Once a King, Always a King: The Unmaking of a Latin King

by Reymundo Sanchez

  For some reason, I came to the same conclusions regarding my sisters. Maybe it was because they visited so few times. We had very little to say to each other. One would think that after so many years of separation we would have a lot to say to catch up on one another’s lives, but not us. We talked briefly about the circumstances that put me in jail, but only back to the point when I met Lilly. They seemed to have this unspoken feeling that if I had taken better care of myself, if I had been a better person, a real man, then I wouldn’t be where I found myself. The unspoken words seemed to express that I had betrayed my own manhood and let the family down. Had I not been at the work release center, I probably would have gone out, gotten drunk, and committed an act of violence against someone in the name of my family. Instead, I secluded myself in my room and wrote this poem:

  Unearth the darkness of shadows long past,

  of screams and blood and sorrows.

  Unveil the nightmares and the fear of sleep.

  There you’ll find a soul crying to be talked to

  and understood, not laughed at and dismissed.

  God protects the soul that has faith and knows its

  boundaries, but man sets boundaries in the name

  of God and distorts the direction of the faithful.

  And therefore the faithless, flesh-loving creatures inflict

  torture on the already wounded spirit.

  As they rejoice at their position in life.

  The pain. The agony.

  Time stands still and awaits mercy,

  but the feeling is forsaken, overlooked, ignored.

  The so-called family, friends, all the same,

  distant, oblivious, blind.

  This was the last poem I would write for a long time. In many ways it still applies to the relationships I have with certain members of my family today.

  AFTER SIX MONTHS at the work release center, I was released on parole. The conditions of my parole were simple: stay off drugs, don’t commit any crimes, and continue the exemplary behavior I had shown as an inmate. The time I spent at the work release center really helped me get myself together. There, I saw how little freedom meant to so many, and how they wanted it so very much, but for all the wrong reasons. I discovered how easy it was to lose freedom and how much easier it was to keep it. Mostly, I learned that I would never be able to have the meaningful conversations with my mother that I wanted to have. I learned how to block out my desire for her acceptance and think only about me.

  The real test of who I was had begun. I would be on my own with no rules or on-the-spot testing to keep me in line. No doubt temptations would come at me from all directions. It was time to really find out what the future had in store for me, and to take the measure of my own strength.

  10 New Beginning

  I WAS RELEASED from the center on a Friday, at my own request. That gave me a whole weekend to get settled into my new living quarters before going back to work at UIC on Monday. With all the overtime I worked while I was at the center, I had managed to save almost four thousand dollars. I used the money to rent an apartment for Lilly and me, and for a used car to get myself to work and back. I had been promoted to a full-time clerk’s position at the Admissions and Records Office and had gotten a raise to seven dollars and fifty-five cents an hour. It certainly wasn’t the kind of money I had once made in the cocaine business, but it was mine and the legal system could not take it from me. As far as I was concerned, I was making more money than I had ever made in my life.

  That weekend—my first weekend of freedom in two years—I did nothing but stay in the apartment and enjoy the littlest of freedoms that I had once taken for granted. I could watch television any time I wanted, and any channel I wanted. I took a shower, knowing that there would be no naked male bodies there other than mine. I looked out the window, knowing that I could walk the streets whenever I wanted, but I chose to stay in and rejoice in the peacefulness of my freedom.

  Monday after work I had to go check in with my parole officer, who told me that I no longer had to attend the NA meetings, but that I could be tested for drugs at any moment without notice. He also told me that my exemplary prison and work release records put me on an honor system with him. We agreed that he wouldn’t show up at my work or home if I would show up to my monthly visits with him, and on time, and kept myself clean. He did, however, make it clear to me that if he suspected any wrongdoing on my part, he could, and would, show up at places I wouldn’t want him to, and could revoke my parole if he felt it was necessary. I readily agreed with him. I shook his hand firmly and told him that I would be the easiest case he had ever had. I left his office confident that I would see him only once a month, when I went to his office. The rules he had laid out were no-brainers for me—someone set on keeping himself out of trouble and out of jail.

  Living with Lilly provided every single temptation I worried about. She still smoked weed laced with cocaine whenever she could. When cocaine was not available, she would smoke plain marijuana. Although I worried that her habit would get me in trouble, the sex we had when she was high was so incredible that I learned to live with the risk.

  Lilly had a couple of friends who would come over and get high with her. One of them was a girl named Lisette. Lisette dressed very provocatively. Whether she knew it or not, she was invoking sexual thoughts in the men around her, including myself. Lisette was indeed an attractive girl and seemed to be sort of a tease, but she was also very intelligent and quick-witted. My comments on the way she dressed led us to become very comfortable talking to each other and joking with each other in a sexual way. Lilly realized it was all in good fun so she went right along with it. Lisette and I also had discussions about topics that Lilly and I never even mentioned, much less had conversations about. We discussed the idiotic nature of gangs, and the hypocrisy of people who lived in gang-infested neighborhoods. We shared our thoughts about the need for education and the lack of interest Latinos showed in getting it.

  Unbeknownst to Lilly, I looked forward to Lisette’s visits. I found myself thinking about Lisette while I had sex with Lilly. I didn’t, however, come on to her in any sexual way. It was her conversation I appreciated more than her sexual presence, and I didn’t want to ruin that. Lisette satisfed me in a new way—she fed my mind.

  On one occasion, when Lilly, Lisette, and I sat in the living room talking, it became apparent that Lilly had told Lisette about our bathroom escapades while I was in jail. I found it surprising yet fascinating that Lisette wished she had had that experience. I tried to get her to comment further about her desire, but she would say no more. I became overwhelmed with sexual desire for Lisette and fantasized about having sex with her as I sat there trying to provoke a sexual conversation.

  I persisted and even decided to join them in smoking a joint in order to keep the subject alive. Lisette didn’t elaborate any further, but I continued smoking weed. That night led me to rekindle my relationship with marijuana. I shrugged off cocaine and even cocaine-laced joints, but from that night on smoking weed again became a daily thing. The thought of being drug-tested on one of my visits to my parole officer never crossed my mind. I didn’t think it would be too hard to get my parole officer to believe I was clean. In fact, even though I was smoking weed I was convinced that I wasn’t breaking any rules or deceiving anyone. Not even myself.

  My work at UIC continued to excel. I was given more and more responsibilities and was trusted with deadlines and critical duties. I relished the idea that I was an important part of the dayto-day functions of the Admissions and Records Office at UIC. With these new responsibilities came more interactions with highly educated people, and with those on their way to being highly educated. My lack of vocabulary skills made me feel inadequate around them. I usually resorted to joking around and making people laugh in order to mask my lack of education. I also began to seek information about attending classes at UIC, which I could take at no charge because I was a full-time employee.

  Lill
y worked as a cashier at Woolworth’s. She always complained about being underpaid and not having enough money to buy the things she liked. Her solution to that dilemma was to start selling small amounts of cocaine. At first I was indifferent about it, but when I next went to see my parole officer, I left his office with a very uneasy feeling. The fact that I was smoking marijuana daily didn’t bother me the way Lilly’s cocaine business did. I only smoked marijuana when I was at home. I never smoked before or during work or out in public. In fact, the only people I smoked marijuana with were Lilly and Lisette, and a few others related to them in some way. Lilly’s cocaine selling was different in that it attracted strangers who more than likely had some sort of criminal background. My fear of violating parole led me finally to protest Lilly’s actions.

  Lilly had built a small customer base she felt was safe to do business with. She said we needed the extra money and that she was taking the necessary precautions to make sure she didn’t get caught. She did not acknowledge my argument that people were coming to our apartment to get cocaine. Lilly simply dismissed it by saying that the people who came there for cocaine already knew where she lived and would not bring people she didn’t know with them.

  “Listen, Lilly,” I told her, “I’m afraid to go back to jail, and what you are doing can make that happen.” “Don’t worry, papi (daddy),” she responded. “I love you and would never do anything that would take you away from me.”

  I told Lilly that I had gone through the admissions process at UIC and had been accepted as a student. I told her that I had planned to surprise her with the news over dinner once I actually registered for my first class. I tried to make her understand that I would most likely need all the help I could get to get through college, and that meant having students come over to help me study. “I don’t want this shit in our lives, Lilly. Please leave it alone,” I begged her. “Oh, so you’re going to be a college boy, huh?” Lilly responded. “Pendejo (idiot), you’re a fuckin’ con. Don’t think you’ll ever be anything else.”

  Lilly’s words shot through me like steel blades that repeatedly stabbed my heart. I retreated to the bedroom and sat at the end of the bed with my head in my hands. For a moment I felt that I was in the loneliest, darkest cell I had ever been in. I imagined the steel bars and the sounds of inmates begging for freedom while blaring, dissonant music drowned out their pleas. I was awakened only by the sound of Lilly’s voice in the distance, saying, “He wants to be a college boy—que pendejo (what an idiot).” I began to question my decision to attend college. Lilly was right, I would always be nothing more than a convict in the eyes of the world. The only change I could look forward to was being an ex-convict.

  I lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, half expecting Lilly to come into the room and apologize for what she had said. I guess she didn’t feel an apology was in order, because she came in the room only to offer me a hit from her cocaine-laced joint. When I turned it down, she left the room and returned with a regular joint, which she laid on my chest with a cigarette lighter, then left. I lit up the joint and smoked it in the dark, throwing the ashes on the floor. I stared into nowhere and saw prison bars surrounding me every time I blinked my eyes.

  When I finished the joint, I went to take a shower. I had a sudden craving for some Puerto Rican food from one of the portable food shacks in Humboldt Park. While I showered, Lilly came in and joined me. She immediately tried to kiss me and began kissing my neck and chest when I rejected her kiss. Lilly worked her way down until she was performing oral sex on me. I watched her. I had always enjoyed every aspect of Lilly’s sexual ways, but for the first time since I had met her, this sex wasn’t enjoyable. I watched with no feeling of pleasure whatsoever and placed her with all the rest of the women in my life. She was Rosie, the girl who became my lover only to set me up to be killed; she was Maria, the thirty-five-year-old who fucked me when I was thirteen and ruined me sexually forever; she was Blanca, my girlfriend who became pregnant by an prison inmate; and she was my mother.

  The sight of Lilly performing oral sex on me as if it were going to make everything better sickened me. I grabbed her violently by her hair and thrust my penis deep in her mouth. Lilly gagged and fell backward, hitting her head on the shower wall. I walked out as she lay on the shower floor holding her head and gagging. By the time she recovered enough to come out of the bathroom, I was gone.

  Lilly and I had never had any type of meaningful communication in our relationship. It was based solely on our sexual desires and drug use. As long as we were high, the sex was good; we were OK. After that day, the one thing that had kept us together ceased to exist. I no longer felt any urge to be with her sexually, and really didn’t even want to see her face anymore. I began to threaten her with calling the cops if she didn’t stop dealing cocaine, and I lost all interest in her sexual needs. When we did have sex, which wasn’t often anymore, I fulfilled my own pleasures and left her sometimes literally begging for more attention. Lilly became very upset at my sudden change in attitude, and blamed my desire to go to college. She threatened to leave me if I didn’t change and see things her way. When I told her to please go ahead, she took it as sarcasm—that I would be sorry for if I didn’t stop. What she didn’t realize was that I really did want her out of my life. And I wanted her to leave because I was the one paying the rent. It was my security deposit being held.

  While my relationship with Lilly deteriorated, my work life blossomed. I treasured and valued the respect and acceptance I received from my colleagues at UIC. After six months of parole, I was given early release. An early termination of parole time was reserved for those individuals who completely rehabilitated themselves, and I was one of them. I had done a good job of keeping my relationship with marijuana hidden. As far as I was concerned, I was rehabilitated. “You proved me wrong,” my parole officer said the day he announced that he was terminating my parole. “You’re a Latin King. Seems like the only thing they know how to do is to be Latin Kings. Latin Kings have it easy in jail and don’t mind going there over and over.”

  “That’s where you are mistaken,” I retorted. “I’m not a Latin King; I was never a King.” My definition of being a King had changed since the days when I was simply an animal, destroying my own people. If I had truly been a King, I would have stood up against all the drug dealing, gun trafficking, and destruction of our neighborhoods. But that’s not what the Latin Kings stood for anymore, and that’s why I was never a King.

  My parole officer explained that he had put in a request to terminate my parole early after my fourth visit with him. He said that the change in my attire, the way I walked, and the way I expressed myself impressed him so much that he felt he was wasting his time and mine. “Rey, you looked like a punk gangbanger when you first walked into my office six months ago. Now look at you, neatly dressed, walking with your head up, not with a lazy slouch, and you act like you care,” he told me as he handed me the parole termination papers to sign. “I got a lot to make up to God,” I told him as I signed the papers and handed them back to him. “Oh, so that’s it,” he responded. “You found religion.” “No, not quite,” I told him, “I just decided to deal with my God and let everyone else deal with theirs. My God has been waiting for a long time for me to start dealing with him as he has been dealing with me.” The parole officer got up and extended his hand to me. “Good luck, Rey. I see good things coming your way,” he said. “You have my card. Call me if you need anything.” I thanked him as I walked out of his office.

  I left feeling the same way I came in. I didn’t feel a sudden relief or any burden lifted off my shoulders. To me, being on parole wasn’t a burden at all. I thought of it as a mere formality, but a formality I didn’t want anyone to know about. Being an ex-con, however, presented me with a burden I would have to carry around for the rest of my life, one that deeply embarrassed me. In the back of my mind lay the fear that if anyone ever found out, then I would certainly end up back where I had started.


  THE HOME SITUATION with Lilly got worse by the day. She began to question my sexuality and at one point called me a coward for not standing up to the Kings when they were after me. I stopped sleeping with her altogether and repeatedly asked her to leave. I was still stubborn enough not to pack up and leave myself. In an act of desperation, Lilly got my mother and sisters involved in our personal problems. They began stopping by my apartment to offer advice to Lilly, someone they barely knew. It upset me that, before our problems began, my sisters rarely came by, and now when they did visit, it was to see Lilly, not me. Their lack of concern for my feelings or my opinions pissed me off. After all, they were supposed to be my family, not hers. Their presence made me despise Lilly even more than I had before.

  I started working later hours and hanging out with coworkers after work to avoid being around Lilly. I learned how to play racquetball and played almost nightly at the university’s courts. During that time my coworkers had no clue about the problems I had at home. I was living two different lives, and I preferred the one I had separate and apart from Lilly.

  One Thursday night, Lilly sat in the living room with my sisters and Lisette. When I arrived, she immediately gave me an ultimatum. “This is it, Rey,” Lilly said. “If you are not here by seven tomorrow night, you are not going to find anything here except your clothes when you do get here.” Looking at Lisette, I asked, “You will still come by and visit, won’t you?” Lisette hesitated, then replied, “You’re my friend, of course I will.” With that I retreated into the bathroom, took a shower, and went straight to bed.

  The next day, Friday, I went out with several coworkers for happy hour. I ended up staying out on purpose until just after midnight. All my coworkers had left the bar to go home about nine that evening. I stayed and talked baseball with a couple of guys at the bar and had something to eat while I was there. When I got home I found that Lilly had finally made good on her threat to leave. She moved out and left nothing behind except my clothes. As I walked around the empty apartment, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud at the whole predicament. Then a sudden feeling of peace came over me. I felt as if I had been released from prison all over again, only this time it was true freedom.