thelostson:

 

Smoke drifted into the night sky. Two men sat on a stoop. The faint sound of police sirens echoed in the distance.

One of the men, a dark-skinned Latino, spoke. “Look man, you and me, we are something different.”

“Oh yeah?” his stoop mate replied, lowering his cigarette. A familiar grin crossed his face. “How’s that?”

“You and me man, we homies. We brothers.”
“Brothers, eh?” The grin grew wider. “Not bad. I like the sound of that.”
“Hey man, that reminds me. There something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“What?”

“How did a pasty-skinned, blonde-ass, white boy like you, end up rolling with a stone-cold G like Sergio?”

Inhaling deeply from his cigarette, the man let the smoke seep lazily from his mouth. “I don’t really know … ” he replied, his voice barley above a murmur. Looking down at his scarred and gnarled hands, his eyes locked on the cigarette pressed between his fingers. As he watched the scarlet ember greedily eat away at the precious tobacco, he spoke.

“Let me tell you a story, José.”

I was only a kid at the time. Twelve, maybe thirteen. I remember like it was yesterday. Los Cerritos Middle School – it was P.E. with Ms. Taylor. I always hated P.E.  It was a blazing hot day, the type of day that turns the asphalt into a foul-smelling wasteland. It was a Friday, I believe, which meant it was a free day. “Friday Fun,” they called it. What a joke.  I was sitting against a wall in the corner of the gym, as I often did, watching the other kids play basketball and merrily converse with their friends. I didn’t do anything to provoke them, the little monsters. I wasn’t paying much attention; there was no way I could have seen that big orange basketball. It slammed right into the side of my face. I remember the pain shooting straight up my nose as blood came gushing out onto my shirt in a sickly torrent.  Chris, a tall gorilla of an eighth-grader, busted out laughing. Before I could catch myself I was crying like a little bitch, and I hated myself for it, because I knew what came next.

“Look at the cry baby!” Chris yelled, loud enough so everyone in the room could hear. I remember my cheeks burning with embarrassment as my eyes searched the room for the teacher. She wasn’t there, must have stepped out for a cigarette.  Then Chris came towards me. I still remember the maniac glint in his eyes; little prick backhanded me right across the face.  What is it about getting slapped on the cheekbone that makes you feel as if your eyes are about to explode right out of your head? Anyway, you would think that someone would step in at this point, but can you believe it, those pint-sized demons just surrounded me and Chris and started chanting, “Fight, Fight, Fight.”

“Did you win?” José interrupted.
Taking another drag from his cigarette, the man shrugged.

“Nope, little prick beat my ass.”

“Really?” José said, surprised. “Wait, that still doesn’t answer my question homie. How did you meet Sergio?”

“Well if you would shut the hell up, I’ll get to that,” the man responded, his grin taking on an evil shade.

It was high school. I was on top of the world. That skinny guppy I was back in middle school had become a shark. I was captain of my wrestling team, and had just started dating that fine Filipina you see me rolling with. I was a stud, to say the least. I had just gotten a job as a pizza delivery guy at this joint by my house. I know it wasn’t the most glamorous job on the planet, but hey, it paid the bills. I didn’t know anything about him, all I knew was that he was the guy who took the pizzas out of the oven, and that you could never find him without a beautiful woman on his arm. I remember the first thing Sergio ever said to me was “Hey man, you got a nice set of wheels.” Next thing I know I am driving down to Hollywood, hitting up clubs every night, and going to after parties in El Sereno.

Chuckling, the man raised the half charred cigarette to his lips.

“Wait man, there still something I just don’t get. How did you go from being his glorified chauffeur, to his number one Rottweiler?”

Tapping some ash onto the ground the man spoke again.

We were at this ghetto ass club. Florentine Gardens, I think it was called. My girl and me had just gotten into a massive fight, so I thought what better way to blow off some steam than to spend some quality time with my two closest friends, Sergio and Jack Daniels. I was dancing with this little lady, a fine thing with smooth chestnut skin. I was having the time of my life, but wouldn’t you know it, her boyfriend had to show up and ruin my good time. He was this big ox of a man, with shimmering ebony skin, and dark coal eyes. He took one look at how I was grinding on his girl and tried to punk my bitch ass. Now you’ve seen me work, I didn’t get to where I am by being slow. I had his face planted on the ground with his arm twisted above his back in a matter of seconds. Needless to say, after Sergio saw what I could do, he was more than willing to offer me a job.

“Damn, man, that’s some pretty hardcore shit homie,” José said approvingly.

The man just blew smoke out of his nostrils and stared at the ground.

“Hey man, just curious. What’s the hardest hit you have ever carried out?”

The man looked up slowly, the smile was gone, and his cold brown eyes pierced the darkness.

I approached the house. I remember dogs were barking. Pit bulls, I think. I walked up to the door, expecting it to be like any other job, and in some ways it was. I knocked probably about three times or so. It must have been my lucky day because the target opened the door. I took full advantage of his surprise at seeing me, forced myself into the entrance, and kneed him in the groin in one swift movement. He hit the ground like a sack of flour.  I then applied my usual tactic of stomping on his head until he was almost unconscious.  You see. I couldn’t knock him out yet, Sergio likes when I can give them a spoken message, to remind them why you don’t fuck with Lock Street.  So I said my peace and gave him a long vertical cut down his right side to remember me by.

“That sounded like it went pretty smooth, man,” José said, sounding confused. “What made that hit so hard?”

Standing up and snuffing out the cigarette under his shoe, the man turned and walked toward the house. Looking back, José saw a grimace of pain plastered across the man’s youthful face.

“His daughter was watching me the whole time.” The man shut the door and was gone.

When is it when we truly lose our innocence? At what point do we lose our childlike faith in humanity? At what point do we realize the scariest monsters in this world are not the ones that live under our bed or in our closet?  I was that blond man with the cigarette, before Christ found me. I was the monster, who stalked and fed in the night, before He redeemed me. I know what true evil is, because true evil used to live in me.

iamgiovanny:

For the past couple weeks, I frequented my local cafe during my free time, sitting at a table, and reflecting on the eight years of life. As I sipped on an ice latte, I wrote down a list of people God had placed in my life over those years and who He has removed from my life. I began seeing how my relationships have changed, how I dealt with it, and how it has affected and eventually made me who I am today. And it was at that moment, that I began to see God’s hand in all of it.

In Ecclesiastes 3: 1-9, I saw how God operated in “seasons,” a length of time. In one season, He may pour out a multitude of blessings, in other seasons He holds out a bit. In the same way, God may place a person in your life at one moment, and in the next, He removes them. In my immaturity, I used to think God played a cruel practical joke on me. How could God allow me to bond with a person, only for Him to just take that person out of my life? What good is making friends? What good is developing a relationship if it would only be temporary? I thought I knew better; I thought I knew what would benefit my life. Obviously, I had no idea.

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