Friends Till The End

That afternoon, the police issued an order of immediate custody, a juvenile arrest warrant against the four of us. We were charged with a series of crimes: reckless endangerment, assault in the first, possession of a dangerous instrument, misdemeanor assault, and petty theft. We were also tagged as youthful offenders.

While Fernando Gonzalez lay in critical condition in the hospital’s intensive care unit, we were remanded into our parents’ custody. None of us were allowed to see each other. Our neighborhood, which in the past, never failed to embrace its criminals, was seen as a shock. It was not the crime that had hands raised to the sky, but the fact that Mike, Vic, Jaime, and I had committed it.

“You guys were different,” Big Papa told me. “Yeah, you fooled around, busted balls, got into fights, shit like that. But you never went outta your way to hurt anybody. Until you did the job with the cart.”

The only time I left my house was to make visits to King Benny. He seemed as a hard man; in fact he was, but when it came to me and the guys, I knew he had developed a soft spot. King Benny did not have to tell us about his childhood; we knew that he was handled by people who enjoyed giving beatings. Those beatings made him the man he was and created all the hate he inside of him.

I poured myself a cup of coffee when I went to visit him in his clubhouse. It was a late Sunday afternoon; a day before our juvenile court hearing.

“We didn’t mean to hurt anybody,” I said.

“You didn’t mean doesn’t make it not happen,” King Benny said.

“We didn’t go out looking to hurt is what I meant,” I breathed.

“Few do,” he shrugged.

“How long do you think we’re gonna get?”

“A year,” King Benny said, and it made my knees go weak. “Maybe more, depends on the judge.”

I slumped in a chair, looking around King Benny’s club which had grown to be my second home.

“You and the boys have to learn how to handle yourself,” King Benny spoke with remorse, the first time he probably ever has. “I can’t help you up there, or your friends. You’re gonna be on your own in that place. It won’t be easy, Tony. It’s gonna be hard. The hardest thing you and your friends are ever gonna have to do.”

That was enough to make tears swell up and fall.

“We can run,” I choked out.

“No, you run now, you’ll run the rest of your life. You have to face this.”

I laid my head on the table, looking around trying to remember everything in the room that I would not be able to see in a couple of hours. King Benny sat next to me, lifting me from the table, his eyes tight on my face.

“There’s a part of you that is just like me. A small part. That should be enough to bring you back alive. What you do to the least of my brethren, you do to me.” King Benny spoke.

‘Will you still be here when I get back?” I asked, my voice choked, my eyes focusing on the outside, trying not to let King Benny see me cry.

“I’ll always be here,” he said.

-

Gonzalez’s family had wanted us dead; it was easy to understand why. We had all written letters of apology to his family; each note going unanswered.

The day of the court hearing, Vic, Mike, and Jaime were sentenced for a full year at the Wilkinson Home for Boys. However, if there was not any input on behalf of Jaime, he would have gotten an even larger sentence since it was his initial idea to steal the cart and take it to the grand stairwell.

Since I had arrived at the scene after the theft of the cart had already occurred, I was sentenced to serve six months at Wilkinson’s. My heart sank, knowing I would not survive alone without seeing my friends after I was done serving my time.

We said our goodbye’s to our parents, our hearts aching at our crying mothers and fathers trying hard to hold back their tears. The four of us were led on a bus with cuffs around our ankles as we all watched our departure of our neighborhood, the only place we ever trusted.

-

I had been in my cell for less than an hour when the panic began to set in. it was a small, tight, dark cell with blue walls that only made darkness worse. I tried to close my eyes and thought of home, of the neighborhood, the streets I played on, and the people I knew.

It doesn’t take long to know how tough a person you are or how strong you can be. I knew from my first day at Wilkinson that I was neither tough nor strong.

The first guard I met was Sean Nokes, who was then twenty-five years old. He stood inside my cell, his eyes cold, his voice deep.

“Toss your clothes on the floor,” were the first words he said to me.

“Here?” I asked.

“If you’re expecting a dressing room, forget it. We don’t have any. So lose the clothes.” He barked.

“In front of you?”

A smile cracked on the side of Nokes’s face. “For the time you’re here, day or night, you do everything in front of someone. Piss, shit, shower, brush your teeth, play with yourself, sleep. Whatever. Somebody’s gonna be looking. Most times, that somebody’s gonna be me.”

I tossed my shirt on the floor, unzipped my pants, and let them drop past my knees. I stepped out of the pants, kicked them aside, and, wearing only my white cotton briefs, white socks, and high top converse, looked back up at Nokes.

“Everything,” Nokes said, standing military posture.

“You want me to stand here naked?” I asked.

‘Now you’re catching on. I knew you San Diego boys couldn’t be dumb as people say.”

I took off my underwear, kicked of my sneakers, and balled up my white socks. I stood there naked and embarrassed.

“How old are you?” Nokes asked, his eyes directly on mine.

“Twelve.”

Nokes let out a little laugh.

“Now what?” I asked annoyed.

“Get dressed.” He said, picking up a pile of clothes next to him and throwing them at me.

“Are my friends on this floor?” I asked, immediately grabbing the white boxer shorts and sliding them on.

“Friends?” Nokes said, turning away. “You got a lot to learn little boy. Nobody’s got friends in this place. That’s something you best not forget.”

Notes