I BELIEVE THAT everything happens for a reason, but I find it hard to accept that the reason Marilyn came into my life was to help me release the demons within me and to absorb them through my violence toward her. In retrospect, however, that is exactly what happened. Marilyn beckoned and allowed me to dig deep inside myself and let loose all the things that had impaired my growth. She helped me see things in terms of the truth, not through the myths laid before me by my abusers. Because of Marilyn I learned to hate—and at the same time understand—my mother for her actions, and therefore I was able to forgive her. I only regret the way I released my pain, suffering, and confusion. I don’t think that in Marilyn’s wildest dreams she thought that by helping me open up and deal with my demons she would become the target of unspeakable horror. I wish I could have learned about the realities of my violent outbursts without Marilyn suffering them. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the case. I now fear that, in doing away with the traumas of my life, I inflicted new, lasting ones on the very person who saved me.
19 Changes
AFTER ONLY TWO months of being on my own I felt a peace of mind that completely overwhelmed me. I walked for miles sometimes for no other reason than the feeling of being able to do it without having to look over my shoulder. I knew no one and no one knew me, and I liked it like that. There was no graffiti separating gang turf because there was no gang turf. And even if there was, I was oblivious to it because I no longer recognized that lifestyle. I no longer allowed the gang life to reign supreme over the kind of person I should be and the attitude I should present. I saw gang life for what it was—a waste of time and a waste of life. I began to like living in Dallas because of the peacefulness it offered me, but it also represented the terror that I had inflicted on Marilyn. I wanted to forget about that and knew that the only way I could do so was to leave. Without research or any well-thought-out motive, I decided to pack up and move to Miami.
I submitted my two weeks’ notice at the college and called Chicago to locate Marilyn with the intention of apologizing. Four days after I spoke to her sister, Marilyn called.
In the short amount of time that Marilyn had been back in Chicago, she’d found a job and an apartment. Marilyn also used this time by herself to deal with the things that had happened between us in Dallas. The distance between us allowed her to talk freely and bluntly about how she felt about what had happened to her. In no uncertain terms Marilyn let me know what a big jerk I had been. I did nothing to stop her from expressing herself; in fact, I encouraged her. From that day on we talked on the phone almost daily, and there wasn’t one conversation when I didn’t apologize for what had happened between us. Tears more often than not accompanied those apologies, as I would visualize her look of horror and beat myself up for having caused her pain. Marilyn said that she forgave me and wanted to see me, but not in Dallas. A little over two months from the day Marilyn left, I packed up my car and headed for Chicago. I wanted to see her one last time before I made my way to Miami. I knew that it would make my trip a lot longer but I also knew that I had to look into her eyes and beg forgiveness. Marilyn didn’t know about my plans to move on to Miami. As far as she knew my permanent destination was Chicago.
THE DRIVE FROM Dallas to Chicago was long, yet it felt as if I was on the road for only minutes. I was anxious to get the trip over with, so I drove straight through, stopping only for gas. My thoughts were clear and clean. I marveled at the landscapes I drove through and wondered why I hadn’t explored more of the world and what it had to offer. I looked at myself in the rearview mirror and smiled, knowing that soon I would be able to explore the country whenever I wanted.
I arrived around noon on a beautiful, sunny Saturday in the city that had once been my home. I had been gone nine months. I got off the highway on the south side of the city and made my way north, driving through the streets that shaped what Chicago was all about. At noon, the city was already alive with all the peoples and cultures that make up this city. I made my way past Humboldt Park and drove on streets that had soaked up blood spilled because of my ignorance. As I looked out the window of my air-conditioned car, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for those who had crossed my path. I began to sweat and tremble but not because I was scared. It dawned on me that here I was in a city where I had lived most of my life, a city with millions of inhabitants, and there wasn’t one person who would be happy to see me, not even my family. I knew then that I could never live in Chicago again, regardless of how much I loved it.
By the time I got out of the Humboldt Park area I was drenched in sweat. Again I looked in the rearview mirror and for the first time I saw my face and Humboldt Park together in one place, and I smiled in my newly felt security. My heart, already accelerated, slowed to a complete and normal calm once Humboldt Park was no longer in sight. I drove to Wrigley Field, parked my car, and walked around it, wondering if I could have ever been good enough to play for the Cubs. I remembered how I loved to play baseball as a kid and not being able to play as I grew into a teenager because of my gang involvement and drug use. A tear rolled down my face as I recalled how the abuse I had suffered at home tore me away from the game I loved so much and led me into a life of destruction. I bought a Cubs cap from one of the street vendors, then sat on the stairs of a building across the street from Wrigley and stared at the stadium. After about an hour of daydreaming, I walked away with the feeling that, if I had only had the love and support of a parent, I could have played at Wrigley. It may have been far-fetched, but it was my conclusion and it served its purpose.
I went over the words I wanted to say to Marilyn as I drove, hoping that our meeting would bring closure to the guilt I felt. My plan was to apologize to Marilyn face-to-face, then get out of town as fast as I could.
I arrived at Marilyn’s and knocked on her door nervously. I heard footsteps coming toward the door and I wanted to run away before it was opened. I braced myself for the worst as the locks on the door were undone and the door opened. I saw Marilyn’s face and noticed that she was just as nervous as I was. We stared at each other for several minutes before speaking. “Come in,” Marilyn said softly. “How are you?” I whispered as I entered the apartment. She closed the door and we stood there silently looking at each other. I didn’t know what to do. All the things I’d thought of saying to her, and the apology I had longed to give her for so long, would not come out of my mouth. Finally, we stepped toward each other and hugged. The hug turned into a kiss and from then on it seemed as though the horrors that had happened in Dallas weren’t even a memory.
Marilyn and I ended up driving and walking around Chicago that whole weekend and making passionate love at every opportunity. On my first day back, we talked a little about what had happened in Dallas. Then we decided to put the subject to rest so that we could begin healing. After that weekend I started driving Marilyn to and from work and listened to her desire for me to stay with her in Chicago—words spoken between our love-making sessions. It seemed as if Marilyn had forgotten about everything that had happened in Dallas, and I had forgotten why I came to Chicago. Living with Marilyn again, and living in Chicago again, felt promising.
On my fifth day in Chicago Marilyn told me not to pick her up after work because she was going to run some errands with a friend. With free time on my hands I went to an early afternoon Cubs game and then decided to seek out members of my family. My older sister still lived in the same place. I found her boyfriend hanging out in front of their building, accompanied by a small group of Latin Kings and Queens. In that group was my younger sister, who was now also a member of the Latin Queens and was pregnant by a Latin King. They sat there drinking and smoking weed with infants present, including my niece. My little sister also smoked and drank even though she was pregnant. My mother looked down from the second-floor window at them as if everything were normal. For them, it was.
I felt like continuing on without stopping, but couldn’t because they spotted me and called out to me. My little sister ran to me a
nd hugged me. As I held her, all I could think about was the nauseating smell of marijuana and cigarette smoke that oozed from her clothing and hair. My “brother-in-law” shook my hand and seemed surprised and a bit irritated when I didn’t follow through in forming the Kings’ handshake. I simply held his hand firmly, normally, and with respect for myself. My mother appeared and hung onto my neck for dear life as she cried. Sadly, I didn’t know her well enough to know whether they were tears of joy or pain. Then, reluctantly, I went upstairs to drink the cup of coffee she offered to make for me.
I sat in my sister’s apartment for what was the longest, most awkward, and uncomfortable half hour of my life. There we were, mother and son, in a ten-by-ten room, sitting about two feet from each other, and we had hardly a word to say to each other. My mother told me she planned to return to Puerto Rico in the coming months. I mentioned my displeasure with the activity going on around and in front of my niece. That was all I said. I finally got up the nerve to say my good-byes and got out of there as quickly as I could. I promised I’d be back before I left town, knowing full well that I had no intention of doing so. Again, I left with everyone thinking I was living in California.
I drove off feeling sad and disillusioned. I wondered how much I had contributed to my siblings’ current lifestyle and if it would take them doing jail time to finally wake up as I had done. This visit with my family served only to fortify my feeling that I didn’t belong in Chicago. I could not live in the same city with the family I felt didn’t care for me or love me and still be OK. I knew that sooner or later I would confront my mother about her lack of love for me. I knew that at some point I would blow up at my sister over the environment she was creating for her children. And I feared that when that day came, no one would care or listen and I’d be dismissed as an unimportant part of the family. I feared that I would eventually blow up in a violent uproar that would result in a great tragedy.
The next day, against Marilyn’s wishes and tears, I left for Miami. Marilyn seemed angered about my sudden decision to leave. She repeatedly asked me why I was leaving, but I felt no need to answer her. The passion we had shared since I arrived back in Chicago was overshadowed by my memories of what had happened in Dallas. The anger I felt toward my family made me realize that a violent outburst was just a confrontation or a word away. I loved Marilyn but needed to get as far away from her as possible. Marilyn looked at me with her tear-filled and beautiful eyes and didn’t say another word. It was as if she finally realized why I wanted to leave. It was as if she sensed another demon getting ready to expose itself from inside me and she wanted no part of it. Although I knew that my destination was Miami, I told Marilyn I was returning to Dallas.
As I drove out of Chicago, I began to feel calm and secure about my future. I was uncertain about the weeks and months ahead but optimistic that I could make it on my own. The drive to Miami was long but incredibly peaceful. My mind was free of the hate brought on by past memories of a life filled with violence. This violence, my mother, and Marilyn still occupied space within me, but they didn’t make me angry any longer, nor did they make me cry tears of sorrow. I had analyzed these feelings and learned from them. When I did cry because of my memories, the tears were accompanied by a smile because I knew the tears were over the joy I felt for having survived.
20 Here and Now
THIS IS MY private life today. Please excuse me for being vague about details regarding my family. I do this to protect them.
I’m living my life and dealing with my God on a daily basis. I know I have a lot to make up for, and I don’t allow myself to forget that for one second. I have come a long way from the kid once fascinated by a big city, and from the ruthless gang member that kid became. I survived the hardships of the ghetto streets in Chicago and prison life. Now each and every day is a struggle to survive as a normal, law-abiding citizen.
Upon arriving in Miami, I took any job I could find regardless of how menial it was. I washed dishes, slopped hamburgers, and, yes, I did get promoted to the fry station. While working at these jobs, I searched for a job where I could use the few computer skills I had learned in prison and at previous jobs. I also wanted to get back to school and further prepare myself for the future. I filled out many applications and went to dozens of interviews with no luck, but I didn’t get discouraged. I knew that advancement comes by education and hard work, by being born to financially successful parents, or by kissing ass. I had no choice but to work hard and get as much knowledge as possible about anything and everything. Getting turned down for a job wasn’t half as bad as dodging bullets. I had always known the rules of right and wrong, but now I was living by them. I knew the consequences of living life as a criminal and those of working hard and dedicating myself to living in peace. I decided to worship the latter with all my might.
Finally I was hired as a customer service representative for a cable company. I was on my way. The company offered a paid-tuition program as long as I was gaining skills that would help me in my job. I enrolled in computer classes at a junior college and have been working with computers in one form or another ever since.
Once I arrived in Miami I became obsessed with making myself a better person through hard work and education. I engraved in my mind that no one was to blame for my failures and no one was to be rewarded for my successes but me. My bilingual and computer skills allowed me to readily gain employment. I went from one job to another, not because I was fired or asked to resign, but because I kept moving into jobs with higher pay and more responsibilities. Ultimately I ended up with a large national company that allows me to grow within the organization while paying for my continuing education. I have been with the same company for almost ten years now.
I’m married and a father. I met my wife about a year after I arrived in Miami and married her after six months of dating. Two years later our first child was born, and my life was changed completely. I remember looking into my child’s eyes for the first time and finally knowing what the meaning of true love was. Two years later our second child came along. Having been there every step of the way through the births of my children, I can’t imagine what selfishness causes some parents to just abandon their kids or allow them to become victims of abuse. I have never felt love like the love I feel from my kids. And I imagine I never will.
Each and every day I worry about the activities and kids my children may get involved with, and what kind of influences and temptations they face. Because of my experiences as a child, I am very protective of them and wary of all adults around them including teachers, coaches, and other parents, and even in shopping malls they are never out of my sight. I don’t want any child, especially my own, to ever go through the kind of experiences I did. This is why I am so protective. I forever keep in mind my belief that if I had had loving, supportive parents involved in my day-to-day life, then I would have been saved from the lifestyle that sucked me in. This is why I dedicate each and every day to showing my kids the importance of being a close family, and the need to work hard and get an education.
My wife and I go through the same ups and downs that every couple goes through. We come from extremely different worlds and ways of life. Her family represents everything mine doesn’t. They are tight-knit, very family oriented, and have solid moral values, which revolve around her parents. Not surprisingly, they all lead pretty productive lives. Our differences do present problems that make it hard for us to understand each other’s needs sometimes. Fortunately, we do have one belief in common that allows us to survive and motivates us to work on understanding each other—we both believe that our children will be happiest if they have two parents to raise them. We realize that our love for our children is stronger than any difference we may have. Knowing this has opened up many lines of communication for us. But although we are strong as a family unit, we are both aware that if it weren’t for our kids, we wouldn’t be together at all.
I STOPPED GOING to school when my first child was born to allow m
y wife to be a stay-at-home mom. This was a decision we discussed together, and we decided that it would be best for our children’s upbringing. Even though I still do not have a college degree, I have been able to work myself into a comfortable position within corporate America that allows me to support my family and provide a comfortable lifestyle for them. I’m a big believer that everything is possible through education and regret not having completed mine.
I HAVE MADE great strides in creating a relationship with my own family. I visit them every now and then, and keep in contact with them over the phone. I have accepted that we will never be a tight-knit family and, considering what we’ve been through and our differences, it’s probably better this way. When we do get together, I never bring up our upbringing with my siblings or my mother. We talk about our kids, music, supermarket-tabloid-type subjects, and find some comfort in discussing our individual accomplishments. This allows our time together to be a pleasant refuge from the anger and difficulties of the past. The ultimate compliment I have received since I began to interact with my family again came from one of my sister’s coworkers. This woman had been told about my past. Upon meeting me she exclaimed that if she hadn’t been told, she never would’ve known. Amen.
I HAVE FINALLY gained the peace of mind I long searched for. I no longer have nightmares about the violence of my past. I don’t drink or smoke anything, or do drugs. I don’t get angry very easily and choose to go for a run instead of expressing my displeasure through confrontation.
Once a King, Always a King: The Unmaking of a Latin King Page 24