Or, for you English teachers - yo', essay.
It seems as if I have inadvertently joined a gang, and wanted to let you know in case you see me wif my homeys and I have to diss you to keep you safe.
It was on Valentine's Day, and I was at my local Walgreen's, looking for love in all the wrong places. The very first thing I see is a card-carrying Norteno (or is he a Sureno - I'm still not sure what I've become...) .
He is walking up and down each aisle, repeatedly pounding a Wiffle bat in the palm of his hand. Y'know, kind of like you would palm a bat semi-menacingly right before you pound someone straight into the ground...
So, I swear : he is in each and every aisle, just walking and pounding. He is also wearing a not-entirely unattractive (brand new !) hooded sweatshirt (insert pun re: hood wearing a hoodie here) with marijuana leaves (at least what I can glean from Google images and old "Reefer Madness" clips) in all colors of the rainbow. I currently figure to be dead soon, and hope for at least a fighting chance, what with it only being a Wiffle bat. Regardless of whether or not he's currently hopped up on the goofball - my ass is going down. Downtown. Lowdown. To Chinatown.
I then happen upon an acquaintance, and as we pass the time in the card aisle, speaking of costly cards, I part with "well, you can always make one." Yo, dawg - then my gang-banger friend looks intently at me and says : "Did you just say MAKE one !? D'you think she'd like that ?"
OhGodohGodohGod, sir. I said whatever you wanted to hear. I have kids. I was active in the grape boycott. I found a published photo of a deceased Che Guevara to be oddly attractive (aside: I really did... gives a whole new meaning to the phrase "dead sexy".)
After I peed myself, I then went on to instruct him re: the making of a home-made Valentine, and even demonstrated how to make the perfect heart out of colored construction paper. We went over it enough until I was sure he could go home (y) and make one without me. This lesson will run on Telemundo during next week's "Sabado Gigante" - SAP setting, Espanol. (Afterwards, Chief, my watchful mate, thinks I'm gonna get offed because "..what self-respecting gun-moll doesn't want bling and stuff ?!" Plus, just teaching a gang member to fold and cut hearts : apparently dangerous.)
So then I assure my new chum that womenfolk are virtually helpless in the face of a home-made anything. My new pal then asks me if I think he should insert a poem : this, from a man who 5 minutes ago was going to beat me with a Wiffle bat until the gray matter showed.
Oh ! Bravo for a poem, says I . Spot on ! So then he gets all reverent, actually closes his eyes, and says "..every time I try to tell you, the words just come out wrong...". Well, other than it sounding exactly like a Jim Croce song, I told him it was just beautiful. He's all : "Y'think so ? I just heard it on the
radio !" Let's hear it for Walgreen's Muzak and those it has inspired.
We reviewed the hearts one more time (each one, teach one), and then he clutches my arm (with some pressure, I might add) and says, dead serious : "If you ever need any help, you just come to me. For ANYTHING. Any time." (But however will I contact him ? Like a Batman sginal, only shine a cutout of a bandana or a bottle of Hennessey in the night sky ?)
So, it seems to me that I am now a gang member - lucky enough to be "in" with an installation that did not involve homicide or other felonious acts of loyalty to da mean streets and its denizens (aka me). I am holding on (tight) to this one gang favor for just the right time. Or is that like saving money and then the world will end and I will have all this useless money, frantically casting about for a place to redeem this useless Gang Favor ?
I'm thinking I should just act totally reckless (er) in my day-to-day activities - knowing that I have full gang protection. Kind of like those old ads where you have Cream of Wheat for breakfast, and then the steaming bowl follows you around all day long. I am untouchable.
That's how it feels. Like I belong. Like someone cares......or loves me. When The Man is getting me down, I can roll (with) my own. They understand me. When things are crazy at home and at school and everyone's on my case. I know there's some guys who will always be there for me. Goddamn.
It feels like....well, teen spirit. Wait - that's what it smells like. It feels like home.
"But however will I contact him?"
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