As the flames got higher and higher in the car was engulfed you can hear the screams of the two guys in the back . One was screaming " I don't want to die god help me", the other was just screaming at the top is lungs. I lit a cigarette and looked at Angel and said, let's get the fuck outta here.
We jumped in the truck with the lights off and rolled away real slow to make sure the entire car went up in flames. I know it's a gruesome way to start my story but it's all I know all my life.
As far as I can remember all I've ever known all I've ever seen was gruesome or criminal. I was born in New York in September 27 1965. I can't even remember my childhood, I only remember very little things that were really joyous. the only thing I remember of my childhood, was all the death and criminal activities around me.
I remember once when I was oh about five or six I was walking along my mother down the streets of New York's Spanish Harlem don't ask me what street was. I will never remember. I do remember what did happen that day. We were walking back from my aunt's house, when we saw a whole bunch of people running towards the corner and all the firetrucks and police cars were blocking the streets. Of course we went to see what was going on well, I was dragged along that is and we stopped to view a burning building. You see, in New York in those times when a landlord or should I say a building owner couldn't afford the taxes on the building anymore or couldn't afford fixing it. He would torch the building and collect on the insurance. It was the easy way out rather than continuing the struggle of keeping the building up to code. Well anyway, as the fire reached the very last floor which was about the ninth floor or so. A lady in the crowd screamed that her daughter was still in the building. When people heard that they all looked up and in Spanish they asked her " what floor is she on? and she pointed out to the very last floor. You can hear some of the women in the crowd say "oh my God", then a few of the men in the crowd started screaming to the firemen there is a girl still inside on the top floor. The firemen look back and asked him what floor? And it seemed like the whole crowd pointed at the same time at the ninth floor apartment. At that point everyone looked up at the fire escape and saw what to me as a child seem so unreal. It was a walking body of fire. People screamed "oh my God". The girl walked out engulfed in flames. the mother screamed at the top of her lungs and passed out. The firemen tried to reach the ninth floor but the ladder could not reach that high. So the fire chief told the firemen on the ladder to douse her with water. Now here's the fucked up part. The firemen at the end of the ladder didn't know how to control the water pressure. So when he opened the water, the pressure came out so powerful that it knocked the girl off the fire escape. Knocking her down to nine floors and her flaming body hit the concrete headfirst and made it splattering sound. I saw the whole thing, my mother tried to shield my eyes but it was too late. Her head hit the sidewalk like a watermelon being dropped off the top of the building and splattering all over the place.
That was my first death, that is it was the first time I witnessed death but it would not be the last. Another time I remember looking out our apartment building window. When I saw two shady characters peeking around a building corner looking down the street. Talking to each other as if they were up to no good. Along comes a man on a bicycle, an older man roughly in his 50s. As soon as I figured out what was about to happen, it happened. The guys jumped on the man wrestled him off his bike started struggling with him. The man reached to his side and pulled out a 38 snub nose. One of the two junkies grab a paper bag out of the man shirt. Which to me as a child of the age of about eight was ridiculous to fight over a paper bag. You see what I didn't know is that the two junkies were planning it out long ago. The man on a bicycle owned his own store or as we call it in New York a bodega. This must of been a sunday or something because in the paper bag the man was taking the weeks money earned from his bodega to the home and the junkies were hip to him. The struggle continued while the one junkie walked away looking inside the bag the other continued to fight the man for his 38 snub nose. They pointed the gun up they pointed the gun down and finally a shot rang out. Then I started seeing blood rushing out the man eye socket. It so happened that the bullet ricocheted off the sidewalk and back into the old dudes eye. He fell to the ground and the junkie who had the gun then looked up at me and pointed the gun. my father yanked my ass away from the window and close to shade.
Now this was not over yet .after that, in the middle of the following week there was a knock on the door. My father was at work and my mother asked, "who is it?" And a man's voice said, "excuse me (senora)miss" but someone has broken into your mailbox and you mail was all over the floor. I'm just bringing it up to you and let you know that you need to fix your mailbox. My mother didn't know she opened the door and there he was the man that pointed the gun at me. He looked at me, gave my mother the mail she offered him a couple of dollars for the favor but he refused and said to my mother no dont worry about it senora. Looked at me with a smile and knew that I remembered him. When my mother closed the door I looked at her and told her "mommy that's the man who shot that guy last week and pointed the gun at me". My mother was in shock and as soon as my father returned home she told him and he told her we got a move out of here. That bastard knows where we live and he will be back.
I don't know how my father did but we moved out of that apartment within two weeks. After that situation, me and my sister were pretty much locked up in our apartment because my parents feared the streets. there was seven of us kids, 4 brothers and 3 sisters and my mother and father God bless their souls, could never keep up with all seven kids. My dad worked two jobs and still could not make ends meet. It seemed that every time he turned his back one of my brothers would end up going to jail. My father was a hard worker, he would leave one job come home sleep two hours. He would wake up eat something and go to the next job. I've never seen my dad until Sunday mornings which was the only day that he didn't work. Sunday's to me were the best days of the week because as soon as his sun was cracking through the window's the radio in the kithcen would blast out that salsa and old country music. I'd wake up with a big smile on my face because I knew that my father was home and I felt safe again. Over the smell of a big Puertorican breakfast. The first thing you would smell would be the coffee. Oh how strong that coffee was. to be continued..
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