to the other side of Pedro's ghostlike body.

Feeling dazed, I turned around and looked up at Pedro who was laughing at me.

"I told you," Pedro said with a smile, "Sofia is mine."

Aching from my toes to my head, I swung at Pedro's face, but no contact was made. My arms passed through him as I twirled around and fell to the ground.

"Who are you?" I asked, standing up with difficulty.

"I'm Pedro, you fucking tweaker. And there is nothing you can do about Sofia and me. We were meant to be together, unlike you, who just uses drugs with her. She doesn't even care about you and never will."

I gave one last effort to hit him but he disappeared, yet I could still hear his voice. I turned around, looking from each angle, trying to find where Pedro went. His voice was still active, taunting and telling me how he was going to fuck Sofia.

I yelled his name and ran away from his evil laugh, but it seemed like he was everywhere. He continued to distract my thoughts as I paced around and searched for him in the darkness behind the gas station.

"Show your face or get outa my head!" I yelled and began smacking my forehead. I ran back to my bike and hopped on the seat, feeling the pain in my bones from stretching over the bike. As I rode away from the gas station, it sounded like Pedro was running behind me and yelling into my ear.

"You're nothing to Sofia," he shouted.

I glanced behind me but he wasn't there. "I'm not listening!"

"Nothing!"

I rushed to my bush and threw my bike to the side. I curled up in the darkness and pressed my hands against my ears, talking with Pedro for the entire night. He seemed more surreal than before, only revealing himself in the blink of an eye to disappear into the faint moonlight. His voice continued to ring through my head and wouldn't go away.

I finally took a large rock and hit myself over the head. His voice decreased as I felt a sharp pain in my skull. Blood trickled down the side of my face, and a constant ringing formed in each ear.

"Get out of my head!" I screamed, and hit myself with the rock again.

My head filled with darkness, yet the pain continued to aggravate me until I fell into unconsciousness. I didn't hear Pedro anymore but it felt like my body was moving; almost flying, but I couldn't confirm it. Every time I tried to gain consciousness, I was pulled back from something inside my head. I dreamt that I was with Sofia and we were alone in the park. There was nobody around to steal her away or catch her attention. She was only focused on me and I was the most important person to her. The two of us sat together and talked about things I couldn't remember.

My head shook, and my eyes opened, taking me away from my dream. The lights above me and the scent of cleaning materials told me that I was at the hospital. My hands lifted to my head that was wrapped tightly with a bandage. I tried to loosen it, but the nurse quickly put my hands to my sides. I didn't reach further and stared at the ceiling.

After a few more days at the hospital, I was released with more pain medication for my head. I didn't like hurting myself, but in certain circumstances, it seemed necessary to knock myself unconscious. The hospital had stored my bike for me, and I thanked them for saving the only thing I had remaining. I left with a bunch of pain medication and returned to my bush with my bike. Most of my belongings were still there, like my butter knife, some papers, an extra pair of underwear, and a small blanket burrowed in the dirt.

I adjusted Sofia's sign on the back of my bike so it was high in the air and left my bush to find more drugs. My body felt like it had mended but my head was still aching from the rock I had slammed against my head. Wandering through the streets, I begged for more cash until I had enough money to buy some drugs. Anything cheap at this point would suffice.

"You looking for a trick?" asked the woman standing in front of me. Her makeup was heavy and dress was bright red, curving with her figure.

I realized I was standing in front of a prostitute. "You holding?"

She sighed and directed me to an address to get drugs. "You better have cash on you."

"I do," I said, walking away, counting the limited cash in my pocket with my fingers. Hopefully it was enough. Knowing I couldn't afford the prostitute, I left her behind to search for the address she had given me.

I approached an older house with a decayed roof and an opened garage door that looked like it was about to crumble down. Two bikes, big-screen televisions, and different electronics were inside the garage, reminding me of the many times I had stolen those similar items. I realized that I had been to this house before, and it was affordable. I held up the cash between my fingers as I approached the group of men hanging out front.

I exchanged goods with them and I walked away with a small bag of drugs. The substance tasted like crack, but I didn't care because it was cheap. I smoked it all, which wasn't enough to feed my buzz.

The morning sun started to illuminate the sky, prompting me to go protest for Sofia. On my way to the jails, I found a flag to steal and wore it as a cape. My worn out bird-face held on strong over the front basket, and I made sure Sofia's sign was upright and visible for my appearance in front of the jail.

I didn't know what I was doing anymore.

Pedro's voice sneaked into my head as I was riding my bike. _No matter what, Sofia will never be yours._

"Go away!" I screamed out loud.

_Just go get more drugs to numb the pain like you always do_.

I didn't want to knock myself unconscious again, so I tolerated Pedro's voice.

He continued to badger my thoughts. _All this work. All this protesting. For nothing! She didn't do the same for you. Instead she whored herself out while you were in prison._

"Shut up!" I screamed, realizing people were around me. I started peddling my bike harder and detoured to the crackhouse to get some more drugs. While riding, I remembered that I had no money to buy anything, and they would reject me right away, or rob me.

"Why can't get you outa my head, Pedro?" I asked whimpering.

_Its Sofia you can't get outa your head._ Pedro's voice started laughing.

I did some dumpster-diving to retrieve identifications to steal, but was having trouble concentrating, so I returned to the crackhouse in the late morning and stole the bikes that were inside of their garage. This time, I got away and was able to pawn them in.

_You really want to bite the hand that feeds you?_ Pedro's voice asked.

"They will never know," I said, "Plus, they sell crack for cheap."

_You will never learn that you can't win if you continue to use drugs. Go back to weed and smoke yourself to sleep,_ Pedro chuckled.

"No! I can't!"

I rode my bike in front of the crackhouse in late morning and used the money I had pawned for their bikes to buy more crack.

_Go smoke it all and then come back for more, you sorry piece of shit._ Pedro's voice sounded fiercer.

"Shut up!"

"What's your problem?" said the dealer in front of me.

"N...Nothing," I said, running away from the crackhouse and hopping on my bike. My feet began peddling as fast as I could, not knowing where I was going. It seemed time stopped whenever I was alone in the city and searching for drug-money. Had I hit an all-time low?

You can't change who you are. You will always be a tweaker and an abuser.

I ignored Pedro and returned to the jails to protest for Sofia. I was getting exhausted from all of the riding, stealing, and protesting, but it all seemed part of my life now.

I thought about giving up, which was something I was used to doing. Sofia's status wouldn't change no matter how much I tried. Nobody cared, and most people either threw something at me or mocked me for advocating. Standing up for a cause was worthless when I had no power. Eventually, everyone would forget that it had happened and would move on to the next pressing issue.

The next few days were tiresome and full of arguing with Pedro. He continued to bash my cause and ridiculed me whenever I brought up Sofia. Every time I went into a liquor store or the gas station, I was greeted by Pedro. I always tried to attack him but I would run through his ghostlike body as he continued to laugh at me. He haunted every step I took, every contradictory thought I argued, and every decision I made. Sometimes he was helpful, but other times he was sinister, depending on the mood.

Breaking the law was another deceiving tendency of mine that occurred every day. Part of me wanted to get caught so that I could rest in jail and not have to worry about surviving. I was far past functioning in society and the streets were all I knew.

On a warm sunny day, a shiny black car pulled up beside me as I was protesting for Sofia and talking with Pedro. My bike was beginning to have a permanent squeak, and the wavy tires gave me some resistance from not being aligned. I gave a heedful look to the black car with chrome rims and then continued circling around the jail entrance on my bike.

The engine continued to idle next to the sidewalk with nobody coming out. It seemed like I was being watched, and I couldn't see them through the tinted windows. As I biked to the other side of the parking lot, the car followed behind me and then stopped once I turned around to face them.

I kept my feet on the ground and waited for an explanation from the anonymous car. "What's your problem?!" I yelled outside the car, trying to peer inside. My face in the reflection of the window was worn and my eyes had a sense of discomfort underneath my frowning eyebrows.

The window slid down, revealing two men with sunglasses that were dressed in suits and ties. The interior of the car was leather black with more than enough cup holders. I imagined myself on the inside, drinking pricey alcoholic drinks in a glass.

"You," said the passenger, "Are you the clown on the bike everyone's talking about?" His hair was receding and his mustache was grey, but he still looked middle aged.

I scanned his car again and then replied, "Why do you care?"

"You should care," he said boastfully, "because I want to offer that clown a deal. Can you tell me where he is if you aren't him?"

"I am him," I replied immediately, "What deal are you talking about?"

"So you are the clown?" His voice remained calm as he pronounced his words clearly.

"My name is Juan. What deal?"

"I work for a campaign, and I will give you fifty thousand dollars to be in an advertisement for me."

"You're fucking with me," I said, "no one would give out fifty thousand dollars, especially to me."

"So you won't do it?" He pushed the window for it to go up.

"Wait!" I yelled, putting my hands on the side of the car, "I'll do it if I get paid fifty thousand. I just wanted to know what I will be doing."

"I'll leave out the specifics, but it has to do with your illegal problem in the country. Elections are coming up soon, and we need some push and we think you'd help us win the crowd over."

"So what do I do?"

"You say a few things, do your thing on your bike, and then receive fifty thousand dollars."

"That sounds too good to be true. What's the catch?"

"No catch. Just do what we tell you and you get your money."

"Do I go with you now?" I asked, waiting for them to open the door for me.

"No no no," said the man, "you are not coming in here." He took out a notepad and wrote something down.

I watched him the entire time, examining his watch and thinking about how much money I could pawn it in for.

He ripped off the piece of paper and handed it to me. "Be here tomorrow at this time. Bring your bike and whatever clown stuff goes along with you. You can read, can't you?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Just checking," he said, sitting back in his seat, "Just be there and do what you are told to do."

"Easy enough," I said smiling. I still didn't believe him, but it was worth trying since I had nothing else going for me.

The window rolled up and the car drove away. If what he said was true, I was going to receive fifty thousand dollars in one day. It seemed like a dream to have that much money. The cash I earned daily on the street was a measly amount compared to this man's offer.

_He's full of shit_. Pedro's voice echoed through my head.

"So what," I said, "we check it out and see what's up. If he's full of shit, then we leave."

_You'd abandon Sofia?_ Pedro asked.

I pictured a smirk on his face anticipating my answer. "It's just for a short while."

I studied the note the man had given me. The address was downtown and I had to meet with them early in the morning, which meant that I had to scavenge for identities for the rest of the afternoon if I wanted to get high.

I argued with Pedro as we gathered people's information from the dumpster. Sometimes, looking up their identities with the library computer was unreliable; or I couldn't hack into someone's account, which left me to rob a random person in the streets. Although identity theft was easy, it took a lot of work and patience. Meth helped me stay focused while I searched for ways to steal information and buy things.

As the night sky darkened, I was beginning to have little patience and was craving meth. Unsuccessful with the identities I had found, I walked down the street looking for vulnerable victims to steal from.

Hiding from a distance and behind a bush, I waited near a bank for someone to take out money at the ATM machine. My plan was to run up behind them and forcefully ask for their money. Finding the weakest person was important and had the highest probability for success, though there wasn't much of a choice once night came around.

Finally, a small and skinny man approached the machine with his back to me. He looked to be younger but didn't seem like he'd be a threat.

I walked fast towards the man talking on the phone, inputting his password, and then taking out his cash. To my advantage, the ATM machine was not facing the main street, which made the area slightly hidden. The overhead lights shined over the cash machine and surrounding areas of the parking lot, so I sneaked through the patches of darkness, hoping that nobody else would disturb my robbery. As I approached the skinny man, I started thinking if it would have been better to try stealing identities to avoid physical confrontation, but it was too late.

I firmly grasped the back of his shoulder and instructed, "Give me your shit or else you're getting stabbed." I pressed my butter knife against his back. My choice of weapon made me think that I could never kill someone, unless if he tried to attack me first.

"Please, don't," begged the skinny man.

"Give me the money you just took out," my voice rose with haste, "quickly!"

As he turned to the side, his face was thin to the cheekbone, adding to the rest of his gangly qualities. He turned his shoulders and extended a twenty dollar bill my way, but I immediately knew I was going to need more.

"More," I ordered, "take out more money! I can't do anything with twenty dollars."

His hands fumbled for his wallet and he took out his card. I shoved him in the back, signifying that I was in a hurry.

His shaking hand inserted the card, and then he inputted his password. He tapped the screen until the withdraw option to take out the money appeared.

"How much?" his shaky voice asked.

"As much as you can get! Hurry up!"

He hit a few buttons and waited for the money to come out. I looked around while holding the butter knife strongly against his back.

The money began to shoot out of the slot. Once it was finished, I pushed him out of the way and grabbed the money. I grasped it in my hand and sprinted away from the scene. Luckily, he was a passive victim, unlike the aggressive victims in the past that had tried to fight back; either way, I ran away once I got what I wanted.

I found a place to hide and counted the two hundred and twenty dollars in my hands. For some reason, it felt more gratifying to steal from someone face to face than to use their identity illegally.

Later that night, I found a dealer and got high, saving some leftovers for the early morning. I knew I was going to stay awake throughout the night and day. Sleep became rare in the street life, especially when meth and crack were involved—and more was always needed.

I smoked the rest of my stash into the morning and anticipated what was going to happen for my fifty thousand dollar advertisement, though I was completely skeptical.

At nine o'clock in the morning, I biked to the building I was told to be at. My hand wiped away the dirt over my bloodshot eyes and then scratched the corroded substance underneath my ear. Leaning my bike against the side, I pressed the button on the gate.

A woman's voice asked who I was.

Stunned, I didn't know what to say, but I finally stated my purpose. As I explained my reason for being there, I realized I didn't have any idea of what I was doing. The only thing that attracted me to participate was the unimaginable idea of having fifty thousand dollars.

Not making any sense, I continued to talk until the gate finally opened. Pedro argued with me about leaving Sofia as we walked past the entrance, but I ignored him. The sidewalk was shaded, and next to the tall brick building were colorful patterns that twisted around the edge. In the middle were some workers at a table taking a smoke break.

A door opened at the side of the building, interrupting my thoughts. Holding onto the handlebars of my bike, I approached the door that had a crowd of busy people inside.

A man wearing a white shirt with the American flag stepped outside. "Hello." His glasses made his eyes look bigger on his face.

"Is this where I get my fifty thousand dollars?"

"Yes," he said, "but we have to do the commercial first." He opened the door wider to let me in as I pushed my bike with me.

Inside, were more people wearing American flag t-shirts setting up for the commercial. Three cameras from different angles faced a green screen and microphones hung from the ceiling. I watched them test the equipment and rigorously move around like ants.

"Would you like a sandwich while you wait?" asked the man with glasses.

"Yes," I replied, remembering I hadn't eaten for a day. I followed him to a table with beverages and sub sandwiches. The aroma was enticing as I picked a sandwich with both hands and began eating it.

"Are you the illegal on the news?" asked a woman's voice behind me.

I shook my head yes as I turned around, trying to swallow the food in my mouth before talking. Her eyes studied me with an interest that quickly faded. Headphones rested over her dirty blond hair that glimmered with a tint of gold.

"It's brave what you are doing today," she added, "we can't let this happen anymore."

"What am I doing?"

"Standing up for Americans in this country. I think securing our borders is the most important issue today."

I felt all the food sink into my stomach. My eyes closed for a moment, not wanting to rise back up. "Why am I here then?"

"Are you ok?" she asked, "You don't look to good, but we were told you need look how you usually are in the streets. I'll go get some cologne."

"Wait," I stopped her, "what is this for?"

"You are going to say how we need to secure our borders. I know you are probably doing this for the money, but you should think about what you have done." She walked away.

I shrugged my shoulders and drank the beverages available on the table. Feeling uncertain about my cause, I tapped a man on the shoulder who was walking by.

"Who are you people?"

The man looked at me confused. "We are a private company against illegal immigration. Why are you here if you don't know who we are?"

"Nevermind," I said, "just making sure."

The woman returned and sprayed me from head to toe with perfume. After she finished, she studied me for a moment and then smiled, "that's better."

"So what am I going to be saying in the commercial?"

"You are the example of what illegals can do to Americans in this country. That is, being annoying and fighting for rights when there are no rights for you in the first place. From what I heard, you are homeless, a drug addict, and like prostitutes. What benefit do you have for society?"

I blinked, feeling insulted. "And why do you want to get this out to the public? To make me feel like shit?"

"We need our bill on immigration to pass. Then you will be sent back to Mexico." She looked behind her and held up her hand, "I'll be right back."

_We need to check on Sofia._ Pedro's voice echoed in my head.

I ignored him, hoping he would vanish.

If you aren't there for her, she will find someone else. Like me.

"No!" I screamed and pushed my head together with my hands. Everyone around me stopped what they were doing to observe my quick reaction to Pedro. I closed my mouth tightly and smiled at everyone, trying to divert their attention away from me.

I thought about what I was doing and the risk I was taking; but at the same time, fifty thousand dollars was more desirable. They were using me for everything I was to them; an illegal that needed to go back to his country. The public already thought I was a joke, so it didn't matter anyways.

"Eew," said a voice from behind me, "what's that smell?"

I turned around to see the man with glasses. "Some girl sprayed cologne on me."

"I don't know if what I smell is good or bad," he joked. He held a Mexican flag in his hands. "Let's take off that old American flag and switch to a more suitable flag for you."

"Why?"

"Because you will be wearing it in the commercial. You are Mexican, aren't you?"

"Yes, but—"

"No buts," he insisted, "take it off."

I untied the American flag from my neck and folded it in my hands, exchanging flags with him. "I want it back."

"Of course. I'm going to lay it somewhere outside to let it air out."

I tied the Mexican flag around my neck, disappointed I had a different flag. I began to yawn as I waited for everyone involved with their tasks to finish setting everything up.

The dirty blonde haired woman approached me and gave me a thumbs up. "Feel more comfortable wearing that flag?"

"Not really."

She smirked and was distracted by the cameraman asking her a question. I returned near the table and ate some more free food and put the rest of it in my pocket. More bodies passed by me wearing white shirts with American flags on them.

"Ok Juan. That's your name right?" asked the middle-aged man to the side of me. I remembered him from the day before when he had proposed fifty thousand dollars to me from the inside of his expensive car. His distinguishing grey facial hair had a slight tint of yellow around his mouth.

"Yes," I replied, "I want my fifty thousand."

"You will have it once you are finished with the commercial."

"And I want an American shirt," I added, "like you guys are wearing."

"Someone get this Mexican a t-shirt to go along with his money," he yelled out. He then focused his attention on me, examining the flag around me. "First, we need to get footage of you riding your bike behind the green screen. You'll be riding on a treadmill, but we will fill in the scenery at a later time."

"What are you going to put there?"

"That's our concern," he snapped back, "Next, I need you to read out these sentences, because you will be reading them to the camera in an interview. Its simple talk, but I need you to do your best. Hopefully, you weren't lying to me when you said you could read, or else this will take longer."

"I can read," I replied, keeping my cool. The only thing I wanted was my money.

He handed me the paper and instructed me to 'memorize it.'

I nodded and began reading:

My family came here illegally. I am unemployed and have a criminal history. When I crossed the border illegally, I never saw any border patrol agents. Yet, my identity is known and nobody does anything about it.

I lifted my head from the paper and knew this was going to be difficult to say. I convinced myself that nothing bad would happen and it would be worth it to have money in the end. If Gabrielle saw this, she would be upset, but I had already disappointed her to the extreme.

As everyone seemed to settle down, all eyes were on me. I pushed my bike forward and walked in front of the green screen. Under my feet was a wide strip of treadmill that allowed me to move in a stationary position. A fan was set in front of me as everyone adjusted the flag behind my shoulders so it was visible to the camera. Sofia's sign and the eagle's head over the crooked basket were still on my bike.

"Start peddling," ordered a voice.

I did as he commanded as the air started to blow against my face.

"That's good. That's good. Stay just like that," said a voice, "And look forward Juan."

I set an even pace and became comfortable with my position over the treadmill.

"Action!" screamed a voice.

Bright lights shined overhead as the crowd was silent with attentive eyes watching me.

At the moment, the quietness made me want to fall asleep, but the promise of cash was the only thing that was keeping me going. With the money, I could buy Sofia something nice. Knowing Pedro might emerge, I suppressed him into the back of my head. His laughs were still echoing through my head.

"And cut," said the voice, "That should be enough for the bike. Now we need to set up the chairs."

An older bald man approached me, shouting for everyone to set up the equipment for the interview. He held a clipboard in front of me. "Sign these. It says we can show you on TV. I know you're illegal, but just in case if you decide to do anything against us, we have it in paper that you agreed beforehand. It's difficult to find someone like you in the first place, but we aren't going to take any chances."

"I need my money first."

He rolled his eyes and walked into his office. Moments later, he came out with a briefcase and opened it up in front of me. Stacks of twenty dollar bills were compacted in the briefcase, making it look worth millions.

"You get this when we get everything we need from you." He kept the briefcase under his armpit and handed me the clipboard. "Sign this." It was more of an order this time.

"And my American shirt," I said, grabbing the clipboard from him. His finger pointed under the empty lines at the bottom of each paper I had to sign.

"I'll make sure you get one." His voice sounded sarcastic. He went back into his office with my briefcase, set in on his desk, and returned without it.

"Ok Juan," he said, almost out of breath, "Sit down in front of these cameras. This is _like_ an interview, except you are just going to read your lines to Andrew with the microphone. Speak into it loudly. He won't be asking you the questions. You will be saying your lines from the paper. Got it?"

"Yes."

Once everything was ready, I sat across from a man named Andrew, dressed in a suit and tie. His face was tan and didn't show any emotion until someone yelled 'action.'

I messed up my lines the first couple of times, but my timid voice improved with more confidence. The director motioned at me each time I finished reading a line to repeat or move onto the next part. We completed almost thirty takes for each line, and they had to remind me to stay focused whenever I lost interest.

"And last thing," said the director, "read them all together for us. Say it with a happy tone. Almost like you enjoyed it."

"Sure." With my head facing the camera and a fake smile, I said, "my family came here illegally. I am unemployed and have a criminal history. When I crossed the border illegally, I never saw any border patrol agents. Yet, my identity is known and nobody does anything about it." I regretfully thought about what I had just said and stood up feeling disfigured.

"Give me my money!" I screamed at everyone. It felt like Pedro's voice was screaming with me.

I watched the bald man go into his office. He wrote some things on his clipboard and walked back outside, looking at me disappointed. He then handed me the briefcase. "Don't go spend it all in one place. If you were smart, you'd invest it, but I don't think you're going to do that."

"I'll do what I want with it," I ignored his insults, "where's my shirt?"

He grunted and stomped his feet hard back to his office. Everyone began to put their equipment away, and the green screen was lowering to the ground. I hugged my briefcase with a smile, thinking of what I was going to do with the money.

_Sofia needs it._ Pedro's voice said.

"I need it!" I screamed.

"Easy, there," said the bald man holding my shirt. He tossed it over my head, blinding me for a moment. "The door is where you came in. Get your bike and leave." He walked back into his office.

I put the shirt over myself, grabbed my bike with my briefcase, and walked out the door, feeling richer than when I had come in. My dirty American flag was hanging outside. I grabbed it and folded it up. I now had two flags with me, but I liked the American flag better.

It seemed my life was going to get easier from this day and on. I carefully placed my briefcase and the flags in the front basket of the bike and put the bird mask back over to conceal everything.

_We need to wait for Sofia in front of the jails_. Pedro's voice repeated in my head.

Ignoring him, I sat on my bike and rode away from the two escorts behind me. They followed me to the gate and stood with crossed arms as I left the property.

At first, I didn't know where to go with all the money. But soon enough, I was peddling my bike towards the crackhouse to buy more drugs. I took out a stack of cash before I arrived and bought a large supply of drugs.

I put my stash under the bird mask with the briefcase and found a hotel to rent out for the night. I thought about how the public were going to view me, but it didn't matter. I had enough drugs to help me forget that I even existed in Phoenix.
Chapter 11 – The Briefcase

In two days, I had smoked one thousand dollars' worth of drugs, and I was even more wired than before. It almost felt like my head was going to burst from my neck. I stared at the wall for hours, picturing my head exploding, and created vicious anxiety attacks that only made me smoke more meth. Luckily, I was still alive. In the mornings, I left to protest for Sofia and then returned back to my hotel to smoke when I needed more energy. There was no need to steal anything. Life was good when I had money, but the effect from all the drugs left me confused as to whether the things I saw were real.

Sitting in my hotel room, I skimmed through the channels, wanting to find my story on the news or in a campaign advertisement. So far, I couldn't find anything but knew it would take time. My tarnished reputation had already crashed and burned, so it didn't seem like I had sold myself out.

Feeling bored, I grabbed some money from my briefcase and went out to find a prostitute. I had already identified certain prostitutes that I wanted on my way back from the jails. Confident that I was going to find a hooker, I searched the streets of Van Buren Avenue and circled back around to my hotel room. In five minutes, I found a woman to satisfy me for the night. We smoked together, and then I sent her out once I had my fun.

Since I had money, I didn't worry about anything or care about anyone's misfortunes. I was able to live in my own world without relying on others—for the time being. In a week, I had spent ten thousand dollars without having to steal anything—and that freed up more time for me to protest for Sofia. Sleep deprived and hungry, my feet peddled my bike through the streets with my briefcase hidden in the front basket. Whenever I needed drugs, I would stick my hands under the bird mask and open the briefcase without anyone seeing. It was my secret.

Deciding to call it a day, I started biking back to the hotel to smoke. I had left my pipe in my room on the bed where I had last used it hours ago. The hotel was cozier than my bush, and I didn't have to deal with the public walking by and calling the police when they saw me light up.

As I rode along the sidewalk, a green car sped by screaming at me. "Fuck-head!" yelled a voice, followed by a manly scream.

"Fuck-head?" I murmured to myself and watched the car drive away. My feet stopped the bike momentarily. Entertained by his choice of words, I snickered at his remark and continued riding down the sidewalk.

Minutes later, the same green car approached me from behind, but this time slower. Ready to duck behind the bushes, I carefully watched the green car and waited for it to pass.

Suddenly, the windows rolled down and hands swung out, throwing rocks at me. Before I could get out of the way, a rock smacked the side of my face that pierced into my skull that caused a painful throb.

"Assholes!" I yelled and covered my face. As I turned and ran away, more rocks pelted my back.

The green car's tires began to peel out and scorch the road as it gained more traction. The windows rolled up and the laughing was minimized by the car engine.

I quickly picked up a rock from the ground and threw it towards the car. It sailed in the air and then landed on the back window, forming a crack around it. I threw another rock that nicked the side of the door.

The brakes screeched, and the tires turned around. I set my bike in front of me, on alert for what was coming next. I picked up some rocks and had them prepared in my hand to throw.

The car stopped to the side of me and the windows rolled down.

"You're paying for that asshole," yelled the driver.

"Don't fucking throw rocks at me then," I replied and began walking with my bike, still ready to defend myself. I didn't feel like fighting anyone, and my head was pounding.

The car doors opened, but suddenly someone screamed, "Cops! Cops! Cops!" All of them slowly crept back into their car.

I smirked as I watched the police car drive by, not caring about my situation. I began peddling faster to gain some distance from them. I felt the bump on my head and released it from my head to see fresh blood.

I turned down the street near my hotel and was approached again by the green car.

"Fuck off!" I yelled at them.

A hand holding a gun pointed in my direction. The driver's face was tense and his nose was twitching. I stopped peddling and threw up my hands in the air to show my innocence. I didn't know what he was thinking or if he was going to pull the trigger.

"What you got on you," he ordered.

"Nothing."

"So I should just kill you now then," he said, holding out the gun.

"Wait!" I screamed, not knowing what to say. I wasn't going to give him my briefcase or any drugs that I had with me.

With no other options, I jerked my bike away and peddled as fast as I could down the street. If he was going to shoot, he would have shot me already. I looked behind me to see the green car following me.

I turned the corner, crossed the street, and peddled fast towards the hotel room. Almost running into the wall, I opened my door and slammed it behind me, immediately locking and pushing a chair against the doorknob. I smoked some meth and then perched up beside the window, looking out to see if they were outside.

Soon enough, three men were at my door. I pushed my eye against the peephole as the violent knocks caused me to step away. I nervously moved to the window without making a sound, thinking they might have enough manpower to barge in. Their voices transpired into my hotel room as I anxiously waited for them to go away. I counted three men outside of the door. One was heavy, another tall and muscular, and the other my height but more muscle. The heavy man in the red shirt was the asshole who pulled his gun on me.

The door began to shake furiously. I ran over to the chair to make sure it was in place and pressed my palms against the door to hold it steady. The door stopped rattling as I put my ear against it to listen to their discussion. Their feet shuffled on the ground, but their voices were quieter.

"Do it," a voice said with encouragement.

I anxiously backed away from the door and sat down at the side of the bed. I started biting my fingernails, anticipating someone breaking down the door.

The window shattered to the side of the door, dropping pieces of glass onto the carpet. A gun stuck through the broken window and knocked away the shards of glass to the side. Next, a foot broke through that cleared away the remaining glass.

I quickly picked up the mattress, threw it against the window, and held it against the wall.

"I'm going to fucking waste you through this if you don't let us in!" yelled a voice.

I stayed where I was and held the mattress tight against the window. His threatening voice was serious, but he had his chance to shoot and didn't do it.

Abruptly, the mattress was pushed forward with force and fell on top of me. A body jumped through the window, followed by the other two men as they stood over me. Their weight on the mattress held me down, and I couldn't push them off of me.

The heavy man leaned over me and smacked me with his gun. He then lifted the mattress, throwing it against the wall, and then shoved me into the corner.

"What do you got to pay for my car window?"

"I don't have anything." I backed up into the corner and crossed my arms.

"You gotta have something. You got a pipe and an empty baggie. Where's the shit?"

"I smoked it all."

"Get the TV," he instructed to his friends.

I watched them rip the TV off the stand and carry it out the door. The heavy set man stayed in the room with his gun pointed at me as he scanned the hotel room.

"I got nothing. You're just stealing from the hotel."

"Shut the fuck up!" he yelled and stepped over me, pointing the gun at my head.

He seemed incapable of shooting someone, but I didn't want to taunt him about it. Then, he might feel obligated to pull the trigger since he would be challenged.

"How about your bike?" he chuckled, dropping his gun to his side. He walked over and kicked it. "This should cover my windshield you destroyed."

"You threw a fucking rock at me. What do expect would happen!" I yelled angrily.

"Shut the fuck up!"

I didn't respond and glanced at my briefcase hidden under the eagle's mask.

He balanced the bike on its tires and laughed. "You're a fucking joke. What the fuck is all this shit?"

His friends returned and stopped to look at my bike. They all laughed.

The heavy set man knocked off the sign that read _Free Sofia_. "You're pathetic."

I stayed quiet, not wanting to draw attention to my briefcase.

"Yo," he said to his two friends, "take the bike and let's bounce."

"Wait!" I said, not wanting to let go of my forty thousand dollar briefcase, "that bike was a gift. It's all I got."

He chuckled. "It is a gift. Thanks for giving it to me."

"Fuck you," I mumbled from the corner.

They left me in the hotel room and closed the door. I immediately jumped up to the broken window to see where they were going. Their car was parked to the side as I watched them load the bike into the trunk, not paying attention to the briefcase securely strapped and hidden in the front basket.

After they entered their car, I ran out of the hotel room and stealthily made my way towards the street to search for a taxi. I glanced back at the hotel to see the green car still parked with its lights shining forward. I quickly focused back to the streets of passing cars, holding my hand up for a taxi.

To my relief, a taxi stopped to the side of me, and I quickly hopped inside. "I need you to follow a car."

"What? Why?" he asked.

"I'll give you triple of whatever you charge." I pointed in the direction of the green car that was still parked in front of the hotel. From inside the taxi, we watched the heavy set man exit the car and walk back to the hotel room, most likely to discover that I had disappeared.

"Sure thing boss," replied the cab driver, accepting my bribe. He gave me a second glance, and we waited for the green car to leave.

"Who are you following?" he asked.

I didn't care to lie, so I replied honestly, "they stole my bike."

"Oh... Why aren't you calling the cops?"

"Fuck the cops."

"Just saying," he shrugged his shoulders and put a piece of gum in his mouth.

I noticed the cab driver was a big man, and very overweight. He was going to find out soon that I wasn't going to pay him the money he was expecting. But I could easily outrun him, and he was going to have a difficult time catching up to me.

"What are you going to do when you get there?" he asked.

"I don't know," I said, "I really haven't planned that out yet."

The green car backed up and drove out of the hotel parking lot.

"Follow him," I ordered.

"I know," said the cab driver calmly, "I need your money up front. Give me at least fifty to start out."

I panicked. "I will. Start following them while I count my money."

The cab driver turned around and followed the green car from a distance.

My hands reached into my empty pockets. My butter knife was the only thing I still possessed. I slowly pulled it out and pressed it against the cab driver's neck. "Follow them. Or else I will kill you."

He grunted and pushed on the gas-pedal with eyes looking to his side. It was quiet for the next five minutes.

"What are you doing?" said the cab driver, "You're gonna kill me if I don't follow someone who stole your bike? This is insane."

"Insanity is a made-up word for made-up people. We are all fucked. Keep driving."

We followed them onto the freeway, through the streetlights, and then into the neighborhoods. The green car finally parked in front of a driveway of a small house. The car lights shined onto their carport with their address number displayed to the side.

"Drive pass them and drop me off at the corner," I instructed.

"So you have no money," said the cab driver disappointed.

"Shut up."

We stopped at the far corner, and I gently closed his door. I didn't care if he tried to run after me; my only concern was getting my money and bike back. Although I wanted the money more, the bike held a sentimental value that seemed to hold Gabrielle's spirit in it.

The taxi sped away and left me alone on the sidewalk. The flickering street lights united with the moonlight to form an illuminated path towards house. Behind me, the taxi driver stopped in the distance, probably to call the police, but I disappeared into the darkness of the front yards to keep him out of sight.

I quickly crept my way to the side of the yard where the green car was parked in the driveway. I hid behind a bush and watched them hang out near the front door. An occasional laugh arose from the group until they finally made their way inside the house. The lights turned on and the door closed.

I slowly crept to the side of the house to hear music playing. This was my chance to take back my bike and briefcase, though I didn't know how I was going to get into the trunk and then escape on my bike without anyone seeing.

I came to the conclusion that I needed to steal their car for a successful getaway. It seemed the stakes were always increasing each time I wanted justice.

I quickly put my ear to the house window to hear loud music blaring from the inside. Through the cracks in the window shades, I could see beer bottles in their hands. Their inattentive behavior gave me a small chance to steal their vehicle.

I picked up a brick from the side of the house and moved over to the car. I heaved it into the side window and broke it open. Luckily, there was no alarm. I knelt over the driver's seat and ripped open the undercarriage that held all the wires. The darkness clouded my sight to determine which wires to twist together. I used my butter-knife to strip the coating off the wires and connected them together.

An electric shock was sent through my body as I banged my head against the bottom of the steering wheel. I tried again, this time focusing on the colors of the wires and tied them together, but only a spark came out. I rubbed them together again and then tried a different wire. I quickly tied them together and the engine started.

I got up and sat down in the driver's seat, checking to see everyone still inside the house. I backed out of the driveway with the car lights off and drove away from the house.

Once I reached the main streets, I turned on the lights and sped away as far as I could from the residence, screaming with joy that I had stolen the car. I rolled down the remaining windows and let the wind blow over my face.

From the streets, I drove onto the freeway and felt free as I hit top speeds. The exhilaration was heightened compared to riding a bicycle, and it made me think I could go anywhere.

To my right, was Pedro sitting in the passenger seat. His elbow rested on the side and his hand grasped the top of the car.

"Not bad Juan," he said, "I didn't know you had it in you. Grand theft auto is a tough job to pull off."

"Just got lucky I guess."

"I think you have great determination to protect your money. What would Sofia think if we lost it all? We need to be smarter about this next time."

I nodded, "We got a car now too."

"It's not your car," Pedro replied. The streetlights passed over his face like moving stripes. "They will be after you soon."

"Shit, your right. What do we do?"

"We gotta ditch this car," he suggested, "otherwise your ass is in jail, again. You're always thinking in the now. You gotta think future."

"What do you think Sofia thinks for the future?" I asked.

"Are you asking me what a prostitute does once she's older?"

"No," I said, frustrated, "Does she think of me in her future?"

"I don't know if you're in it," Pedro chuckled.

"I'm going to be a better man with this money. She'll see. Hell, she already does see it."

"You're missing the point. You gotta get your shit together."

"Why are you always saying that I never have a chance with her? Fuck you Pedro."

He chuckled, "We'll see who the best man is."

Suddenly, a spark initiated at my feet and smoke rose from the engine and into the car.

"We need to bail!" I yelled to Pedro.

"We're on the fucking freeway."

I veered the car to the side of the freeway, hearing horns honk at me from all directions. The motor shut off as we coasted to the side and came to a stop. I looked to my right and Pedro had disappeared. I suddenly felt vulnerable sitting at the side of the freeway alone in someone's car that was going to be reported stolen soon.

I quickly popped the trunk open and lifted my bike out of the car. It looked trashed, but as I set it on its wheels, everything seemed to function. The briefcase was still inside with the two flags of the United States and Mexico. I shook the briefcase to make sure the money was still inside, which it was. I snooped through anything else worth taking in the car and found my pipe and some extra change. I pulled out the stereo and quickly rode away from the car.

_You should have set it on fire_. Pedro's voice rang through my head.

"Hell no," I said.

Burn it!

I ignored him and rode on the side of the freeway exit, realizing that I was outside of Phoenix. However, I knew of a dealer down the road to buy some meth. No matter where I was, it was easy to find drugs. I just had to find the right people, and they were always out.

I met a dealer on the corner in front of a liquor store. After I knew he was holding, I reached into my front basket and opened up my briefcase to give him the money.

"What you got in there?" he asked suspiciously and reached for his gun.

Before he pulled it out, I showed him a stack of cash and counted it in front of him. His eyes watched my hands count as his tension eased, though it now looked like he wanted to rob me. I quickly exchanged goods with him and found a nearby alley to smoke in. After smoking, I checked into a hotel and spent the rest of the night looking out the window and talking with Pedro.

I dozed off in my chair with my head against the front window; it was maybe two hours of sleep. The morning sun was rising and I walked around my hotel room for awhile, and then inspected my bike. The back tire was flat, scratch marks ruined the color, and some leftover duck-tape hung behind my seat where Sofia's sign used to be. The dirty eagle's mask still covered the crooked front basket.

I took the briefcase with me outside to pay for another night in my hotel room and then bought some more drugs. On my way back, I noticed a car dealership to the side, full of new and used cars. The memories of driving the green car on the freeway made me turn into the rows of cars stretched around the main entrance of the dealership.

I looked inside the windows of the cars and trucks and selected the best looking one. The large blue all-terrain vehicle that had four doors lured me to it. I tried to open the door, but it was locked.

"Can I help you?" asked a voice, "if you aren't buying anything, I'd like to ask you to move away from the property."

"I want to buy a car," I replied.

"Do you have a line of credit, a down payment, or..." He noticed I wasn't paying attention to him as I moved to the back of the car.

"I got cash," I said, "and I want this one."

"That car is over twenty thousand dollars," he said doubtfully, "I will need to see the cash up front before we go any further.

I opened my briefcase in front of him. His eyes widened and a half smile formed on his face. "Follow me." He pressed his hands together and showed me inside, suddenly treating me like a real customer.

Once we were in his office, he closed the door and sat me in front of his desk. "We can help you expedite the process to register your vehicle for a bundle offer we have. Do you have a license in Arizona?"

"Nah," I replied, "don't need one. I just want the car."

"I'll let you figure that out then." He opened his drawer and pulled out the paperwork.

I gave him stacks of my cash, which took out the majority of money in my briefcase. He counted it and then finished the paperwork. With an odd expression of hostility, he walked me out to my new blue car and handed me the keys.

The fresh scent engulfed my body as I hopped inside and set the briefcase on the passenger seat. I took out more money for more drugs and made my way back to the hotel. Feeling proud of owning a vehicle, I went for a ride around the city, enjoying my capability to go anywhere I wanted.

Once night approached, I put my bike and leftover things inside my new car and slept inside for an hour instead of using my hotel room. I spent the rest of the night finding a license plate, and eventually stole one from the junkyard. I securely screwed it on and drove around some more.

I started living in my car and using it for everything. Two weeks went by and I used the last of my money for drugs. I sat in the back of my car and smoked everything I had. Across from me, Pedro joined me, always bringing up the idea of using marijuana, which I indulged.

Now that I had no money and a car that had no drugs in it, I began to feel irritable and restless as I started looking around for something to steal in the neighborhoods. I hadn't stolen since I had my briefcase of money, but the constant intake of drugs forced me to continue my habit. I drove by the jails, hoping that Sofia had been released, and walked around the front entrance with my broken bike that no longer had the protest appeal to it. I finally put it back into my car and drove to the crackhouse.

Pedro's voice argued my decision to leave the jails. Every time I suppressed his voice, he would revolt with vengeance and scream louder, making it seem like my head was vibrating.

On the way to the crackhouse, my car began to jolt until the motor stopped working. I put the car in neutral and rolled to the side of the road. The gas was on empty and I had no money to fill the tank.

_You should have stayed at the jails for Sofia._ Pedro chuckled.

I got out and studied the car I had bought, thinking about selling it so I could buy more drugs. I pushed it down the street and moved it into a parking lot of commercial property. Semi-trucks were dropping off their cargo from inside of the fences, and only a few cars were parked in the front. I pushed it into an ideal spot, feeling upset that my new vehicle was dead-weight.

I locked everything up and walked to the nearest gas station to pan handle for money for gas. I was able to collect enough for a gallon, but didn't have a gas can to pour it in. Instead, I went into the store and bought a pack of cigarettes. I then found an old jug near the junkyard with a hose and tried to steal gas from other car tanks. Searching for unoccupied areas, I lit up a cigarette and walked up and down the streets.

A brown van was parked against the wall and in front of a concrete fence, looking like a suitable target that would cover me while I took the gas. I paced around for a couple minutes and then quickly moved to the other side of the van so I couldn't be seen and unscrewed the gas cap. I stuck the hose down into the gas tank and lifted the other end of the hose into my mouth. I sucked in as hard as I could until the gas came pouring out over my face. I quickly stuck it in the jug and waited for it to fill. My head continuously moved around on watch; some noises were distant but not close.

The jug filled to the top, and I threw the hose to the side and lifted the heavy jug of gas in front of me. I walked away from the van and lit another cigarette on the way back to my vehicle. Although it wasn't a wise decision with gas on my hands and face, the tobacco felt good in my system. I switched the jug of gas into my other hand as it splashed around, some hitting the ground.

Whenever I crossed the streets, there was always an expectation for the cars to stop for me. I didn't care, because if they hit me, then I would visit the hospital where they gave me free food and pain medication. The cars rapidly honked as they pretended to swerve close to me like I was a great inconvenience, but I didn't budge, not caring about the possible aftermath.

My blue car was in sight in the parking lot, but a tow truck was behind it. A man with a hat and long hair was hooking up chains to the front of the car, ready to pull it onto the back of his truck. My vehicle was slowly tilting up with the power of the tow truck.

"Wait! Wait!" I yelled with a cigarette in my mouth and a jug of gasoline in my arms.

"Too late sir," he said, ignoring me, "You can pick it up at the impound."

"Why are you towing me?" I said angrily, "I ran out of gas. I have it now. Release my car!"

"Sorry buddy," he said, "this car was called in. It was parked on private property in the thirty minute parking spot."

"Thirty minute parking? What the fuck is that?"

"Easy buddy," said the tow truck driver, "thirty minute parking means you can't park in a parking spot for more than thirty minutes."

"That's fucking stupid!" I yelled, throwing my cigarette on the ground. "So someone sits out here with a watch and times me? I've never heard of suck a fucking stupid rule!"

"Usually, people take advantage of it and park for more than thirty minutes," he said, checking all the chains around my tire, "now if you'll excuse me."

"This is bullshit!" I yelled, "fuck this stupid rule." I opened my door and climbed inside. I stared back at his face, letting him know that I wasn't going to leave.

"Sir," warned the tow truck driver, "get out of the car. I will call the police."

"Big deal," I said sarcastically while holding up my hands dramatically, "This is my fucking car."

The man walked over to where I was sitting and firmly placed his hand on my shoulder, which caught me off guard. I quickly reached behind me for my bike and dug into the front basket, grabbing for anything to hit him with.

"I'm not going to ask you again," warned the tow truck driver.

I didn't say anything and slowly pulled my briefcase out. I turned around, shoving him out of the way and swung the briefcase at his face. "Fuck off!" I yelled, still charging him.

He took out a taser hanging from his belt and stabbed it into my ribs. I immediately hit the ground and shook uncontrollably. I could feel my saliva drop out of my mouth as every muscle in my body fidgeted with the force of the taser. He continued to push it into me until I was rendered defenseless.

Lying on the ground, I watched his shoes walk away from me and heard his voice talking on the phone with the police. Lifting myself up seemed impossible as I spit out the leftover saliva drooling off my lip and tried to push myself up. Everything hurt, so I collapsed back down to rest for a moment. My stomach arched over the briefcase and the side of my cheekbone rested against the hot asphalt.

The machinery began to work as my car finished rolling onto the back of the tow truck. I wanted to beat the shit out of the tow truck driver, but he clearly had the advantage at this point, and the police were on their way.

I pushed myself up with all my strength, grabbed the briefcase, and limped away from the scene. It might have been a run, but it felt more like a limp.

"Hey!" yelled the driver with a commanding voice.

"Asshole," I grumbled and continued running.

I looked behind me to see that the driver had stopped chasing me and returned to his tow truck. I limped through the back alleys, toppled over fences, and made my way to the bus stop to return to my bush. Regret plagued my thoughts on the bus ride back as I grunted at the people staring at me. Once I reached my bush, I sat down in disappointment, wishing I had my car back.

Too exhausted to steal anything, I wrote on my briefcase and used it as a sign to beg for money. I sat down against a street pole and held it in front of me for the observers.

At the end of the day, I made over a hundred dollars. But instead of going to the impound to get my car, I stopped by the crackhouse and spent all of my money. Besides, I had the rest of the night to work for my car, and it wasn't going anywhere. The only things I had on me were my pipe, drugs, butter-knife, cigarettes, and an empty briefcase that was now being used as a sign.

Pedro appeared to my side, "You're gonna miss your opportunity with Sofia."

"No I'm not," I replied. I tried to punch him in the face, but he disappeared.

You wasted fifty thousand dollars. None of it will go to Sofia. She won't take you back!

"She will."

Pedro grunted, and continued to pester me.

Every thirty minute parking sign that I saw, I furiously kicked down, but still felt the pain in my ribs from earlier. When I couldn't kick it down, I used a rock to scribble out the sign. As I walked through the city, I tried to sell the briefcase that was now useless. Nobody wanted to buy it, or I was ignored. Getting someone's attention on the street was almost impossible, and then at other times, I wished that I hadn't approached them because it was someone that I knew or had a bad past with.

I did some dumpster-diving for the rest of the night, feeling incapable of stealing and running away from people. Luckily, I found a credit card in a trash bag and then spread the garbage out into a better light. I rummaged through everything to find utility bills, gym memberships, and tax documents that all had useful information.

As morning came, I visited stores and found ways to get cash-back without showing proof of identification, though I had all the information stored in my head if they asked. Once the card was declined, I threw it into the gutter. I had gained some cash, food, and small electronics that I stored in my briefcase. I pawned in what I could and visited the impound to get my vehicle back.

I waited there most of the morning and early afternoon while occasionally going to the bathroom to use drugs. I owed over five hundred dollars and paid what I could, but I still didn't have my car returned because I didn't have any information for it. Everything seemed to crumble away whenever I had to deal with the government, and using different identifications didn't help get my car back.

Leaving the impound without a car, I sat out front and smoked my last cigarette. Another rock whipped by my head, coming from a speeding truck of people laughing inside. I didn't throw anything back for fear I would get involved in another altercation, and my body still hurt from the taser.

Without having a bike or car, the trips across the city took away my time, though I had nothing better to do. My briefcase that I couldn't sell was still gripped in my hand with a beggar's plea for change written on the front. As my infamous reputation faded, I was perceived as another homeless person to ignore instead of as the illegal Mexican who sold himself out on television. To some, it seemed my negative publicity could never be forgotten.

Passing the gas station, I recognized Joel with his shaggy hair, dressed in casual clothes and a silver chain around his neck. At first, I thought about our past with Sofia, but I wanted to say hi to him even if he still hated me. The last time we saw each other—I had fought him and sent him to the hospital. I was just happy to see a familiar face, even if he had dated Sofia.

I walked into the parking lot and approached the front of the car so that he could see me. His head was down texting on his phone as I stepped in closer and cleared my throat.

His head looked up, immediately recognizing my face, but then displayed a confused yet curious face. "Is that you Juan?" he grinned, "I saw you on the news."

"Yeah, it's me," I replied, "you still live around here?"

"I do. But in a better house. I own my own construction company now and business is good."

"Congratulations," I said, not knowing if I was happy for him or jealous. Maybe it was both.

"What's the briefcase for?"

"Nothing," I replied, quickly covering what I wrote on it.

"I heard about how you protested for Sofia. I thought that was really cool. How's she doing?"

"I don't know when or if she'll ever get out," I huffed.

"What do you mean? You haven't seen her?"

"I can't go into the jails to visit Sofia."

"She's out of jail, Juan. In fact she's been out for a little less than a month. I thought you knew that."

"What do you mean? She's out?"

"Yeah. And she looks a lot better. From what she said, she's kicked heroin."

"Impossible."

"It's true."

"How is it that you knew she got out before me? Have you been seeing her?" I asked frustrated. Pedro's voice started to cackle in my head.

"I saw her at a random place. It's not like we met up, so calm down. I'm not interested in her if that's what you're implying. I got a girl of my own with two kids."

"How wonderful," I said sarcastically. I knew he still had an image of me over him punching his face. "Do you know where she's at?"

"Don't have a clue. She mentioned she's going to those Narcotics Anonymous meetings somewhere in the area. I'd check there if I were you." Joel shook his head with amazement. "All that protesting and you haven't seen her yet. I'm sorry. I hope you find her."

"I will find her."

It was silent for a moment.

"You know that Franklin is getting out soon. He's going to be our age and so behind. I feel sorry for him."

"It's been that long?" I chuckled at our memories together. "His cousin always jumps me whenever he or any of his crew sees me... So I probably won't see Franklin again..."

"Maybe we can find a way to get together some day," he suggested, and then looked at my attire, "And sorry about you being homeless and all. You need any help?"

I immediately thought of a lie to get some cash from him. "Do you have a twenty on you? I've been trying to collect money to support Sofia and her heroin problem."

"You said you haven't seen her..." Joel said warily.

"It's for when I see her."

"You still using?" Joel asked, but he was already bringing out his wallet.

"No," I said quickly, "I've been sober for long time."

"Doesn't look like it," Joel said. He handed me a twenty. "I don't care what you do with it but I feel sorry for all homeless people, especially if they were an old friend."

Astonished that he was nice, I replied, "You're not mad about... You know... The fight and everything?"

Joel smiled with his white teeth showing. "No. I have a great life now and our problem with Sofia was long in the past. I just hope you get better and off the streets." Joel took out his business card. "Let me know if you want to do any part time work. I'm always in need of a helping hand."

"Thanks," I said, inspecting his card.

"I gotta go, but call me if you want some work." He got into his car, gave me a nod, and then drove away.

Scattered thoughts of what I wanted to yell at Joel were swirling in my head, but I kept it all in. He was happy and I wasn't. Sofia being out of jail distracted me from my animosity towards Joel as I ran down the streets, looking for all the Narcotics Anonymous meetings in the neighborhood. She had to be somewhere. Sofia must have known how much effort I had put into her while she was locked away. Why she didn't look for me baffled me, and almost made me feel like crying, but my emotions were temporarily halted after I visited the crackhouse to smoke and calm my worries away.

The evening turned into the dark morning quickly, and I had failed to find Sofia. She seemed invisible to my eyes as everyone around me was happy with someone by their side. I even visited my old apartment to see if her mother was still living there but the apartment complex had been condemned. I jumped the fence and sat down in her apartment. An old couch was still in the middle, covered in dust with cockroaches moving in separate directions.

I walked into Sofia's room and sat down against the wall, remembering where the bed, desk, and clothes were. Her room was empty with no trace or scent that she had ever lived there. I searched for anything that I could remember her by but couldn't find anything but old food cans and a broken broom. I sat down on the dirty couch and smoked the rest of my crack, feeling empty inside.

Pedro's voice bounced off the walls as he appeared to the side of me on the couch. It seemed the dust made his body wavy, like he was being displayed through a projection.

"You lost her," he stated.

"She's still out there," I said hopefully.

"With someone else..."

I disregarded his comment. "Why is it that I try so hard to have something and I can never have it?"

"That's called life. You have to live with it instead of talking to an imaginary person in your old girlfriend's apartment. She's history! Get over it!"

I faced away from Pedro, but he appeared on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall.

"Get over it! She doesn't want you!"

I screamed at Pedro and ran outside, kicking and punching everything around me. Glass shattered, doors broke open, and whatever was in my way was attacked. I jumped the fence and walked back to the street, unhappy with my encounter with Pedro. He was like a tumor in my brain that wouldn't vanish unless I knocked myself unconscious.

I followed the street lights down the sidewalk and peered into the shop windows along a strip of stores. The clouds were blocking the moon in the sky as I started talking with myself, hopeful to find Sofia working on the corner or scoring some meth. Although I had been alone the entire time Sofia was in jail, knowing that she was free in the city only worsened my depressive and lonely state.

I stopped in front of a jewelry store to see Pedro on the other side, laughing at me. He turned his back on me and began digging through the showcase glass where all the jewelry rested.

"What are you doing?!" I yelled, and then stuck my face against the window to see inside.

His voice was muted as he continued to try on necklaces and bracelets that looked expensive. He then flaunted them, staying inside of the store and not allowing me to talk with him.

"I want those. I bet I could get a lot of money..." I tried the door but it was locked. "I can't get in!"

Pedro ran to the back of the store and disappeared.

"Pedro!" I yelled, and kicked the window. It cracked but didn't break. I shoved my briefcase into the window but it stayed resilient to my blows. The alarm sounded and echoed loudly though the streets

I quickly gathered some bricks together and threw them into the window. It shattered as everything fell onto the store ground. I stepped through the jagged window and set my briefcase over the top shelf. I then grabbed everything I could and stuffed it into my briefcase. Once it was full, I slammed it shut, ready to leave.

I ran to the back where Pedro had disappeared. The bathrooms were to the side and an exit sign hung above the back door. I pushed it open and ran into the back alley. Pedro was nowhere to be found, so I continued running away from the jewelry store. Everything I carried in my briefcase was probably worth more than fifty thousand dollars.

The alarm waned in the distance as I ran into the neighborhood with my expensive briefcase. The sirens from afar spooked me to go hide. I quickly hopped through back alleys, backyards, and side-streets until I made it to my bush.

Sitting down, I opened up the briefcase and dug through all the jewelry I had stolen. Although it was a risk, it seemed worth it; but I knew my face would again be on the news from the security cameras.

As I closed the briefcase, Pedro sat across from me with his legs crossed in front of him.

"Such a good night," he commented, "all this jewelry for no woman in your life. It's a shame."

"Soon, it will be stacks of money again and I will find Sofia."

"You sound so confident," he smirked.

"Don't try to fuck with me. You know I'm right."

"You may know you are right. That doesn't mean you are right."

"Why can't you go away?" I said agitated.

"When you stop fixating on Sofia. But we all know that is impossible."

"Fuck you. I know you'd still be bugging me no matter what."

"Maybe."

"You know," I said, changing the subject, "this briefcase really came in handy. It's so small and stupid, yet it's durable and can be hidden easily. I feel like a real businessman."

"You are nothing more than a thief." Pedro voice had exhaustion in it.

"So what. For me, it's the right thing to do, but for you, it's wrong."

Pedro perked his head up. "Do you think what's right and what's wrong parallel into the same void?"

"Nothing matters when you say it that way."

"So then morally and lawfully you are wrong, but by nature, there are no rules. Moral laws don't agree with nature." Pedro's voice was suggestive with his devious grin.

"You're fucking crazy Pedro. Let's look at all the jewelry in the briefcase again. I'm sure we can get some good money out of this."

"Empty or full, carrying a briefcase with you will always make you want more in life." Pedro slid his hand onto the briefcase. "Let's celebrate!"
Chapter 12 – Sofia

The mornings seemed brighter than usual from the yellow rays of lights that shined over my bush and warmed the cool soil underneath me. Through the small cracks between the branches and leaves, the view of the city streets and old buildings reminded me that I needed to avoid the authorities. Because I had robbed a jewelry store in front of the security cameras, I stayed in hiding during the busy parts of the day and visited the crackhouse at night to trade the jewelry for drugs. For the rest of the time, I visited the drug and alcohol meetings, hoping Sofia would be sitting in a chair and smiling, ready to embrace me with a hug. The counselors assumed I was there to attend a meeting, but when I rejected their invite, they continued to insist that I stay, asking if I needed a sponsor. I left the meeting once Sofia didn't show and moved onto to the next one.

Outside of the building, the rocks I stepped on stabbed through the soles of my tattered shoes. My eyes moved to everyone's feet, envying their comfort to simply walk. A small child pointed at me as I passed him on the sidewalk. The mother quickly lowered the child's hand and helped him continue forward. She gave me a second glance, almost to apologize, but widened her eyes once she recognized me.

"Burglar!" she yelled and protected her child.

I quickly sprinted away, still holding onto my briefcase full of jewelry.

Fumbling through her belongings, the lady took out her phone and called the police.

I ran around the corner to get away from the watchful eyes and dodged through the crowd until I found the side streets to take me into an alleyway. I ran behind the backyards and hid in the bushes once I was far enough away from everyone.

I wondered what the news was saying about the burglary and how the video looked of me running out of the jewelry store high on drugs and chasing after Pedro. I knew I needed to be more careful, and leaving Phoenix was a viable option. I was no longer a mockery to be criticized but a fugitive that needed to be arrested.

I found an old baseball cap in the dumpster and wore it over my hair to conceal my identity. I took a shirt and pair of pants that were hanging on a wire in a backyard and switched them with my raggedy clothes. Stealing was something natural and it seemed I never learned my lesson, even if I was near death from the consequences. I found a trash bag to put my stolen jewelry in and threw my briefcase away. My identity hadn't changed for the most part, but a small change could mean the difference of going to jail.

With my new outfit and trash bag over my shoulder, I continued searching meetings in the area that Sofia might be attending. Many of the familiar faces trying to gain sobriety were old acquaintances I had bought from or street folk had I fought with. Although I didn't say hi, I gave them extended stares to see how they would respond, but most of them didn't recognize me.

My protest had been discontinued like it had never happened. My bike sat in my impounded car that was accumulating interest for being locked up. It made me realize that I was never going to get it back. The bike resembled what little freedom I had left and now I was more constrained for being a wanted man, still living in a thought-up America and not in the United States.

After talking with some people leaving the meetings, I was finally able to uncover where Sofia attended. A scraggily man with patchy stubble over his face told me the times she usually attended and spoke kind words about her. I gave him a second look to see if he was telling the truth, but he sounded sincere. My jealous nature assumed that every man wanted to fuck Sofia, though I was never in a clear state of mind when I was with her.

I waited around until later in the afternoon for Sofia's meeting and sneaked through the alleys and back roads to the crackhouse to exchange my stolen jewelry for drugs. Pretty soon, I was going to run out of currency and would have to find something else to steal. I was still bouncing around the neighborhoods, creeping behind dumpsters, and looking for criminal opportunities that presented themselves to me. Everything was random and meaningless in my life, with the joyful moments in the day to get high.

I felt Pedro walking behind me and spun around quickly to catch him sneaking in my shadow. "What are you doing?"

"Do you really want to do this?" he asked.

"If you're not going to help me find Sofia, then go away."

"I am your only friend. Nobody cares about you."

I hated whenever he laughed after ridiculing me.

A police car was driving on the opposite side of the street. The speed of the car was slower than normal, and the tinted windows made me feel more paranoid than I already was.

"Run!" screamed Pedro, "You will get caught."

I ignored him and tried to look casual, still gleaming at the cop car slowly driving by. I focused on the mountains in the distance, getting close to where Sofia was at her meeting.

"We need to leave!" Pedro screamed again, "Run away! Now is your only chance!"

I started talking to myself, trying to stay calm as Pedro continued to make the situation worse.

The police car continued on its way without stopping and then turned into a neighborhood, following a red car that didn't have a license plate. I started breathing normally again and fast-walked to where Sofia's meeting was taking place.

"You asshole," I said to Pedro, "Why did you tell me to run? I could of got caught because of you!"

_But you didn't._ His voice laughed again.

I looked around me to see that he had disappeared. "I'm going to see Sofia, so stay out of my head!" I suppressed his voice as much as I could and approached the address Sofia was at. The parked cars in the lot were not orderly and the gravel from the side sprinkled onto the pavement. I noticed two skinny men entering through the doors at the side of the building. Their demeanor immediately told me that they were recovering meth-heads.

The sketchy area made me think that the police were right behind me, so I jogged to the entrance, satisfied that I had found the correct place. Inside, the foyer walls were weakly painted with a gray color, and the tiles were wobbly underneath my feet. A few chairs with a round table were against the wall, and above them were barred windows with oleander bushes in the background.

The two meth-heads walked past the clerk and turned right into a small room that looked to fit a small group of people. All the chairs were in a circle—some full and the remaining were empty. I didn't want to walk all the way inside, but instead, poked my head through the doorway to look at all the faces.

Sitting by herself to the side of the room was Sofia leaning back in her chair. No one was talking with her as she waited for the meeting to start. I began to step inside but stopped myself, wondering what I was going to say to her. I stared at her for a moment, enjoying her youthful frame. I wanted to lift her up and take her away from the room so we could be alone and together but I just stared and thought of what I should say.

She finally looked my way, startled at first, but then her face began to look flustered; or maybe discomforted that I was there. She looked away, trying to ignore me. I soon felt an uncomfortable sense that I was unwanted.

"Sofia," I whispered.

She scratched the back of her neck and slowly turned back towards me, knowing I wasn't going to leave.

I motioned for her to step outside and join me. "Come on," I encouraged her.

She bit her lip and looked around the room, seemingly stuck to her seat and questioning whether she should follow me.

"Sofia." My voice was louder this time.

"Ok," she replied and passed me at the door. She didn't look up into my eyes or ask me how I was doing.

I followed her through the foyer and outside of the building until she finally stopped. Her unbuttoned white shirt highlighted her brown chest and her tight jeans pressed to her knees, leaving her calves bare to her sandals.

"What are you doing Juan?" she asked, chewing her gum, "I saw your face on the news robbing a store. The cops are looking for you..."

"Keep it down," I warned, "I just wanted to see you. Don't you know what I have been doing for you? Did you get any of my kites when you were in jail?"

"No," she replied, "I heard about your protesting and everything else you were interviewed for. You looked like a disgrace and you pulled me in with all of it. What were you thinking?"

"Can I have a hug?"

"No you can't have a hug," she slapped me on the shoulder, "tell me why you had to go on the news and make me look like an idiot with you. They called me a prostitute!"

"I'm... I'm sorry. I got a bunch of money because of it."

"Then half of it is mine. Give it to me." She began chewing her gum harder and held out her hand.

"I can't... I spent it all," I said, "but I got a bunch of jewelry in this bag. We can take it with us and leave this city for good. We can start a new life—"

"Stop right there," Sofia interrupted, "you need to leave the state and not get caught again. You're looking at a long sentence, Juan. And with your criminal background, it could be life."

"Let's leave this city together," I insisted, "right now."

"Are you high?" She rolled her eyes. "Ugh... Nevermind. I know you are."

"I got some if you want." I set my trash bag down and dug through my pockets.

"Stop it Juan. I've been sober since I went to jail. I'm trying to change my life around. I graduated my drug programs in jail and I'm receiving help now that I'm out. I can't be with you if you use."

"With you as in girlfriend?" I wanted her to clarify our relationship.

"Being friends," she clearly stated.

"I heard you kicked heroin, but you can't even smoke any meth with me?" I showed her the meth in my pocket.

"No Juan. I can't. My sobriety is the most important thing to me right now."

"What about weed? Hell, you first introduced me to all this... You won't even smoke weed with me?"

"No." She put her hands on her hips. "You need some serious help. I can give you a sponsor and we can find you a job. How about it?"

"I want to be with you," I replied desperately.

"That was in the past Juan. I'm a different person now... I'm sorry but—"

"Have you ever cared for me?" I interrupted, "Did you ever love me, or did you just always need a friend to hang out with."

"You're speaking irrational. Get some sleep, sober up, and come to this meeting tomorrow. Please." She put her hand over my arm with a smile, turned around, and started walking into the building.

"I saw Joel. Should I give him your number?"

"I don't speak with him anymore," she replied and continued walking.

"Neither do I. Mainly because you fucked up my relationship with him!" I grunted but didn't leave, wanting to watch Sofia for as long as I could.

Once she disappeared, I paced around the front and then walked back inside to follow her into the group-room. I stood at the opened door that was welcoming the recovering members into the meeting.

I cleared my throat and announced, "Who wants to smoke with me? Anyone!?"

"Leave!" yelled Sofia.

The faces sitting in the circle yearned to join me but they remained seated. The instructor furiously pointed me out, telling me I needed to leave his positive and sober environment.

As he tried to close the door on me, I kicked it open and ran away.

"You never said thank you!" I yelled to Sofia. I ran outside and back into hiding so the police wouldn't find me if they had been called.

Holding in the urge to cry, I could feel my chest weigh me down, making it difficult to breathe. Everything that I had done for Sofia wasn't worth it. She had shunned me away and left me with a terrible addiction. I smoked the rest of my meth and found things to punch and kick in the alley. Screams surfaced from the inside of my head and chaos disturbed my thoughts.

I stayed near the crackhouse at night and traded in the rest of my jewelry. My trash bag was now worthless as I threw it aside. Hiding in the bushes near a ditch, I smoked my crack and pressed my knees up against my chest. The night was full of distant sounds of cars, airplanes, and voices in the streets.

Pedro appeared from my side and stared at the ground with me for a while.

"I don't want to hear it. You were right. Sofia doesn't want me."

"I've been telling you this all along," he grinned.

"I don't want this life anymore. In fact I never wanted it. It was something I never planned to do, but for some reason, I'm living it."

"We can fight fire with fire," Pedro suggested with a gleam in his eye.

"What do you mean?"

"We take Sofia away. We can end her life so she can't do this to anyone ever again."

"You're crazy. I'm not doing that."

"Are you just going to let this go? Live the rest of your life as a wanted man? You know you will be caught, Juan."

"What do you suggest we do?"

"I suggest that we kidnap her; maybe take her to the desert and end her life there."

"I don't have a fucking car."

"Nonsense. There are cars around everywhere. I know it gives you a thrill to steal cars. I've seen the look on your happy face when driving on the freeway with a new set of wheels."

"So I steal a car, kidnap Sofia, and then kill her?"

"That's the best plan I've ever heard," Pedro replied.

"How would I kill her?"

Pedro thought for a moment. "What do you have on you?"

"Umm... a pipe and some leftover crack that we are smoking tonight. I got some change and a butter-knife. I don't have anything to kill her with."

"That hasn't stopped you before," Pedro chuckled. He leaned forward; the darkness covered his face for a moment.

"True. How should we kill her? Stab her with a butter-knife? This thing can't even cut someone."

"We'll get a better knife. It shouldn't be hard to steal one."

"Where should I stab her?"

"There are a lot of body parts to choose from. I'm sure you'll find an area to stab that cold-hearted-bitch."

"Why do you call her that? Are you trying to get me to do this so you will have her?"

Pedro looked at me like I was stupid. "I'm not even fucking real, Juan."

It was quiet for a moment, and I started laughing with Pedro. When I was alone, I actually enjoyed his company.

"Remember Juan. It's not me who's crazy. You're the crazy one," Pedro continued.

I nodded, "So we get a car, put Sofia in it, and finish her off in the desert so she can never do this to anyone again." I clenched my fists together, remembering what she had said to me.

"You couldn't have said it any better."

"Then we can leave this city and start a new life." My hand hit my knee to show I was serious.

"Will you still be using drugs in this new life?" Pedro asked.

"I... I think so. What else do I have to do?"

"There's gotta be something better than talking with me."

"Let's not think that far ahead," I suggested, "Let's take care of Sofia first."

"As you wish."

I stayed up with Pedro and conjured a plan to take Sofia away from the city. I couldn't sleep, and the anticipation was making me restless, so I practiced tackling bushes with Pedro who showed me different approaches for kidnapping someone. Sometimes we argued, but once an agreement was reached, we were ready to move on to the next topic.

We watched the morning turn into day and stayed in hiding to not be seen by the police. I smoked the rest of my drugs and waited for the day to end. It was difficult to be patient while under the influence of drugs. The only way to conquer patience was to use a downer and time-travel the day away with sleep. But I didn't want to oversleep and miss the one opportunity I had to kidnap Sofia. I felt like a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at the right moment.

At the pawn shop, I replaced my butter-knife with a sharp kitchen knife that I slid into my pocket. The dull and harmless butter-knife sat on the top of the pile of kitchen supplies, ready to be thrown away by whoever saw it first. I walked out of the store and made my way over to where Sofia's meeting was. I tapped the end of the knife with my finger and felt a prick, knowing it would puncture anything I stabbed.

I sat down on a bench outside of the building, waiting for Sofia to walk into her meeting. From a distance, I could see the recovering addicts step over the dusty mat in front of the entrance door. Every stranger that glanced my way made it seem like they were reading my thoughts of what I was planning to do. Luring Sofia away from the crowd and then snatching her body seemed easy when I had planned it with Pedro, but it would soon become a challenging reality.

A few suspicions stood out from the sparse crowd of a woman walking her dog and an elderly man wanting to sit down on my bench; but I didn't move and continued to ponder. Knowing that Sofia would resist, I needed to be quick and careful with the kidnapping. There couldn't be any cops or anyone acting like a "super citizen hero" in my way.

My head perked up when I saw Sofia step out of a car that was giving her a ride. I stood up, moved through the parking lot, and walked at a fast pace towards her. She had her head inside the window talking to the driver but finally waved goodbye and started walking towards the building.

"Sofia!" I screamed with a demanding tone.

She stopped and turned around, knowing that it was my voice calling her out.

I hopped onto the small curb and positioned my body in front of her so she couldn't walk inside. My lungs felt like they were going to explode as I struggled to put together the words I wanted to say. With rising tension in my thoughts, my hand went into my pocket and gripped the handle of the sharp knife.

Sofia spoke before I could say anything. "Hi Juan." She sounded irritated that she had to see me again. "Look Juan... I'm sorry about yesterday. I want to make it up to you. I want to help you."

My hand loosened from the handle of the knife. "What are you talking about? You shunned me away like I was nothing. I haven't seen you for a long time and you treated me like shit." I knew I would never forget that feeling from yesterday.

"I feel bad about that," she said, "I was scared for my sobriety, but I know old friends will always appear from my past."

"Old friends?" I asked, and gripped onto my knife tighter.

"I can't run away from the past. I have to face it and be strong."

"Are you trying to erase our past together? Because I've always liked you more than a friend..."

"We had a great thing going. I think it's the drugs that got in the way. Maybe if you gain your sobriety, we could start again in the future."

"The two of us together with a heavy history of drug-use trying to be sober... It would never be the same. Why can't we just be us again?"

"I need to stay sober, Juan. For myself."

"What about me?" I caught her eyes looking at the people walking into the building. I quickly moved my head in the line of her sight to keep her attention on me. "What about us?"

"I don't know Juan. I need to get my shit together first. And so do you. We are far from anything."

"So then... When? A month? A year? Or never?"

"Can I just go to this meeting and we can talk later?"

"No," I said, "we need to address this now."

"You're high, your eyes are bloodshot, and I can see that you haven't slept in days."

"So what. I know what I want."

"But I don't. It's going to take time. I don't know when, but please, leave me now."

"No," I said, grabbing onto her arm, "we are going to get this shit straight today." My fingers constricted her arm as I pulled her in close. I held her against me and stepped on her feet so she couldn't run away.

"What are you doing Juan?! Let go of me!"

As I held her tightly, I moved my lips close to her ears. "I would think twice about yelling or trying to escape. I have a sharp knife pointed directly into your side."

"Bullshit," she replied, still trying to break free, "that's your butter-knife!"

I gave her a gentle stab in the side that made her swiftly jump in pain.

"Let's go somewhere more private," I ordered, "Too many people are around. I want you to slowly separate from me and start laughing. Hit me on the shoulder like we a playing around. Got it?"

Sofia agreed, curling her nose in discomfort.

I released my hand from her as we walked towards the side of the building.

Sofia started performing a fake laugh for me, but it possessed a lot of hatred in it.

"Good," I said, "keep doing that."

Without further thought, Sofia lifted her fist and swung it into the side of my cheek. The contact from the punch caused my head to jerk backwards.

I grabbed the side of my face and latched onto her arm. "That fucking hurt!" I quickly stepped back into her face. "I said playfully hit me on the shoulder!"

"You deserve it. What the fuck do you think you are doing anyways? Are you trying to kidnap me?"

"Haha! No way!" I said, pretending to goof around under the public eye. I pulled her around the corner where less people were watching.

"Then what are you doing, Juan?" she asked.

I took out the knife and brought it to her neck. I could feel her breathing hard as I looked into her eyes. "We are leaving town. Right now!"

Her eyes still glimmered but were full of fright. "You're scaring me Juan. What happened to you?"

"What happened to _you_?" I replied angrily, "I swear to god if you yell or do anything to create attention I will stab you."

"Why are you doing this?" she asked desperately.

"Because I can. I won't wait for you to decide your whole life plan. I've been planning shit my whole life and it's gotten me nowhere. Don't you see that we were meant for something more than this? But if you can't see that—we've got a problem. Either way, we are leaving this city today."

Sofia studied my movements and then watched me lower the knife in my hand. She couldn't figure me out when she was sober, and I knew she wanted to say something hateful.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because you're crazy!" She carefully tried to pull herself away from my chest.

"Easy now," I said, holding the knife against her. "Let's go find a car to take."

"You'll never get away with this, Juan"

"I will," I replied, "And let me remind you that if you make a sound, I won't hesitate to stab you in front of everyone. You are now dealing with someone who has nobody in his life and the only girl he had ever loved is right in front of him. Don't do anything stupid."

"I told you," she pleaded, "we can work this out. Just give me some time..."

"I want it now." I pulled her away from the side wall, and we walked together into the parking lot.

_Stop it!_ Pedro's voice rang in my head.

"Shut up!"

"I didn't say anything," Sofia said.

"I know. I mean... Just stay quiet and let me do the talking."

"I don't think I have a choice." Her eyes looked up to me.

"You don't." I put my arm around her, pretending she was my girlfriend.

As we walked between the parked cars, my knife pointed into Sofia's back from under my shirt. She was no longer resisting and seemed to be taking me more seriously than before. I kept her close by my side and scoped out the occupied cars that I could hijack. There were many options, but I wanted to find the weakest and fattest person that wouldn't fight back.

Finally, I stepped to the side of a white car that was a short distance from the street. I tapped on the window for the petite woman inside to roll it down, but she was busy with her cellphone and looked at me like I was an inconvenience.

She slowly lowered her window halfway.

"Get out of the car," I instructed, "I will kill you if you don't."

Caught off guard, she whimpered with widening eyes and creasing eyebrows. She abruptly moved the gear into reverse and stepped on the gas, swinging my hand away from the window. I moved with Sofia as I still held onto her. The tires squealed on the pavement and swerved away before I could charge the window again.

"Fuck!" I yelled with disappointment.

"Stop this Juan," Sofia pleaded, "everyone is watching."

I pulled her with me as we approached another car in the parking lot. It was only a two door but an obese woman was inside texting on her phone. The color of the car was almost black with numerous scratch marks along the side, but it was drivable.

I opened the unlocked door and furiously swung it open to show her my urgency. The woman inside was slow to react as I violently pushed Sofia inside the car and over her sitting body. I held the knife in front of her and Sofia, showing them my capabilities to stab either if I wanted.

"Don't hurt me!" she screamed and lifted her hands innocently.

My eyes met Sofia's, who was ready to escape. "If you move, she gets stabbed in the face."

Sofia hesitantly leaned her body forward, still undecided if I was serious or not.

After unbuckling her seatbelt, I grabbed the obese woman by the shoulders and pulled her out of her seat. "Get the fuck away! This is my car now!" She fell onto the pavement and rolled to her side. I quickly raised my knife towards Sofia and shoved her back into the passenger seat.

"You really want to go to jail, don't you," Sofia said.

"Shut up." I turned the key to start up the car, looked behind me, and then backed out. "We need to leave this joint. The cops are gonna be here soon."

"Ya think?" she replied sarcastically.

"I told you to shut up!"

The drastic episode that I had created left everyone outside stunned as they watched me drive away. Their phones were to their ears while others were helping up the obese lady I had pulled to the ground.

I turned the corner and sped through the side-streets, using all the available mirrors to look behind me. Despite the risk that a police car could appear from behind me, I formed a smile on my face and searched through my pockets for any drugs, but I had nothing.

"So where are we going?" Sofia asked, "what city are you dragging me to?"

"Wherever you want." My mood was better now that we were alone and away from everything. "Do you remember when we used to hang out at the park and we didn't care about anything? Or when we smoked the night away in your room? Those were the good times."

"We smoked too much. We needed help."

"But we had such a great connection... Me and you."

"We got out of control," Sofia replied, "Someone should have stopped us, but they didn't."

"And yet here we are now, and this is how our lives have worked out."

"I don't know what you're talking about, but I'm changing for the better. I can't do this with you in my life."

I turned the car at a fast pace, causing Sofia to grab the side handle.

"What is it exactly that you're going to change? You know that your future is stuck at a dead end job because you used to be a prostitute with a shitload of felony convictions. What are you doing right now that is so great?" I immediately felt bad that I was discouraging her, but it made me realize that she was no longer on my level. I shook my head with disappointment.

"It's time to do something different, Juan."

I moved the car into the side lane and drove at a normal speed, trying to not get recognized by an authority.

"Like what?"

"I always wanted to be a teacher. I love teaching science."

"Don't you realize that you won't ever be considered for a job? What place will hire a junkie prostitute?"

"Stop shattering my dreams," she replied.

"I'm being realistic. Today's society doesn't care about how great you are doing now. They only see the piece of paper from your past."

"Stop being a dick."

"I just want you to be happy with me again."

"Well, it's not working."

"So where would you be happy?" I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel and looked into my mirrors.

"Not be running from the police. I'm tired of it... _Real_ tired of looking over my shoulder when I do something illegal."

"Do you think anyone would miss you if you died tonight?" I wanted her to focus on me and tell me something I wanted to hear.

"What kind of stupid question is that? I know for sure that you'd miss me." Sofia moved her hair to the side of her face as a tear rolled down her cheek. "Can we at least talk to each other like normal people? And I'm tired of you threatening me with something you're incapable of doing."

"You don't know what I'm capable of doing."

"I didn't see it at first, but now I remember that you're the same innocent boy I met that couldn't stop staring at me and was always too shy to hold my hand. Ever since the day I met you, I've always known you could never hurt a fly. I know we're grown up, but you're still the same to me."

Ahead of us, a police car inched forward from the neighboring street and came to a stop with its hood slowly poking into traffic. I quickly applied the brakes and turned onto the street before it, so I wasn't seen.

"I hate to say it," Sofia said, "But there might not be a way out of this."

I turned again into a neighborhood and continued down the street. "We need to switch cars. They are looking for this one." I wasn't ready to give up so easily.

"You're going to steal another car just to try to get away? Leave me out of this."

I hesitated and looked behind me for any cops. "I want to be with you."

"You will always be a part of me, but this is insane what you are doing. It's just going to get from worse to fucked-up." Sofia's head perked up. "We are close by the park. Drop me off here."

I turned down another street, contemplating if I could let Sofia go. I didn't tell her yes or no. Instead, I drove up to the side of the park and stopped the car. The doors were still locked as I closely observed to make sure Sofia didn't try to escape. At the side of the road was a bus stop and thick bushes that helped hide us from anyone afar.

I put the car in park, hoping a cop wouldn't drive by, and then looked at Sofia with desperation in my eyes. She was the only person I wanted in my life, and yet I was forcing her to be in the car with me.

"Let me go," Sofia pleaded.

"No." My voice sounded weaker.

"But I got kids."

"You said that you don't see them anymore."

"I told you that when we were using. I'm trying to be a part of their lives again."

"You're trying to be a mother? Who are the dads?"

"I don't know—probably some random clients. I had my latest baby when I was in jail, which totals three kids that I haven't been there for. That's why I was never out in the tents with everyone else. I was taking care of my baby, but he was taken away from me because of my history with my two daughters. Just let me go so I can improve my life. I don't need this hanging over me now."

"How old are the girls?"

"Five and seven, but I haven't seen them since they were born."

"And the dad for them?"

"Somewhere in Phoenix. I don't know. Just let me go."

"Do your kids know what you're doing now?

"I don't think so, but I want to be a good mom—one that they can be proud of and look up to. Not a deadbeat drug user and prostitute." Sofia looked down at the ground and took a deep breath. "I would wait for you if you change your life around. I just don't want you to have drugs around me. My life goes downhill when drugs are involved; they control everything. If you are sober and get your life together, I am willing to be part of your life." She kissed me on the cheek.

"Are you saying this because you want me to let you go?"

"It's the truth. I've always wanted you to be with me. We just met at fucked up times and continued those fucked up times together. We aren't privileged, but we did what was given to us in our lives."

Feeling pressured, I looked into her eyes. "I will let you go if you promise that you will wait for me in the park. Please wait for me so we can talk about this some more. I'm going to find a new car and come back, and you will have the choice to go with me or not. Just wait for me to show me some sign that you care about me."

"What if I don't?"

"Then I'm not letting you go. Can't you just wait for me? If I'm not back by later tonight, then you'll know that I got caught. Just wait for me at the bathrooms when I come back. Is it that hard for you to care about someone?"

"I care about you. Just not in this circumstance." Sofia shook her head, agreeing, "but I promise I'll wait for you. I'm not staying here all night. But I'll be in the park, and I'll know when you arrive."

"Another thing," I said, "I have car that was impounded. It's yours. It's new and will cost you little to take it out, but I was never able to get it out because I blew my money on drugs. Plus I am illegal. I never belonged here to begin with..."

"Don't say that," Sofia urged. Her hand consoled my leg.

Her warm touch sent a shock through my bones which gave me a moment of clarity of what I was doing. Everything was turning from worse to fucked-up, and I was alone.

Before I opened my mouth, I looked into my rearview mirror to see a police car turning the corner. I quickly reached over Sofia to open the door and pushed her out of the car. As she fell to the ground, I tried to close the door but accidentally smacked her with it until she moved out of the way and closed it herself.

"Wait for me!" I yelled, "please wait!"

With an annoyed grimace, Sofia didn't say anything and rubbed the side of her shoulder.

I pressed on the gas and spun the wheel into the street, creating a puff of smog behind me. In my rear-view mirror, a truck had turned between me and the police car, but it didn't stop the police car from speeding around the truck to reach me. I sped to the end of the street to get away and drove around the perimeter of the park.

Sirens erupted from behind me as the traffic pulled to the side, revealing only me and the police car.

"Shit!" I yelled and slammed my palms onto the steering wheel. My heart jumped in a flash from envisioning my life behind bars if I was caught. Speeding away from the park, I could see Sofia walking in front of the bathrooms, still looking my way.

I recklessly turned onto a wider street that had several speed bumps, but it didn't heed my progress. My body leaped above the steering wheel as the bottom of the car scraped against the asphalt from the bump in the road. It slowed the police car that was trailing behind, giving me a slight advantage even though I was fast and out of control.

_Why did you let her go!_ Pedro's voice was full of fury.

"She still cares for me," I replied, "I couldn't kill her."

You are going to prison! She will not wait!

I turned on the radio and swerved through traffic, trying to avoid every new police car that appeared around me. I drove through consecutive intersections, almost causing collisions, and then sped onto the freeway without pushing down on my brakes. My foot stayed on the gas as I gained speed into the hundreds. The car shook violently and the engine was working at its max until I finally let up. I dangerously swerved through the freeway traffic, honking my horn and continuously glancing in the mirrors to see who was behind me.

A helicopter soon appeared from overhead with a man's voice shouting out of it. I turned up the radio louder until the speakers couldn't handle it and static prevailed. Ahead, more cars accumulated on the freeway as rush hour took control of the daily commute. The traffic started to slow down and the red brake lights signified that it was time for me to get off.

Without looking behind me, I carelessly swerved over four lanes, squeezing through the available space and swiped the side of a van. As I moved off the freeway, my foot pushed down on my brakes before meeting the upcoming stop sign. The helicopter followed above me as I tried to think of a way to hide from the eyes in the sky.

_Sofia is not at the park_. Pedro's voice invaded my brain. He repeated it over and over again.

"I'm not listening!" I yelled; trying to turn the stereo up even louder, but the knob was at its highest.

I swerved my car past the stop sign and slid through the stationary cars waiting under the freeway overpass. Wanting to return back to the park, I moved into oncoming traffic and made them veer to the side so I could ease through. More police cars caught up from behind me and cleared a path to keep everyone away from my dangerous driving.

You're done for!

I was beginning to agree with Pedro, and realistically, I didn't know how I was going to escape.

"What the hell am I supposed to do?" I asked, feeling overwhelmed, but the loud static of music blurred out my voice.

_See if what you let go is still waiting for you._ Pedro's voice suggested. It seemed like a chuckle occurred after his comment, but I couldn't tell.

I maneuvered around more cars and sped back onto the freeway to return to the park. The car's speed reached its limit, and my heavy foot couldn't make it go any faster. The helicopters, police sirens, and loud static of the radio all blurred out any rational decision or thought of a consequence.

I exited the freeway once I reached the street I wanted, momentarily slowing at the stoplight to make sure I wouldn't collide with anyone. As I moved into the intersection, the police cars appeared from behind me. I quickly turned a sharp corner and beat a semi-truck that abruptly tried to stop, but it crashed into a line of cars that were behind me. In my rearview mirror, two police cars spun into the semi-truck and collided into another vehicle that had braked too late into the intersection.

I sped through the streets and changed lanes, trying to return to the park where I had dropped off Sofia. The helicopter continued to hover overhead, but nobody was chasing me on the ground anymore.

It seemed I had already accepted defeat, but I was creating as much disorder as possible before it ended. Having what little fun I had left, I moved through traffic and screamed as loud as I could, matching the loud static in the background. I stuck my head out the window to look up, but quickly swerved away from the sidewalk curb.

I rounded the corner with screeching tires and approached the park in my noisy car. The baseball players paused their game, parents ran to their kids to protect them, and children on the playground stood up curiously to look my way.

I drove onto the sidewalk and over the park grass, trying to maintain control of the vehicle. The park sign in front of me flattened to the ground and created a dent over my hood. It scattered debris onto the windshield and formed a large crack across my eyesight. The corner bumper of my car swiped a drinking fountain that spewed up water over the roof and into the car, giving me a misty shower.

I maneuvered around the playground and along the vacant swimming pool that was fenced off. Following the grassy path, I turned in the direction of the bathrooms where Sofia was told to wait. She wasn't outside, so I quickly applied the brakes in front of the bathroom building to search for her.

More police cars drove onto the park grass and continued to stay close behind.

I panicked before the car completely stopped and quickly jumped out onto the grass. I then rushed towards the restrooms that looked to be vacant. Ignoring everyone else around me and the driverless vehicle I had bailed out of, my only worry was to see if Sofia had waited for me.

Passing the drinking fountain against the wall, I entered the bathroom and looked into each stall, finding nobody. The dirty toilets were not flushed, the sinks had used toilet-paper in them, and the trash was overflowing in the corner from the thousands of people using it daily. The commotion from outside seemed to be directly on the other side of the wall, giving me a false sense of security inside. Ignoring everything, I started searching areas in the bathroom that were unlikely for Sofia to be in.

I told you! She doesn't care about you!

I leaned against the sink and held my head down with disappointment. I screamed and punched the wall, immediately regretting my decision, but the adrenaline quickly took away the pain.

You're pathetic! Sitting in the men's bathroom like a little bitch!

My head perked up. "Why am I in the men's bathroom?" I asked Pedro.

Demands from the outside instructed me to give myself up and come out with my hands up.

"We need to get to the other side where the women's bathroom is," I said to Pedro, "I can run across really fast and meet Sofia inside."

A predictable plan for a fool.

"That's all I got left. I can't escape this. I need to see if Sofia waited."

_Suit yourself._ Pedro didn't sound enthusiastic.

Commands from the police echoed off the walls as I slowly crept to the entrance until I could see the women's bathroom across from me. So far, no police officer had the nerve to approach the bathrooms, though I had to act quickly. The only instance when I needed more time, I didn't have it.

Ready to run across to the women's bathroom, I edged up as close as I could to the end without being seen. The helicopter loudly buzzed over me and shouts for me to surrender continued from the police. A strong breeze blew against the walls and twirled the dead leaves around the drinking fountain in the middle. It seemed like a giant beast was waiting outside and preparing to snatch me up when it had the chance.

Before running across, I lifted up my head and hesitated when I saw Sofia standing in the passageway of the women's bathroom. Her indecisive posture and my desperation created an unusual moment between the both of us. As we exchanged eye contact, nobody else could see the two of us, but we could see each other. She started walking forward but I held up my hands to stop her.

Sofia moved her mouth but I couldn't make out what she was saying, and unfortunately, she couldn't understand me as well. She knew my fate had been determined the moment I had robbed a stranger with a sharp knife.

"I want you with me!" I screamed.

She couldn't understand what I was saying as she adjusted her tank top shirt. Her face was anxious with a hint of distrust. She started walking backwards, not knowing what to do.

"I'm coming across!" I shouted, "stay there!"

_Don't do it_. Pedro's voice heightened with anger.

I set one foot back, ready to run across to the women's side. It was only about a ten feet sprint, and then Sofia would be with me; for how long, I didn't know. I pushed my hands of the wall, swung my arms forward, and moved my feet with diligence.

I was soon exposed to the world in front of me. Officers were in position behind their cars with their guns drawn, and fire-trucks were in the distance preparing for the worst.

Suddenly, a shock rapidly moved through my body as I hit the floor and began convulsing. With determination, I tried to get back up, but the shock intensified. My body tensed up uncontrollably and remained in the middle of the bathroom entrances. My sight was blurred until the electricity stopped flowing through my body. At that point, my hands were handcuffed behind my back and officers were pulling me up.

I quickly looked for Sofia standing at the entrance, but she was gone. I wanted to see her one last time, but she didn't show her face.

"Sofia!" I screamed as the cops pulled me into the police car. "Sofia!"

I watched the restrooms from inside of the police car, but she never came out. I was left with a sense of uncertainty and regret of what I had done, but it was too late. Nothing ever felt this terrible in my life.
Chapter 13 – The Consequence

"Is it true that you had to take a shit when you ran into the bathroom?" joked the detention officer as he walked me to my cell.

"Fuck you," I uttered, wanting to headbutt him. My hands were cuffed behind my back and my oversized sleeves of my pink shirt covered my elbows.

"Or did you discover you were in the wrong bathroom?" he started laughing.

Without caring, I hurled my head into his face, feeling and instant crack against our skulls. The detention officer fell to the ground without getting up. I stood over him with a grin and no desire to escape, mainly because there was nowhere to leave without being seen. Jail was inescapable, and prison was impossible unless if you knew someone and had a lot of money.

I waited in front of the camera until another guard saw his friend lying on the floor unconscious. More officers followed and they all subdued me onto the ground and then threw me back into my cell. I prepared for solitude and looked for Pedro to keep me company.

The next day at lunch, I found some street acquaintances that I hadn't seen for a long time. They had more tattoos, more facial hair, and fewer teeth, accompanied by a rank odor. One inmate was making hooch out of the toilet and another was expecting a shipment of heroin coming in soon.

"You want to buy some?" he asked.

"Sure. Why the fuck not; I got nothing else to live for."

"Let me go over the cost with you," he said. His hair had a tint of red and his goatee was thick.

"Nevermind," I said disappointed, "I ain't got shit."

"That's too bad." He dismissed me and asked the same question to another inmate sitting next to him.

As I watched him talk with everyone around the table, I knew prison was going to be different than jail. Everyone's time to serve in jail was unknown and tension was at its highest. Fights were a normal occurrence and the guards only made it worse. I started to crave for real food, less restrictions, and more activities at the prison. Finding drugs was never a problem; it was affording the drugs that were difficult.

After eating, I returned to my cell to sit for an extended period of time until I was able to come out again. I was at the bottom bunk, sharing a small room with three other inmates that stayed quiet for the majority of time. If tension was high and someone had a shank, there was easily enough time to kill anyone.

The next day, an investigator with a badge under his belt visited my cell to tell me that an assault charge on a detention officer was now being added to my sentencing. They had reviewed the cameras of me headbutting the officer, and afterwards, I was sent to "the hole" which was a dark room with padded walls and a shitter in the middle of the ground with grates over it. There was no freedom to leave the room or see beyond the door window. The only time I had interaction was when an officer served me stale food or I when went to court to sit quietly in shame. For the rest of the time, Pedro kept me company.

He sat against the wall and imitated me with his feet sprawled out. "You don't have any respect from anyone; not even Sofia."

"What does it matter? I'm alone and imprisoned. No one gains respect from that."

"You can gain respect from the inmates... Maybe guards."

"Nobody knows me on the inside—and on the outside, I'm a nobody. But maybe it's better this way."

"You're always fighting to achieve honor instead of earning it. You need to stop hiding from your past. It does you no good."

"Who cares about street credibility anymore... Honor left me a long time ago."

Pedro lifted a leg, almost stretching it. "Like I said; you're living in the past instead of the now. You always have, but it's not your fault. Being unlucky is a perfect quality in you. You just don't know how to change it; and that's understandable."

Not knowing what time it was, I did some pushups and sit-ups in my cell, trying to establish a routine. I would sometimes stare at the camera above me in the middle of the room with discontent, wondering if they cared about me. When I went to sleep, I woke up cold, and if I didn't stay busy, my body would shiver. Talking with Pedro and exercising helped pump blood into my head and kept me from acting irate. Otherwise, I felt like my body was going to explode. It was difficult not being able to use drugs, but I found that my mind was thinking clearer, though I couldn't remember half of the things I did in the past, or if certain parts had been real. With more sleep and staying sober, Pedro talked with me less. Sometimes, I missed him. But as I became lonelier, I made him reappear and we discussed random topics I was thinking of.

The only person that was allowed to visit me was my public defender. He continued to force plea bargaining on me, stating that 'it would be wise.' Either way, I was looking at over fifty years with a plea bargain or not, so I told him that I wanted to plead not guilty, just to make him do his job. If I was proved guilty, I was looking at life, but it seemed plea bargaining for fifty years was about the same. Plea bargaining was a way the overcrowded court system functioned, and without it, most convicted felons would be waiting forever, guilty or not. It would also result in an acquittal if the court process wasn't started within the needed timeframe.

As months passed by and my behavior improved, I was finally allowed a visitor. The simple thought that I had an interested visitor made me feel nervous on the inside, but with a hidden sense of excitement that lingered at the tip of my nerves. Knowing that real people were outside of my cell, talking to an imaginary person was shameful and embarrassing when the cameras were listening. Pedro wanted me to stay in my cell where we didn't have to face the world, but I had to see the visitor that was interested in me.

The detention officers escorted me to bench with a television screen in front of me. They chained me to the chair and instructed me to pick up the phone, stating that I only had an hour.

"Where's my visitor?"

"Like I said—press the button on the screen and you will see."

"I have a visitor by phone? Wouldn't that be considered a phone call?"

"We don't allow person to person visitations. Either press the button on the screen or go back to your cell." His arms were big with a tattoo swirling down his forearms.

"Fine," I whined and pressed the button on the screen.

The time started counting down from an hour at the top of the screen as Gabrielle's face appeared. Part of me was disappointed it wasn't Sofia, but I was glad to see Gabrielle's face from a sober point of view.

"How's my brother?" she asked cheerfully, but there was some concern in her voice.

"I've been better. I'm wanted for numerous crimes that are easily convictable and have learned that I will be spending the rest of my life in prison."

"I see... I saw you on the news over and over again. You frightened me to death." She studied me for a moment. "But it's good to see you smiling on this TV screen, even though you're in jail."

"Why are you here?" I said bluntly. Talking about my life was difficult when the inevitability of my future existence was going to be in prison.

"I thought I could cheer you up. Maybe see if you need anything?"

"Something to blow up the walls around me would help."

Gabrielle rolled her eyes, "anything else?"

"I don't want to ask you for money. Conversation is good enough."

Gabrielle agreed and we caught up with each other's lives; this time I was sober and learned that it was much easier to have a conversation when I wasn't requiring drugs in my system. Gabrielle was a successful graduate and vice president of her university. She told me of her responsibilities and how she enjoyed her job that paid for her family and big house. I couldn't think of any good things that were going on in my life, so instead, we discussed our childhood and growing up together. I also told her my lighter stories of living in the streets that we could both laugh about but I didn't delve too deep. Her voice gave me a nostalgic feeling to be inside her house and to practice the guitar she had given me.

As the hour approached, I didn't want Gabrielle to leave. Spending my time with her made me feel sane and detached from the prison culture.

Gabrielle held up a crumbled paper that had a crayon drawing of a blue rose. "I'm going to send you some reading material along with this drawing in my hand."

"Where did you get that?" I grinned.

"So you _do_ remember the blue rose I drew for you when we were kids. I used to draw all different kinds of flowers and roses, trying to find meanings in them; but this blue rose reminds me of the unknown, and I think that's what you've been up against your entire life. But in reality, I think everyone needs to have a blue rose to keep them going."

I anxiously laughed that she brought up my unknown future.

"Stop laughing," she giggled, "It's true. You need to start finding something to pursue so you stay busy. The blue rose doesn't exist, but you need to make it exist, or else you are going to have a hard time surviving. Use your mind. Find _something_ to believe in and let it grow in you without fear."

"What can I do now?" my voice sounded weak as I searched for her to give me answers.

"I can help, but it's mostly up to you." Gabrielle looked above her. "The time on our video is about to end, but I wanted to make sure that I addressed that with you. I'll be back next week and we'll work on finding something. Ok?" Her head nodded forwards, waiting for me to respond.

"Ok."

"We are going to keep your mind busy so you don't feel sad for the rest of your life. I don't want this for my brother."

A tear came from under my eye as I looked down, unable to face her with my emotion. "Thanks Gabrielle." I sniffled and then looked back at the screen, but it was blue and had timed out. "You hear me? Gabrielle!" I tried to press the buttons in front of me, but the screen remained blue.

"Time's up," said the officer behind me.

"No its not!" I yelled and hit the phone against the screen, "I want to talk with my sister!"

"What don't understand about one hour?" His voice sounded agitated.

"Fuck off!" I yelled and continued hitting the phone against the screen, but it wasn't powerful enough to cause any damage.

I was grabbed from behind and forced back into a holding cell with some other inmates waiting to return to their cell block. I wasn't given any food for the rest of the night, and everyone remained in the holding cell until what seemed like morning. Waking up from a short nap next to the toilet, I finally ate some peanut butter and bread with an orange. I took some bites of stale bread and dry peanut butter, but couldn't eat it as I dry heaved everything back out.

Feeling like the world was against me, I took my orange from my food bag and wedged it into bottom of the toilet. I took the rest of my peanut butter and bread and stuffed it in as well. I then flushed the toilet and watched the water slowly rise from the bowl. As the water trickled onto the ground, I kicked it against my door and screamed at the officers. Some of the water sprayed onto the other inmates who stood up, ready to hit me for flooding the holding cell. Another inmate swung at me and then tackled me to the ground. My head was pushed into the sewer water that smelled like shit.

Soon enough, the detention officers opened the door and separated everyone. Some of the inmates fell into the officers, but were eventually brought to the ground. Everyone hated me for clogging the toilet, but it got me to finally leave. The water was shut off and I was transported into a smaller cell by myself with a hole in the middle for my new toilet.

I sat down and started to talk with Pedro. He appeared with his hand over his mouth, disgusted with the smell around me.

"What are you doing? You're smell like shit," he chuckled.

"Why does my life suck? Gabrielle is so successful, and I'm swimming in shit."

"Gabrielle was right," Pedro commented, "you got to find something to believe in or you will not survive."

"I'm doing my best." I dismissed Pedro, turned my head away from him, and faced the wall. Trying to get comfortable, I eventually closed my eyes until I fell asleep. When I woke up, I tried to go to sleep again but dozed off for only minutes. My body wanted me to wake up and start the day, but my mind knew it was impossible.

After defending my motives and listening to others prove me guilty in several court hearings, going to and from my cell of solitude to wait for a verdict, and summarizing the facts with Pedro after talking with my public defender, I finally stepped in front of the judge to be sentenced. Everything that I had pleaded not guilty to had been ignored and proven otherwise. Like my public defender had warned me, I was looking at a life sentence since I didn't plead guilty.

I thought of Gabrielle, who was the only person that visited me every week. She had kept her promise at helping me with my inner struggles of incarceration and gave me a smile whenever her face appeared on the TV screen. Usually when I finished talking with Gabrielle, I discussed with Pedro what she and I had talked about. Thinking of Sofia only made me feel sad, but I was glad she hadn't visited me, because the longer she was in my past, the easier it was to move forwards. The more sobriety I gained, the more I thought about my past friends and family. Although the memories of my mother were imprinted in the back of my head, I wished I had been there for my father more. The last time I had seen him was when I had helped him move, but then I walked away from him, only interested in my own life. It seemed he was always there for me, but I never made myself available.

Standing by myself in the middle of the courtroom, I watched the judge spread out the documents in front of him as he cleared his throat. He began reciting all the offenses I was guilty of and the amount of years pertaining to each one, which was more than three lifetimes.

Once I realized that I had more than a lifetime sentence, I interrupted him, "Why can't you just say a lifetime sentence instead of all these years stacked onto each other. I probably won't even live past sixty with my history."

"Do not speak out in my courtroom." His eyes glanced up through his thick glasses, and then he returned to reading my fate. He then recited the amount of money I owed for my offenses.

I immediately snickered in the courtroom, knowing that I could never in one hundred lifetimes be able to afford the amount of money that was requested from me.

"Is something funny?" the judge asked, "I already warned you that silence is required in my courtroom."

I wanted to yell something back, but for some reason, I stayed quiet.

The judge set his paper down in a stack in front of him and pointed to the other side of the court room. "You remember Officer Mitchell? The man you headbutted?"

I didn't turn to look his way. "I remember him."

"You owe Mr. Mitchell one-hundred and fifty thousand dollars for medical expense. I recommend you find a good job in prison to help pay for his bills since you cannot afford it. Your status in this country will be determined on what you accomplish in prison and if you can pay for Mr. Mitchell's medical bills. My advice is to do all that you can do to change yourself. I would also like for you to apologize to Mr. Mitchell. According to the report, and for no reason, you attacked him by headbutting him, breaking his nose, and causing reported brain damage."

"I'm guessing in that report he didn't write down how he was mocking me and insulted me."

"Does that mean you should have caused him harm? I am only interested in what you did at the moment you committed the crime—not anything petty that occurred beforehand. Your intent to harm Officer Mitchell was obvious, along with the countless offenses you committed while in the City of Phoenix."

"I'm not apologizing." I crossed my arms.

The judge didn't look amused. "You're an interesting fellow. For once I'd like to see what you are thinking in that brain of yours. It seems you will always think like a juvenile."

Judges were always telling me to grow up and trying to include their personal opinion with each sentence. I interrupted him before he had any more advice for me. "It sounds like you are saying that my crimes committed are a human problem and not a law problem then."

He assorted his papers, wanting to continue with my sentencing, but my comment had distracted him. "This is a human problem, but the law is instituted to serve humans. And I am the law."

"If you're the law, I hope you don't mind me saying, fuck the law."

The judge clenched his teeth and tightly grabbed onto his gavel. He bitterly reviewed my sentence and sent me away without asking if I had any questions. The bailiff grabbed my shoulder and directed me out of the courtroom. I felt better that I had caused the judge uneasiness in his chair by expressing my opinion before I left for good.

I spent another day in county jail and then was put on a bus with the rest of the sentenced inmates to go to prison. The chains at my feet began to annoy me as I sat down next to another inmate who was nervously shaking his foot. Sitting in quietness, my stomach twisted sporadically as we drove into the desert. With the city behind me, I knew it was the last time I was ever going to see society. Although I was being transported to my home for the rest of my life, I felt comforted knowing that Gabrielle was going to occasionally visit me.

As we approached our destination, I glanced at the sign that greeted us in front of the chain-linked fence with barbed wire curled over the top. It read:

Through work is freedom.

I chuckled to myself, knowing nothing was ever going to be free for me, even if I got out alive. As much as I wanted to change myself, the thought of maintaining a positive mindset was going to slowly diminish. Most people like me didn't grow up and choose to go to prison—for some reason, it just happened. There was something more to it that I couldn't understand, but it seemed unavoidable for someone like me.

As I became situated and got to know my cellmate, I tried my best to find a constructive routine, but the limitations made me crazy. My hair slowly grew out and a thick beard formed around my face. It gave me an old and mature look, so I didn't want to cut any of it off. I used an old broken comb that I had bought from another inmate to groom myself in the morning.

I started working in the kitchen but then applied for a job where I traveled outside of the prison to cut down trees. It was similar to landscaping, but we were mainly clearing out trees and shrubs that were in the way. We were issued saws and tools to work in the deserts, but were always checked on our way back inside the prison for anything sharp that we might have pocketed. Although I made less than a quarter of minimum wage, and most of it went to the detention officer I had headbutted, I had a small amount to buy cigarettes or something special to eat every week. Also, Gabrielle would put money on my books as long as I didn't use it for drugs.

I kept my promise and stayed sober, even though drugs were always around me. I was soon becoming proud of myself that I had stayed away from it all, and it was something I wanted to continue. I tried writing to my father, Maria, Aunt Rita, and any friends who I knew when I was growing up, hoping they would write back to tell me how they were doing. Since being in solitude as an adult, being away from loved ones and friends made me realize the importance of the human bond. The one person who I didn't write was Sofia, and I decided that I would talk to her only if she initiated it first.

Gabrielle wasn't allowed to bring in my guitar, but I played it in my head, making up tunes and humming them aloud when I was walking the yard. Finding medical help was difficult, but we received it if we were on the brink of a life threatening emergency. I tried working out with what little I had available and began exercising with my cellmate. He was serving life as well, and it helped to talk with him instead of Pedro. We created a work-out routine together, and one of the exercises was body-squats. This involved putting the person over your shoulders and squatting with his weight above you. I was gaining muscle everywhere and thought I was getting a six pack until a doctor told me that I had a double hernia.

The only unsettling topic that was on everyone's mind was serving the rest of their lives behind bars. Everything else was full of jokes and discussion on whatever we could distract our minds from our fate.

As Pedro became less and less, I talked with a counselor every week to assist me with what was on my mind. I also attended groups, but for most of the time, they were useless because of the instructor not caring or listening. However, I found a counselor to individually talk with, and she showed compassion and interest. I didn't care if she didn't care because she was insightful and listened to my problems.

One day, I was finishing up a session with my counselor, and we were waiting for the guards to escort me out. She wasn't the most attractive, but she was the only female that I had seen the entire week. If she wanted to have sex, I wouldn't hesitate to fuck her on the table immediately.

"Can I ask you a personal question before we leave?" she asked.

"Sure. Anything," I replied.

"If you were to name one reason that led you to where you are right now, what would it be?"

The guard approached the window, sorting through the keys on his chain. I looked back at my counselor who was ready to get off work and go home to her family, but she was still questioning my life.

"I wouldn't know where to begin," I replied, "you know everything about my family, Sofia, illegal status, and my past drug problem. It's so many things..."

"It sure sounds like it," she agreed.

"Living in this world maybe," I said as the door opened for us. "Being born and then learning that when we grow up, there are guidelines to follow. We all are innocent based on that very fact."

"You should put that in your book that you are writing," she said as we stood up and walked outside.

"I will," I said, and winked at her, thinking that I was someone special as I walked back to my cell with a guard trailing behind me.

I spent the next couple of nights finishing my book in silence. I felt excited to complete something that was mine, but nervous to read what I had written. With mostly free time, I was able to dedicate my time to writing my past life into a book. I thought of who else would read it, other than Gabrielle, but it didn't really matter. Perhaps another prisoner, but I knew most people would never see my thoughts, unaware of what it was like to be inside a prison and having a grave already carved out in the field.

The broken comb gently pressed through my beard as I read through some paragraphs towards the end of my book:

What can I saw about heroin? The first time is the best feeling ever, but after that, I chased it until I was just a lazy, depressed, and smelly piece of shit. As for meth, it makes me feel like superman, but I have lost more than just teeth because of it. As for marijuana, it always helped me until I got into harder drugs, but if I was feeling unproductive, it was the perfect thing. Same with alcohol, which I always drank too much of. But my problem was that I became dependent on it. Just like pills, everything became an addiction; though, I never knew why I did spice. That terrible synthetic drug always gave me headaches and tasted like shit. Cocaine livened me up, but I was snorting it through my nose and up into my brain. Crack was even worse. What the fuck was wrong with me?

It's funny how a drug-user feels like one drug is absolutely fine and another isn't. Anything that alters the mind is thrilling, but if it's overused, it can obviously cause problems; especially law problems. And the reason why laws for drugs are so punitive is that the law is made for people by people who don't know what it's like to be on the other side. Those people making the laws are not like me. They may have used drugs before once or twice, but not to the extent as most sufferers like me living out in the streets have. And when it comes down to it, nobody cares about someone like me, leeching money off of the normal citizen trying to get to work in the morning. Including myself, I've seen drug users who were once good people turn into assholes because of their drug of choice. Not that I'm blaming the drugs, but it can sure turn a mother into a mother-fucker. If I were to take one thing out of my life, it would be drugs. I would have liked to see what my life would have been like without it. But when I'm sober as I can be, I have discovered that life is not fair.

I thought of how to end my book differently but there was no other way to describe the inequalities of wealth, status, and prestige, when all I knew was how to survive at the bottom of the scale. It was what I knew and nothing could ever describe it worse.

Another jingle of the keys and a steady walk from the guard outside was routinely checking on everyone. But this time was different. The keys stopped at my door as I calmly lifted my head from my pillow and moved the papers off my chest.

The guard opened the door with two other suited gentlemen behind him. They waited for me to follow them out of my cell and into another room so we could talk. Before leaving, I stored my papers and broken comb under my pillow.

As I stepped outside and walked alongside them, I noticed their badges read _I.C.E._ Once again, that meant Immigrations and Customs Enforcement. Upon noticing, my feet swaggered behind them as they slowed down their pace to match mine.

We made our way into an empty room as they sat across from me.

"So Juan," he started, "What's up?"

"Just tell me what's going on." I didn't have the patience for them and wanted to focus on my book.

"We processed your information and looks like you just love to skip across the border whenever we send you back. But I'm sure you've taken everything you need from America and are ready to go back to Mexico."

"But... Why? I've lived most of my life here." My feet began to shake. "Will I be free?"

"We don't know what plans they have for you. But words of wisdom." He paused. "If you do get out in twenty years in Mexico, don't ever think about coming back to the United States again."

"Is it America or the United States? Because you mentioned two names for one country."

"It doesn't matter. You are on U.S soil."

"Ah, that's what I thought. The United States," I repeated, "Not a made up America..."

"We are not here to discuss names of countries, but your deportation," the I.C.E. officer said bluntly.

"Yeah, I get it. I've been deported many times before."

"We know."

"Took you long enough to find me. I've been in prison all this time," I said sarcastically.

The agents ignored me and returned to the topic of deportation, no longer entertained by any of my snarly comments. They made the conversation short, and I noticed they were going through their routine examination for many illegals like me. I always knew when they were doing a crackdown or sweep because of some political push for intended reformation.

I packed my belongings, only caring about my letters and book, and then was put into a holding cell to be shipped off to Mexico. My mindset was jumbled with the unknown. I didn't know if I was going to be sent to prison or be released to wander the streets of Mexico. The older I got, the harder it was to foresee the future; and crossing the border wasn't as easy with an older body.

Pedro appeared in front of me with his knees bent up into his chest, mimicking my slouched shoulders. I hadn't seen him for some time, and I thought I had been improving my mental condition to where I didn't need him anymore.

"Cheer up, friend," he said, "consider this another chance."

"I'm scared though," I replied, "I don't know if I can get back to the States; and that's _if_ I get out. Or I might be in a Mexican prison for the rest of my life."

"You're going to rot no matter what, Juan. I think it will be in prison, but I know you're optimistic about being free. You also have to remember that you have an extensive record and have created bad relations with the U.S. and Mexico. You might be locked up for good. But don't worry. I'm here for you."

"What are you going to do for me? You're always fucking with my mind."

"I have a surprise for you this time," he replied, "And I think it's going to ease your worries."

"What could you possibly do for me?"

"More company," he said.

"I don't get it."

Pedro snapped his fingers, and in an instant, Sofia was sitting across from me with her back up against the wall.

I stood up, ready to give her a hug.

"No touching her," Pedro stopped me, "she is here for conversation only. You don't want to ruin it, do you?"

I slowly sat down and started talking with Sofia and Pedro. Soon enough, my entire family was in a circle as we laughed, joked, cheered, and shared stories together. And for once, I was happy with Pedro who brought everyone into existence so I wouldn't be lonely.

"Hey Pedro," I gave him a grin, "thanks."

"You're going to miss your mother's stories if you don't listen." His eyes directed me towards my mother talking with everyone in a circle. My father, Gabrielle, Maria, Alfonzo, and Sofia were all looking at me, waiting for me to pay attention. Pedro was sitting to the side with his hand on his chin, studying my family with interest.

"Sorry," I said to everyone. My attention directed back to the group as I became immersed with the company I was receiving.

For once, the room had enlightened, and I felt like I was home again. My only concern was what was going to happen once I left this cell; but I knew that I was going to take everyone with me.

Life was what you made it, and I was going to do my best to catch up with everything I had missed.

