Caught at the Edge

By Raymond Storm

To fall into the exciting and dangerous life of a street gang member and hit man for the mafia took a natural chain of events for young Xavier, whose uncle and eventual guardian was a big man in the Mexican Cartel. To have survived that life and come out on the other side, a Christian, was nothing short of a miracle. This book alternates chapters between the life of a kid on the streets with all its glory and gore and the reformed life of the adult who strives to help those who are caught in the same web of intrigue, danger, and crime that all too often ends in prison or early death. Young Zavier is rescued from a series of abusive homes only to groom him for a life of crime. Xavier is used, not only as gunman for the Cartel, but also to entice other members of Los Angeles street gangs into working for them as well. Alcohol, drugs, guns, and women look very good to young boys who have no decent home life and suffer hunger and loneliness. This book is a realistic look at what it is really like from the eyes of youth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Raven Publishing of Montana
• Release date: Aug 6, 2015
• ISBN: 9781937849603

Book preview

Caught at the Edge

 2013 Raymond Storm

Published by Dark Trails Press for Smashwords

(an imprint of Raven Publishing, Inc.)

electronic edition

This novel is a work of fiction.

The characters and events are products of the author’s imagination

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form except for inclusion of brief quotations in a review without express permission from the author.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication

First and foremost, to God.

You pulled me out of the muck, and now I stand tall.

To Daisy Abeyta

You will live forever in our hearts.

To R. Haggard –

One of the greatest men to have lived and a great grandpa

To Ben Gulley –

We never met, but your story and your brother touched my heart.

To Juan –

Your death is why I have to reach out to others.

To Angel Garcia-

You are in Great hands.

We are blessed to have our own angel watching over us.

I dedicate Michael Jackson’s song, Gone too Soon

to the memory of all of those who’ve passed on.

To my daughter, Karlena –

I am proud of the woman you have become,

And I love you. This is for you.

A Word from the Author

This book comes with a strong warning. I pull no punches and I paint a harsh picture. But I withhold judgment, as I’ve learned over the years that only God, who knows the heart and mind of everyone, can judge us. As for me, I can only follow God’s example of unconditional love for everyone.

The story you are about to read is filled with pain, death, hate, wars, danger, and a vivid portrayal of the street life of fifteen kids who became hired guns for the Mexican cartel. Xaviar and the others are fictional characters, but the life they illustrate is all too real. But this book also has another story that can change the way you look at the streets. As you read, I challenge you to feel the emotions these kids go through and watch the struggles that will make you say, this couldn’t happen only to realize that it happens every day. Find the hope inside a life that seemed hopeless, and, most importantly, see how the hope can change a life, before your very eyes.

Yes, there are two stories in this book, one of the pain-filled life of children who are mostly left to grow up on their own without the security of love and guidance. It takes place in the mid 1980s. The alternating second story, the story of redemption and change, begins in the mid to late 1990s to 2,000.

"Never write off a life before it is lived,

And never doubt what that life could give.

For an open mind is true wisdom.

And an open heart leads to a greater kingdom."

Raymond Storm

Chapter 1

Awakening the Past

Startled out of my sleep by the ringing of my phone, I reached to answer it. Hello, I said in a groggy voice.

"Xaviar Peña, please," the voice on the other end sounded professional.

"This is he," I replied.

"Hello Xaviar, this is Billy. I know it’s 6:30 in the morning, and it’s been a while since we last talked, but we need to talk now. I don’t want to talk on the phone, but, well, the bad news is Mateo was murdered a couple of nights ago. I have a meeting set up with an I.R.S. representative and you and me at 8:30. So, if you can make it down to the Regency by eight this morning, we can discuss a few things before the meeting."

"Hold on, Billy, I said. Mateo is dead?"

"Look son, I don’t want to talk about your uncle’s death on the phone, so when you get here, we’ll talk, alright?"

"Alright, I’ll see you at eight," I said, hanging up the phone. Mateo dead? How? Where? Who? I sat up, hanging my legs over my bed as I tried to digest what just happened and what it would mean to my life. Why would Billy come to Austin, Texas from Los Angeles? I had been back in Texas for the last six years, and for the last five of those, I’d been living a new life. I put my head in my hands and prayed for help to make it through whatever awaited me today.

Getting into the shower, I thought about Cristina and the baby she was carrying. How would this news impact the lives of my wife and unborn child? As the hot water ran over my head, my mind went back to a time that I had fought to forget for many years. The memories came clear, and I was watching my little brother Jay and me in our old house in north Austin at a rougher time.

Boys, it’s time to eat, so hurry up and get ready! my mom said with a catch in her voice. I saw Jay hang his head. At six years old, Jay had seen a great deal of hard times in our family. Dad often beat Mom, and sometimes neither of our parents would come home for days on end. Being the oldest, at eight, it was my job to watch over Jay, to cook the eggs, make the sandwiches, and to make sure we got to school. That evening, we figured that Dad must have done something to our Mom, because she sounded like she had been crying when she called for us. Jay turned to me as if to say, What now?

C’mon, Jay, let’s go get ready to eat before she gets in a bad mood, I said, walking into the house. Jay followed, saying nothing. After washing our hands and faces in the bathroom, we headed into the kitchen, Jay, lagging behind me. I guess he didn’t want to be there. We knew that something was bothering Mom. It seemed like Mom and Dad hated being together. One night we overheard them arguing, and Mom said the only reason she hadn’t left yet was because of Jay and me. This hurt Jay more that it hurt me because I never really paid attention to anything that my mother or father said. Jay, on the other hand, took everything very personally. He blamed himself for every fight our parents had and every beating our mother got.

On the way to the table Jay asked, in a low voice, if I thought our parents had been fighting again. I looked at Jay and saw the tears welling up in his eyes. C’mon Jay! Mom and Dad fight every day, and you aren’t used to it yet? C’mon, let’s eat. I wiped tears off his face so that Mom wouldn’t yell at him for crying, but it wouldn’t make any difference. Usually, when we got to the table our mother would start talking about our dad, crying, yelling, and cursing the day she married him. Every Friday was the same. They would fight; he would hit her, then leave to see another woman. He claimed that he went to work at his upholstery shop, but Mom knew the truth. He would come home Saturday morning, argue with Mom some more, slap her, and then go to bed. Nothing changed, and to me it was a fact of life.

When we reached the table, Mom was sitting with her face in her hands crying. Boys, your father is a sorry bastard, and I’m truly getting tired of this. She pounded the table and walked to another room. We ate in silence until the front door slammed shut.

Jay’s eyes watered up again, but this time he spoke softly with a pain-stricken voice, Why did she change? We didn’t do anything wrong? Why doesn’t she love us anymore? That’s when the floodgates opened and Jay broke down sobbing into his folded arms, still softly asking why. This was the part that hurt me. I loved my little brother, but he was so softhearted.

I put my arm around his shoulders and said Look Jay, don’t cry. We have to be strong and stick together. Dad said that we should never let anyone see us cry because it’s a sign of weakness, and they’ll take advantage of us. We only have each other. Just you, and me, Jay, and I promise I won’t let anyone hurt you. I’m never going to leave your side, but we have to stick together and be strong. Jay picked his head up and I wiped away his tears. We finished our dinner and went outside to play in the back yard again. We stayed until it got dark. Jay and I had other friends, but we were each other’s best friends.

When we went back inside, we watched TV in our room for a while, eventually falling asleep, only to be awakened later that night by our parents fighting again. I lay there watching the ceiling fan going round and round until I heard Jay crying into his pillow. Getting out of my own bed, I went to lie down next to him. With all the fighting going on, we both found comfort in knowing that we had each other to lean on.

Once we finally went to sleep, morning seemed to come in a blink of an eye, and Mom was telling us to get ready to go to Grandma’s. Jay popped his head up and then shook me. Come on, Xaviar! Let’s go see Grandma! Get up, Big Head! Jay said, before running to the bathroom to get ready. Mom knew I didn’t like Grandma and Grandma didn’t like me. She would say, You’re the spitting image of your father, and you’ll turn out to be just like him. So, when Mom walked in and looked at me, she knew the answer even before asking. She got out Jay’s clothes and walked into the bathroom to help him get ready. Jay was smiling from ear to ear as he came out. He said, Say Xaviar, we’re going to have tamales at Grandma’s! Are you coming?

I buried my head in my pillow and said, No.

They left around eight for Grandma’s, and that was my cue to get up. I went to the kitchen, grabbed a mixing bowl, the box of cereal, a spoon, and a gallon of milk. I ran to the TV to watch my Saturday cartoons. This was one of my weekend rituals. The next one was even better, and happened at about ten when Dad came staggering out of the bedroom. He walked straight to the kitchen, grabbed a beer, and plopped down in his lazy-boy chair. He picked up the phone to call the place he called every Saturday.

Say Garza, he’d say. I’m sending my boy over to your store to get me a pack of smokes, okay? Then he’d hand me a ten-dollar bill. I would walk outside, but as soon as I got past the back door, it was an all-out sprint to Garza’s little store. The excitement wasn’t about getting the cigarettes, but what I was going to pick up on the way back. I always got the cigarettes quickly and then raced into the doughnut shop next door. It was the smell of sugar and the thought of all the different kinds of doughnuts that made my heart beat so fast.

The oriental owner of the store would call for his wife and then say, Oh, how do you do, Xaviar? The funny way he said that always made me smile. I get six doughnuts for Poppa, and I know what he wants already. Then I get your doughnuts. Let’s see, one with sprinkles, three with cream, one chocolate, and one with glaze.

After putting all the doughnuts in the box, his wife would walk over, as he went to get the change. Here Xaviar, she’d say, here’s a special treat that I made for you. Next week you tell me if you like it or not. As she kissed my cheek, I would tell her that I liked the food last week very much, and by that time her husband would be back with my change, and I’d be on my way out the door.

Once I got back home, Dad would have taken a shower and would be ready for his doughnuts. Say boy, what’s in the bag this time?

I had already stuffed my mouth full of egg rolls when I answered egroo. He would laugh at me, and we’d end up laughing together. But it wasn’t always like that.

Ever since I was old enough to put my hands up and make a fist, Dad has been teaching me how to fight. My Dad had only one rule about fighting. He didn’t care if I fought, but if I lost a fight, he would beat me for losing. That gave me a very powerful incentive to win every fight. Some days Dad would ask me about a toy or something he had bought for Jay and me. He wanted to see it, or the remains of it, to make sure that we hadn’t lost it or loaned it to anyone. That was another of Dad’s rules; we were not to borrow or loan anything, and if we were caught doing that, he would beat us. I could understand it, but Jay couldn’t. One afternoon as Dad and I watched a football game, he asked me about the action figures he’d bought the week before for Jay and me. I got up to go find them in our room, but they weren’t there. I searched everywhere for them and then remembered that Jay had them outside when he was playing with the three brothers down the street. Walking back to Dad, I struggled with what to say, and then I remembered that Billy Stephens had taken them from Jay and said that he’d bring them back when he was done playing with them. By the time I got back to Dad, I had my head down and told him that Billy had stolen them from Jay. Dad put his finger under my chin and asked me why the hell I hadn’t gotten them back. Go get those toys back, or I swear I’ll beat the hell out of you, your brother, and your mother!

My heart was racing as I ran back to Billy’s house. By the time I hit their backyard fence I had blood in my eyes and absolutely no thought of talking about the problem. Billy, who was two years older than me, and Frank, one of the twins who were my age, was sitting outside playing with the action figures. I ran full speed at Billy, seeing nothing but his jaw. Crack went his jaw as blood spurted out of his mouth.

You want to steal from me? I yelled. I will hurt you, I screamed as I stomped on his back and head. When Frank saw me beating up his older brother, he took off running for his Dad. Knowing that I was about to be in a lot of trouble, I grabbed the toys and ran home.

When I hit the back door and walked inside the house, I saw my uncle talking to my Dad. Uncle Paul looked at me and saw blood on my hand.

Hold on, little man! said Paul, using his nickname for me, What the hell happened to you? I didn’t say a word. I just handed the toys to my Dad. Uncle Paul grabbed my arm and turned me around to face him. I asked you a question, boy! What happened to your hand? Paul asked again.

Trying to catch my breath and get my emotions under control, I struggled to answer, and finally said, I had a fight with Billy.

Paul turned to Dad with one of the meanest faces that I’d ever seen on him. He said with a cutting edge to his voice, Ruben, I don’t know what’s going on, but you had better watch out for these two kids. If I find out that you got them hurt or put them in danger, I will make you wish you hadn’t. Dad’s face turned red. Dad wasn’t a coward or anything like that, but he knew my uncle. Uncle Paul was an ex-Navy Seal with an honorable discharge from the service. His discharge was for medical reasons. He had seen so much death and come so very close to death himself, that it had mixed up his mind a bit. He was a good man and loved the world, but when pushed too far, he would snap to the point of possibly killing somebody with his bare hands. And he could have, too, even after all those years. He was still built like a Seal, at 5’ 10", and his arms had to be twenty inches, easy. His temper made him deadly.

Dad looked at Paul like he was thinking about testing him when a knock came at the door. Dad answered it and saw Billy’s Dad standing there with a pipe in his hand.

Mr. Peña, I’m here to give you a choice. You either beat the hell out of your kid, or I’m going to beat your brown ass to a bloody pulp, Mr. Stephens said. Dad didn’t say a word, but charged Mr. Stephens like a linebacker going after an unprotected quarterback. The both fell off the front porch with such force that I could hear a loud thud. Dad got up first telling Mr. Stephens to get up, but every time he tried to, Dad would land a blow to his face. By the third hit, Mr. Stephens was bleeding from deep cuts over his eyes and a gash in his lips. Mr. Stephens started to stand up again, but this time Dad kicked him in the face while he was kneeling over, and started another barrage of blows to Mr. Stephen’s face. Uncle Paul dove on top of Dad, trying to hold him down as Dad kept trying to hit Mr. Stephens.

Dad kept yelling over and over, Let me get that white piece of trash!

Mr. Stephens crawled out of the yard and got back into his car. Paul tried to calm Dad down. All along the block, people were standing outside their houses, especially after the police showed up. When the police finished talking to Dad, they picked up the pipe and told Dad that if any charges were going to be pressed, he’d be informed.

After they left, both Dad and Paul sat on the front porch without saying a word to each other. Then Paul broke the silence, So, are we still going to the pool tournament at the Ace of Clubs Bar, or what?

Dad said yes, and got up to get ready. He was in the shower, and Paul and I were watching TV when the phone rang. Paul answered. He listened for a while and didn’t say much. When he hung up, he called to Dad to hurry up and get out of the shower. After drying off and dressing, Dad asked who was on the phone. Paul told him that Jennifer, my mom, called to say her car had overheated, and so she would be home late.

Dad cracked a small grin and turned to me. Say, boy, do you want to watch us win a pool tournament? he asked.

Did I ever! This was the coolest thing that could’ve happened! I blurted out a very loud, Yeah!

Paul didn’t seem to like the idea of my going along, but there wasn’t much he could say. It was either that or leave me home alone, and he didn’t want to look like a bad guy, so he just said, Okay, get your jacket, and let’s go.

As Dad drove, he and Paul sang along with the radio. The Spanish radio station was playing a slow ballad, and they sang their best with it. The whole trip to the tournament took thirty minutes, but it only felt like three because I enjoyed it so much. Watching Dad and Uncle Paul be themselves made me feel good.

My dad parked close to the door of the bar. Turning off the car, he turned toward me and said, Look, boy, you will sit down where I tell you and watch. Nothing else! If you have to use the restroom, let me or your uncle know, but other than that, don’t say a word.

We got out of the car and my uncle added, If anything happens, you leave the bar and sit in the car! After nodding my head to show I understood, we walked in together.

My eyes almost popped out of my head when I saw all the women there with close to nothing on. The guys were mean looking and had tattoos all over their arms.

When the bartender saw my dad, he told him to play on table 5, but when he saw me, he started to laugh. Say, Ruben, what’s up with the rug rat? Shouldn’t he be in bed? I don’t know if it’s fair for you to have a mascot.

Dad and Uncle Paul went to table 5 and put their cue sticks together while talking strategy between them. The first round of beers arrived with a Coke for me. The games began. Win after win, my dad and uncle kept rolling over people. At half past midnight and the sixth hour of the tournament, the championship game began. I think the guys playing against Dad had three chances to hit the ball the whole time. Also during that time, Dad was on his some-teenth beer, feeling real good. He started the tournament talking low and making little jokes, but before the end of the last game, he was loudly exchanging words with one of the bikers he had been playing. Another one of the bikers walked over and stood right by me. I looked up at him every now and then just to see what he was doing. He turned to me with a real pissed look on his face. What the hell are you looking at, little spick! he said, slapping me across my face. I hit the floor fast and hard, but got up quick. As quick I was, I barely saw my uncle lunge at the guy who hit me. His first blow landed on the guy’s nose and sent him staggering backwards into another pool table. Blood poured out of his nose, but that didn’t save him from the beating he was about to receive. As Uncle Paul started to land punch after punch on the guy, the biker’s friend started toward my uncle to rescue his fallen partner. He never made it because my dad cut him off with the butt of his pool cue across his face, laying him out. By the time the owner of the bar finally stopped the fight, both guys had received more than they bargained for from my family.

The owner gave my dad a check for winning the tournament and told him to leave before the cops came. Uncle Paul my hand and headed to the door. Dad stopped where two motorcycles were parked and told Paul to get the car started. I jumped into the back seat while my uncle started the car and put it in reverse, heading toward my father. I saw Dad pull out a chrome pistol and aim for the motorcycles. Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Dad turned around and jumped into the car. Paul hit the gas as the tires shot dirt and rocks toward the bar. Paul drove as fast as he could without getting pulled over for speeding. No one said anything until we pulled into the driveway. Mom’s car was parked at the side of the house with all of our clothes packed in the back seats.

Dad was already mad about the fight, and he was still drunk from six hours of drinking, so he wasn’t listening to anything my uncle said. He just jumped out of the car, ran into the house. Where the hell do you think you’re going, bitch? he yelled loud enough that the whole neighborhood could hear. Jay came running outside to me when Mom started to scream and cry as Dad continued to slap her. This was more than Uncle Paul could take. He ran into the house after Dad. The fight between them was loud, as they threw each other around the house.

Mom came running out with her face bleeding, yelling at us to get in the car. As she started up the car, Mom told us Tell your Dad ‘bye for the last time.

We drove most of the night to my grandma’s house. Mom was quiet and Jay was fast asleep. I was looking out the window, praying that Uncle Paul was okay. Of all the people we were leaving behind, I would miss my Uncle Paul the most. As Mom drove to the outskirts of the town, my eyes were heavy, and my mind was going blank. I went to sleep not knowing what the future held for my brother, Mom, and me.

Chapter 2

The Stepfather

The ringing of the phone snapped me out of my daydream. I turned off the water and wrapped a towel around me. Walking out of the bathroom to the bedroom, I picked up the phone next to the bed. Hello? I said in a low voice.

It was Cristina, who’d left earlier to get to her first class at the university, and she knew right away something was up. Hello, baby, what’s the matter? she asked.

"Nothing, I replied, I just got out of the shower and am getting ready to go to a meeting."

"What meeting?" she asked.

"Well, do you remember the old family lawyer that I told you worked for my Uncle Mateo?"

"The one in California?" she asked.

"Yeah. Well, he’s in Austin, and he just told me Uncle Mateo was killed. He wants me to meet him at the Regency at eight this morning. I told him I‘d be there, but I should still be able to make it to work on time. So, how was school, and how is our baby today?"

She just said, Oh baby, I’m so sorry to hear about your uncle, but please be careful, okay?

"Yeah, I will," I replied.

She continued, Well, we are doing okay, though this baby is kicking up a storm and seems like it can’t wait the last month to get here. School was great, and someday I’ll be the best psychiatrist in Austin, God willing, and with lots of His help. I smiled at her words.

"Look honey, I’ll be at work around three o’clock, but I have to hurry and get ready for this meeting."

"Okay, honey, but please remember the past is the past, and we can’t change it. Just keep saying that to yourself. I’ll see you at work. I love you, Babe."

"Man, sweetheart, if I got a bill for your services, I’d have to declare bankruptcy! I said, I love you, too, and I’ll see you at work."

Hanging up the phone, I finished getting ready for the meeting. I put on my suit, grabbed my bag with shorts, blue jeans, and a couple of T-shirts for work.

Although I was not a rich man, and Lord knows my job didn’t pay much, I was blessed with a new BMW, a wedding gift from Uncle Mateo. He also gave a four-door BMW to my wife. He was in Mexico taking care of a matter that kept him there for a year, so he didn’t come to our wedding. He always had matters to deal with, but that was the life he chose. I almost didn’t keep the cars, but relented when I was assured that they were bought with legal money. I was never quite sure about Mateo’s funds. He was a feared man, but he had a generous heart sometimes. I would miss him a great. Getting into the car, I thought back to the first time I met my Uncle Mateo.

Mom was pregnant with my little sister, Jo-Ann, when we left Dad. She was now five years old. I had just turned fourteen, and Jay was twelve. Everything had gone fine until about a year before when Mom met and married Carlos. Carlos and I had bumped heads since he first came into Mom’s life. Carlos was a notorious drug dealer in Austin for many years, though he claimed to have stopped dealing a few years before meeting my mother. To me, he was just a loudmouth drunk who didn’t intimidate me in the least. One time, he tried to beat my little brother, but I got after him with a baseball bat. I’m not sure why, but as I grew older, I grew more and more violent. It had gotten hard for me to control my violent temper—and hard for people to talk to me. This was more than the usual adolescent anger. I was fighting more and more at school and getting beat more and more by my Mom. Everything was coming to a boiling point, and one day it all blew up.

Xaviar, get your butt in here right now! Mom yelled. As I walked into the living room, she was holding a bag of weed that I’d forgotten in my dirty clothes. Boy, you had better have a good explanation for this! she yelled, though we both knew that there wasn’t a good explanation. I thought her comment deserved a smart-ass reply.

Well, Mom, I found a seed in my step-dad’s stash and planted it in the pocket of my blue jeans. I guess it bloomed into a whole bag of weed. Man, that’s pretty cool, I said flashing Mom my most disarming smile.

My step-dad reached across the table and hit me in the eye with his closed fist. I saw stars. Mom knelt down to help me up. Carlos, I told you not to hit him anymore, and I meant it, she growled, looking at my face. My head was hurting, but as I started to get my senses back, my anger came with it—in full force.

The next time you so much as touch me, I promise that I will kill you, I said stomping to my room.

When I heard the phone ring, I figured it was Jay calling to tell Mom that he was going to eat dinner at a friend’s house. He’d been doing that a lot in the past year. On the other hand, I was always fighting or grounded, so friends for me were few and far between. I looked in the mirror and my eye had swollen a little, but it wasn’t black and blue yet.

Xaviar, your Grandma Peña is on the phone for you. It’s very important, so hurry up and get the phone, Mom called from the living room. I ran to the kitchen to pick up the phone so Mom couldn’t tell me what to say.

Hi, Grandma! I said, trying to sound cheerful.

Hello mijo, how are you doing? Are you staying out of trouble, or are you still fighting? she asked.

I’m okay, Grandma, and I’m trying.

That’s good, mijo, she replied, and then she went on, Do you remember your Uncle Paul?

Of course I do, Grandma, why?

Mijo, Uncle Paul was found dead two nights ago in his car on the east side of Austin. I know this is hard for you, because your Uncle Paul loved you so much. I want you to come to the funeral tomorrow. If your Mom can’t bring you, I will come get you.

Mom broke in on the living room phone and made an excuse for not taking me, but Grandma wasn’t hearing it. She told Mom to be quiet so she could find out if I wanted to go. Well, mijo, it’s not up to anyone but you. Do you want to go? Grandma asked.

Okay, Grandma, I replied, I’ll go to the funeral, but will Dad be there?

Oh yes, mijo, he’ll be there, and so will your Uncle Mateo. You haven’t met him before, but he has been keeping track of you.

Okay, Grandma, I want to go.

Well, let me talk to your mom, and I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you!

’Bye, Grandma, I love you, too, I said as I hung up the phone. I walked back to my room feeling like I had won a major victory. Dad would see my eye, and Carlos would be in big trouble. Dad would whip the hell out of him.

When Jay came home that night, I told him we were going to go see Dad tomorrow at Uncle Paul’s funeral. I told him Dad would beat Carlos up for hitting me like this. Jay saw my face and started to cry. He was still the softhearted one of all of us. Even little Jo-Ann would play-box with me and never cry. No matter how many times I pushed her or picked on her, she wouldn’t cry. She would just get mad and start swinging back at me. Jay on the other hand never liked to fight or even argue with people. I guess Jay had seen Mom beaten and hurt more than I did. He also spent more time with her, and I’m sure her crying from pain affected his outlook on violence. I stayed in my room thinking of what to say to Dad to make him want to fight Carlos. When I fell asleep that night, I dreamed about my Dad beating Carlos like he did Mr. Stephens in front of our house those many years ago.

As the sun started to shine through