We closed the door behind us, so I felt it was safe to be open with her. I cried out, “Mom is he coming back?” She replied, “No he’s not Shawn, I have an order of protection against him. He can’t come within 500 feet of our house. That man almost made me lose my baby.” She kissed me on the forehead and looked at my scar. I had 14 stitches in my head. I was lucky that the scar didn’t cross over my eye, or I would’ve been permanently disfigured.
As time passed, that ugly scar healed and was only a faint line on the side of my head. It frequently reminded me why I didn’t like Craig.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the last time I would see him. Sometimes he would still come around drunk or high on drugs and harass my mother. The Order of Protection wasn’t very successful in keeping him out of sight permanently. But it did prevent him from being able to push his way into our house like he did before.
It also gave my mother the sense of security that she needed to be strong. After some time, I spoke to my father again. Many years passed before I could respect him though. He caused me a pain that went beyond the scar on my face. That scar was just superficial. The original scar was the feeling that I didn’t have a father like other kids. Then his presence in my life created an additional scar.
Every time I saw him drunk or verbally abusing my mother it ripped at my heart. Those emotional scars preceded our little incident with the coffee table. I don’t think he ever understood that. Maybe if he would’ve taken the time to listen to my mother when she tried to talk to him, things could’ve turned out differently.
I was much too young to truly understand these things at the time. All that I was sure of was that he treated me like he treated everyone else in his life. He pushed me around and demanded that I play by his rules. I hoped that I would never grow up to be like him. But some things come down through the blood. It’s more like a gene or a trait that can be passed from a parent to a child. Even though I despised that trait and fought it with all the substance in my weary soul, it still prevailed over me. And so, just like Barry, I grew up to become Daddy’s son
Chapter 6: Shawn’s Test
High School was ending in two weeks and I was actually going to graduate. My buddies and I were so damn happy, that we wanted to celebrate. I proposed that we hook up after school and hang out at one of the guy’s house. But my homeboys had a much different plan. They wanted me to drive them to the liquor store in the City during lunch. I tried to warn them about coming to school drunk, alcohol is a tough odor to conceal. But they offered me some gas money, and as we all know, money talks. So that’s how it went down. We drove to the liquor store during lunch and bought some wine coolers, some malt liquor and a little bit of Gin. We sat in the car in front of the liquor store and got drunk as hell!
I thought I was really getting over easy, because I was drinking free liquor and they gave me gas money! If I would’ve known any better, I wouldn’t have come back to school that day.
Because within an hour of our return to school these dudes got us caught. I was called down to the principal’s office and I knew that it was trouble as soon as the security guard came to my English class.
Two of the fools I went to the liquor store with came back to school and vomited during gym! When they were taken to the Principal’s office, they told everything! As soon as I came downstairs, I saw each and every person that was in my car, all sitting in the office looking drunk, sick and pissed off. I whispered out, “Damn what happened? Who told on all of us?” I could see one of us getting caught, but why the whole crew? Somebody must have flat out told on everybody. As a result of this incident, I was not allowed to walk across the stage at graduation.
However, I did receive my High School diploma, in the mail. I think that kind of broke my mother's heart. I told her I was so very sorry for screwing up. She told me, “Shawn that was your only High School graduation, you should be sorry for yourself, not for me baby.” So now I was intent on joining the Army. It was the only thing I could do to make amends for the problems I caused throughout my high school career.
I needed the Army to save me from the destiny of failure which loomed over my head like a rain cloud waiting to burst with thunder storms. I contacted Sgt. Smith again and inquired about the results of my practice test. He told me that I did well enough to get in and I should schedule a date to take the real test. So I did, I scheduled the first available date to take the ASVAB. The sooner I could be heading out for training the better.
I had two weeks on my hands, and they were two of the longest weeks of my life. The only thing I could do to keep from going insane was exercise. I started running 1 mile a day and doing push-ups in the morning and the evening. I sent Barry a letter telling him that I was joining the Army. I bet he got a kick out of that. I could imagine him feeling proud of me as he sat in that old prison. He could live out his success through me.
Barry always tried to keep me away from trouble, although he was in the midst of it often, he wanted me to turn out to be better than him. So in a sense, my success would be his success too.
I planned to take the test, take my physicals and leave for training within a three month period. I wanted to be in training before the end of the summer. When the other kids were going to college, I would be going to the military. I didn’t want to be hanging around the hood like that dude Damon. It was only a matter of time before he landed himself some serious time in prison. Although I failed to walk across the stage, I wasn’t sweating about it at all. Because I had my sights set on what I perceived to be a greater prize. I wanted something that had more value than a crappy hat and robe.
I was planning on inviting my mother to the first military graduation in our family’s history.
These visions of grandeur helped me change my grim reality. The fact of the matter was I had to succeed in my quest for military entrance, or I would be a failure.
All of these thoughts swirled in my head as I entered the testing station for my ASVAB. That morning I observed everything in my surroundings much more critical than ever before.
As I entered the testing facility, I felt like more than a thug. I felt like a man making his own decisions. The people in the testing facility were so diverse. They came from so many different cultures and ethnic backgrounds. There was also a large range in the age of the potential recruits.
I saw kids my age looking as lost and nervous as myself, standing beside guys who looked old enough to be my father! One guy walked up to me and struck up a small conversation. “What’s up, my name is Atkins, um Marcus Atkins. Are you joining the Army or the Navy?”
I said, “My name is Shawn; I thought everybody here was joining the Army. But I guess all the branches use this place.” He looked at me as if he wanted to say, “Duh?” but I think he knew better. This guy was about 5 feet tall and 150 pounds soaking wet. “Well I’m here for the Army, but my buddy over there by the soda machine is joining the Marines. Man, they get too hardcore for my little ass!”
Atkins was a little “suburbanite” looking white kid. He probably wouldn’t dare approach me on the street, not even to ask for directions to the highway. I had an intimidating look about myself, when I chose to. Today, I chose to look tough, I wanted to come in the door letting people know not to mess with me.
I had on my muscle shirt, so I could show off my biceps. I said, “Hey Atkins, I know I’m getting in, I want this too much to walk away now. I will be taking this test every thirty days until they pass my butt!” We both laughed a little, but it wasn’t very funny. All of the sudden Sgt. Scott came out and called some names from a list he was holding. I was the first name he called, I felt a chill run through my body as I gave Atkins a handshake and walked into the testing room. I had to leave everything negative outside that door. The only thing standing between me, and a real career at this point was air and opportunity. So I sat in my seat, pulled out my number 2 pencils and put my thinking cap on extra tight. .I almost changed my mind when I sat down at the desk, but I quickl
y regained my nerve and took a deep breath, the way Damon does when he hits his Joint. This wasn’t the time for games. It was time to show and prove.
I spent hours taking that damn test. And each portion was timed, so I had to scramble through as much as I could when the time was running low.
The recruiter administering the test told us to finish as much as we could and guess on the rest. Well I think I guessed most of the test so I could get finished. And for that matter, I guess that was the best I could have done. I walked away from that situation feeling somewhat dissatisfied in my amount of knowledge, but I did my best. I swear I could not have done any better if I studied for two months straight. I spent plenty of time reading my textbooks to prepare, but none of the classes that I was in ever covered the crap on that test! I wasn’t in special education classes. But I suppose our school didn’t push us too hard.
I left the exam station in a hurry. I didn’t want to hang out, discuss the test or talk junk with the Guys. I just wanted to go home, jump in my bed with some headphones on, and just chill. I was going to spend the next few days waiting on my test scores. I was sure they would be the longest and most boring days of my life. When I got home, my mother was gone. She left some spaghetti on the stove for me.
I ate in the living room while watching some old TV shows on the City Channel. In the back of my mind I was thinking, something about that living room seemed different. I just couldn’t put my finger on it right away. I looked down at the floor and noticed it was freshly vacuumed. Mom was on the job today. I walked around the room and noticed, “Damn the T.V. is off center. Who’s been moving the furniture around?” I sat down on the couch, then quickly got up and grabbed the edge of the couch. I was going to drag it to the left a little so I could see the T.V. better, and then to my surprise I noticed something very odd. The T.V. wasn’t moved, it was the couch that had been moved. It was pulled from its original spot, and I could tell because of the indentations that it left on the carpet where it once stood. “Oh Shit!”
I pushed the couch up on its two hind legs and reached into the hole that was torn in the bottom by Barry, many years ago. I reached and wiggled my hand around finding nothing.
I dropped the couch and frantically rocked it back in forth from the front legs to the back, hoping to hear some type of rattling noise, or the sound of a heavy object moving about. I heard nothing at all.
My mother found my gun! I paced back and forth on the carpet holding my head in my hands and stopping my feet every fifteen steps like I was praise dancing in church. I couldn’t believe it. This was the worst thing that could possibly happen to me at this point in my life. I completely lost my appetite.
I just stuck my plate in the refrigerator and walked in my room. I flailed my body in the bed like a lifeless mass of garbage. That’s what I felt like, a big heap of junk! There was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. I was going to rest in the bed and wait for her to come home, so she could kick me out the house.
I knew that my time had come. I believed that all people reached a point early in their lives, where they screwed up with their parents just enough to get kicked out. Some screw up more and much earlier than others, they’re usually considered troubled youth.
But to make it to the ripe age of 18 before getting kicked out is not unnatural. Hell, I knew some kids who were living with relatives and friends while in high school. Barry got kicked out before he finished high school. So it wasn’t as bad as it seemed after all. I started talking to myself at this point, asking myself “where am I going to stay? I took my test already but I don’t know if I passed?”
Then I laughed at myself, I laughed so hard that tears starting streaming down my cheeks. “I’m gonna be fine, I’ll just call up one of my girls or something.” I think Barry called one of his girls when he got kicked out. And that was the worst decision that he made in his life. Maybe he wouldn’t be in jail today if he had an alternative. I could wind up in the same boat as Barry. I know that Damon would love the chance to catch me out of my element. I still thought he had beef with me. Plus I had a few other enemies waiting for a chance to take a bite outta my ass like a pack of rabid dogs! I turned over on my stomach and put my pillow over the back of my head. I thought about what I would say to my mother. She always swore to kick us out if she ever found anything illegal in the house.
Several hours passed before I heard my mother’s keys jingling at the door. She came in as usual, put some bags on the table and walked to my bedroom door.
She was peeking in my room door to see what I was doing. As usual, I pretended I was asleep until she closed my door. Then she went into her room, closed the door and turned on her shower water. If she wanted to kick me out, it would already be done. Then I wondered, what was she up to? I was going to wait this one out. I started second guessing myself at this point. I ran through my patterns and actions over the past few days, trying to recall if I lent my gun to someone, lost it or misplaced it somewhere in the house. I racked my brain trying to remember a name, a place, the last place I could remember having my gun and the last place that I hid it. I couldn’t figure out what I had done with it for the life of me.
I began to feel sleepy, so I took a 2 hour nap.
After I awoke, I was encouraged to get out of the bed and do something constructive. I put my shoes back on and decided to take a brisk walk to the gas station on 101st and Halford Street. It was early evening time and the sun was setting over the littered city streets.
As I walked from one city block to another, I could see abandoned buildings scattered throughout the neighborhood. On some street corners there were people just hanging out. In the midst of the ghetto I observed a group of kids playing tag in the street. I yelled at a group of kids, “Hey little boy, you need to stay out that street unless you got car bumpers on your ass!” They looked like they should’ve been in the house before curfew.
But nobody was going to bother them. This was the hood. Most of the criminals out thuggin in our hood knew one another’s families. So I was safe as long as I kept my eyes open and minded my own business. I was trying to avoid all trouble. As I walked, I noticed the streetlights clicking on sporadically up and down the streets. It was uncommonly gloomy that evening. In the City, it can get dark fast, especially in the beginning of fall. It was around the time of day when night is forcing its way throughout the skies and daylight recedes into the west. I loved Chi-town though.
It was my home, a place where baller’s and pimp’s go from rags to riches. A place where the city never sleeps, and the lake glistens off of a cluster of buildings downtown. Rib Joints line every neighborhood and pockets of foreigners form their own little cultural sections. I could’ve easily gone from standing on the corner to moving keys. I could’ve called my ex-drug boss and the dude who blessed Barry into the gang. That’s why they let me work that corner on the west side. I wasn’t even from around that hood, but they showed me love.
Dudes never crapped on me, because everyone knew my brother was crazy. I think Barry did a couple of hits for some of the bosses back in the day. Probably some crucial shit, back when those dudes were still selling weed by the pound. One of my ex-girlfriends told me she heard that Barry saved a drug kingpin’s life. Her older brother hung with some kingpins sometimes. As I was thinking to myself, I walked into the corner store oblivious of my surroundings. I didn’t pay attention to the seven kids shooting dice outside of the store. They looked like young teenagers. Around 12 to 14 years old.
They were throwing dice against the side of the building and smoking cigarettes. Then without warning, I heard four loud popping sounds! I ducked down and ran into the store. Six kids standing outside the store all took off running in different directions. The only person who didn’t move was this 13 year old kid. He was just lying there with a perfectly circular hole in his forehead. Blood was spreading from behind his head like a spout of water springing from the ground.
It just kept bleeding and bleeding. His blood was so
bright red, I wondered if it was bright because it was so young and pure. I stood there and looked at that kid dead on the street and I felt so bad for his mother. She would probably be crushed when she got the news. People were running into the street trying to flag down a police car. By the time one finally came around, the little boy’s blood was running onto the street curb. I later found out that he was shot by one of the kids playing dice with him. Apparently he owed the 12 year old shooter 30 dollars. That’s how it is in the City. The “Shorties” get buck wild at an earlier age every decade. Thank God I decided to join the Army.
The rest of my enlistment process went pretty smooth. I passed all of my exams and swore in within three weeks. The Doctors were all excited over me for some reason. They said I had something special, something about my blood or something. I was like, whatever? What’s special about my blood? As long as it’s not HIV positive I’m good.
Sgt. Scott wanted me to commit to a day when I would ship off to basic training, or what he called, “fly on the iron bird.”
I supposed he was referring to the airplane I would take to the training base. He called me early on a Thursday morning. I was half asleep when I picked up the phone, so I just told him, “As soon as possible Sarge. I’m trying to get this thing on the road.” Sarge chuckled and said, “Well then Shawn, come into my office tomorrow and sign the paperwork. We can get you out of here within a month.”
I yelled out, “A month! Damn that’s a long time! I could be dead in a month Sarge!” Then Sarge cut me off, “Well listen, that’s as soon as I can get you into training for your chosen Military Occupational Specialty”. I settled down, “Okay then, I will sign the papers tomorrow. Bye.” He yelled out, “Welcome to the U.S. Army, where you have to hurry up and wait.” He laughed, but I didn’t. That shit really wasn’t funny to me, so I hung up on him. As I was falling back asleep in the bed I wondered what the hell I would do for a month.
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