I just finished watching the Shawshank redemption. It wasn’t the first time I watched it. But it must’ve been 10 years since the last time I’ve seen it.I don’t know if I cried the last time I saw it, but I have tears flowing down my face now.

I don’t know why I’m crying. it’s not really the movie. although it was a great movie. It just, that I can’t help but to think about my own life and what I’ve come through so far.So much pain. so much sadness. so much failure.I don’t know what my mother’s life was like before. me. I don’t know if she was poor, or lived in homeless shelters, or went some nights not eating. I truly don’t know. but I know that with me and my brother (and later my sister) we struggled. we struggled hard.

I can remember houses with no toilets. just a pipe sticking out of the floor, and every time you flushed the toilet upstairs, downstairs shit would spew up from the bare pipe like a fountain . I know that was the first and only time I can remember us having a 2 story place to live. we were so happy that we had an “up stairs”. to me it felt like what you see white people on TV had. it was so nice to me. unfortunately the shit flowing out of the pipe was just like everything else in our lives; for every step forward we made, we made a step backward. nice house, but if you shit upstairs it comes out of the pipe downstairs.

I remember staying at a homeless shelter during my first year of high school. It hurt so much to not be like everyone else. It hurt. I remember the roaches that would crawl through the light fixture on the ceiling. the fixture was plastic, shaped like the top you put over a cake plate; flat cylinder like. it hid the bulbs underneath. as I laid in the bed I could see the shadows of dozens of roaches crawling around in that light fixture. If I focused, I could even make out their little antennae in their silhouette. what saddens me the most when I think about it is my accepting of the roaches as a part of life. maybe not everyone’s life. maybe not even normal life. but certainly our lives. being surrounded by roaches was normal to me. we just followed certain rules. You can’t put your plate down, not even for a second. because if you do a roach would get it.

I remember the food at that shelter. cheerios for breakfast. in a long cafeteria tables, no different than the tables at a schools lunch room or in a prison. same florescent lights too. They give off that harsh, sterile light. A dead light. For some reason I liked the food. I think it’s because I could feel the satisfaction that my mom had from being able to feed us.thinking back on it now, the question of how would we eat was probably a daily worry for my mom at that time.

and I remember toys. I’m guessing we were in there for Christmas. because every child at the shelter got toys. So it couldn’t have been my birthday. Not sure why we got those toys. Or even why at that age I was so happy about toys. Wait. it wasn’t toys. It was candy. Some lady passed out candy to all the kids. even me. Yes, that’s what it was. It was like, all the families in that palace were, kinda nice. and one lady, homeless with her own kids, passed out candy to all of us. That was nice of her.

I don’t remember anything else of that homeless shelter. really I don’t remember much of anything fromt he time when I was 10 years old to the time when I was about 17.I think I blocked most of those years out.

I hear a lot of stores from poor kids all grown up. people my age that grew up struggling. and all the stores are the same. they can remember a time when it all started going downhill. first everything was fine. they weren’t always poor and struggling from what they remember. then something happened, and they never recovered. for my girlfriend it was the death of her father. leaving her mom to fend for 4 girls alone. for us and our family, it was our apartment going condo. We had a beautiful place. on Malden and magnolia. North side of Chicago. mixed neighborhood. beautiful neighborhood. and a big apartment. we weren’t rich by any means. hell, the problems were there even then. I know we bar-b-q’d everyday one summer because we had no gas. I specifically remember a kid walking by and pointing that fact out to me. “You bar-b-q every day ” he said in a ridiculing tone. I remember that because before he said that, I thought we were the coolest people on the block. Hell, most people barbq every onece in a while. On special occasions. We were lucky enough to do it everyday. how cool were we? everyday was a holiday. I think it’s my father (really my step father, but fuck that, he’s my father) who made me feel like that. Damned kid walking by made me realize the truth. We weren’t doing it because everyday was a holiday. we were doing it because we were poor and couldn’t (or didn’t) pay our bills.

But still, I loved that apartment. I loved it a lot. maybe I loved it more because that was the last nice place we had before we descended into homelessness and gypsy-ism. that was the last place, were I felt like my family wasn’t always in trouble. the last place I at least felt normal.

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There was an interesting structure next to us. we were on the corner. but the strange thing is, sunny side is a huge sidewalk instead of a street. it’s like, if you talk a side street, and concrete over the street, so that no cars can drive down it, and just make it a big ass sidewalk. It was beautiful. we called it “the mall” (don’t ask why). I remember playing in the mall every day. except at 4 Pm. at 4 is when the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles came on. Every kid would go inside to watch that. Donetello was my favorite because he was smart like me. he liked to fix things. maybe I just liked him because he was a nerd like me. i dunno.

anyway, magnolia was great. I didn’t really understand when we had to leave. all I know is, it was over. From what I remember, the building was bought out by some white people and the building went condo. My parents couldn’t afford to buy the condo, so we had to go.

After that, was a blury series of homeless shelters, staying at my mom’s friends house till we wore out our welcome, staying in my aunt’s dirty basement, and sleeping in our car.

that hurt a lot. it was fine when I had to sleep in our car. who cares. But it was my sister. She was a little baby. thank goodness there’s no way she could actually remember any of this. but, my mom didn’t want us to sleep in the car. us meaning my brother and I . So she had us stay with my little brother’s best friend. it was fun. Tiracka was his name. it was only he and his mother. his mother was raising him alone. She was a dance instructor, who happened to conduct her dance classes at night. Neither me nor my brother thought anything was strange about that at the time. And Tiracka was the coolest kid. he had all the toys. everything you could ever want. he had Nintendo AND genesis. Only other kid I knew who had that much money was my cousin. staying with them was fun. I was totally oblivious to the fact that my mother, step father, and little baby sister was sleeping in their car while we were living the 2 video game system good life.

I do remember thinking about it though after a couple of weeks. I was mostly sad for Minuet. I didn’t think it was fair that she went through that. that precious bayb didn’t do anything.

It’s mostly blurry to me, my jr high and high school years. But there were 2 big events I remember strongly. They were the reasons I ran away from home at the age of 16. And never came back.

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The first event, was how I lost my virginity. It was the summer after my freshman year in high school. One night I was out venturing around Belmont. It’s an area known now for gays. I have to assume it was known at that time for the same thing, but for some reason (I guess because my parents never mentioned gayness or gay people in either a good or a bad way) I never really noticed gay people. I did notice a lot of concentric activity, and funny clothes, but I picked up on what “fag” meant later. Anyway, I was in the Belmont neighborhood, and I bumped into this girl from the 8th grade. she was a problem child back then. now that I think about it she was in those “other classes”. you know where they send the bad kids. right before you end up going to an alternative school.

I couldn’t remember the girls name now if I tried but she wasn’t all that great looking. not fat, but definitely beyond thick. I can’t remember what we did that day, but I know she brought me around some other girls that went to 8th grade. one of the girls I really remember because I had a big crush on her. Angie, or Adrian or something like that. I dunno. Angie had bad acne, but that never seemed to bother her. she was easily one of the ‘cool kids’. besides, I always had a way of looking past imperfections and seeing the beauty in a girl. Probably because I had so many imperfections in myself or my life, so I couldn’t be too judgmental. she was beautiful to me. anyway, we hung around. But what I remember feelings that the girls liked me. they were attracted to me. it’s strange when you can see a girl looking at you in funny way.they look at you and then don’t want you to see them looking at you so their eyes zig zag back and forth quickly as they think of something to say to break the awkward moment. I could see that in Angie’s eyes. and the 1st girl too. we flirted, and Angie asked me to pull my dick out. As a young horny boy who was kept inside, I was quite eager to. I was also happy to see the aproval on her face.

My mom always kept us inside. we had a strict curfew. I specifically remember as I was hanging with these girls , that I had never been outside at night time without my parents or any other grown up being with me. It was liberating. scary though also, as I feared what would happen to me when I got home. But when the thick girl mentioned that her father was not home and we could go to her place to have sex, I jumped at the opportunity. I figured, hell, it didn’t matter what time I got home, at this point, I was going to get my ass whooped anyway. and I was surrounded by girls. and best of all, I was about to lose my virginity.

Thie thing about sex to a young boy is that, around the 7th grade all boys start to talk about the girls that they’ve fucked. they brag about fucking this girl and fucking that girl. I myself didn’t have the confidence or the imagination to brag about such things. and since I was the only one not bragging about the magnificent mountain of pussy that I’ve climbed, I was often teased for being a virgin. So there I was, outside at night time for the 1st time alone, with a group of girls who I had just exposed myself to pushing me on to go and have sex. I was elated at the though of finally not being the only boy of my age who hasn’t lost his virginity. As I look back on it now, most of those kids were probably lieing. only a few of them had probably actually had sex before. but I didn’t know that then. we walked about 4 blocks to get to her apartment. It’s on Belmont east of Clark street.

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When we got there, me and the thick girl went into her bed room and closed the door. the other girls waited in the living room. I took my clothes off and laid on the bed naked. She took her clothes off too. She wasn’t that hot looking naked, but it didn’t matter to me, I was about to lose my virginity. She wasn’t though. She had done this before. she had condoms by the bed. I have a knack for figuring out how things work, and even though that was my first time putting a condom on , i put it on quite easily. Guess I had payed attention to those sex education classes they made us go to in school. I rolled the condom onto my dick, and she straddled me. she road me for a while and then felt as if something was missing. Music. She turned the radio on and played with the stations until she found something she liked. Brandy. I want to be down was playing on the radio. I remember thinking, “this is it. I’m having SEX!”. I also remember thinking, I’m doing just fine at it to. Then she asked me to hit it from the back. So I got up, and got behind her. She put her elbows on the bed, and her face down. Her knees were also on the bed. Her ass was tooted up in the air. I noticed the strong arch in her back. I got on my knees on the bed and wobbled up behind her. I grabbed her around her waist, and inserted myself.

a little time before I had heard one of my female friends making fun of a boy who she tried to have sex with. the boy couldn’t find the hole, and the attempt had failed. he was a loser in her eyes. I never wanted to be a loser. that worried me as it became my turn to “find the hole”. so I use my finger first. when my finger was in, I put my dick in right behind my finger. To this day, that technique has never failed me.I’m not sure what was on the radio as I started fucking her. I do remember though that it had a nice steady beat to it and was very bass heavy. I let the music guide me, and I must’ve fucked her for 30 minutes. the way she was screaming really made me feel like the mean. it was amazing. the whole experience was like that dreamy feeling you get when something really good or really bad happens to you. You ‘re kinda in a daze, and it doesn’t seem real. That’s probably why I was so good. I wasn’t really thinking. It was almost as if I wasn’t me, instead I had left my body and was watching myself stroke this girl from the back. I was watching a show. when I finished, she turned over with a smile on her face, and told me “good job”. I put my clothes on and came out the room to Angie, the girl that I really liked. Angie said “little Nikko has finally grown up.” Part of me wish I could take her into that room.

I hung out with those girls till the next morning. When I got home finally, as I approached the door, I was scared out of my mind. I didn’t know what my mother would do to me. she had a bad temper and beat us hard and often. And often for no reason. I couldn’t say that I had been out all night having sex. As I was walking trying to come up with an excuse I saw a rusty razor blade on the ground. That’s it! I got beat up and robbed. I was cut. I could tell her that. I sat down on a bench and for 1 hour tried to muster up the courage to use this razor blade on my face. Finally I did it. I cut my cheeks 4 times. thing is though, they were really weak cuts. scratches mostly. hardly any blood. It was a pathetic attempt.

When I walked in the door, my mom was so relieved. And then she was angry. I instantly started crying as a recalled the fantastical story about how a group of boys had beat me up and cut me with razor blades. I pointed to the evidence on my face. She believed me. for the time being. 2 days later, after praying (my mom is a Buddhist) she came to me and said that she knows I lied about being beat up. She said she told the story to a friend of hers, and he told her that she must be crazy for believing that story. She said if I ever stayed out all night again without calling, that she would beat my ass and kick me right back out.her cold tone had me convinced that she meant every word of it.

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It was one year later, almost to the day that the same thing happened again. It was in between my soft more and jr year in high school. I met a girl. Can’t really remember where I met her at. I remember what she looks like though. She was dark skinned and wore glasses. Usually when you think about a person who wears glasses their a nerd. She may or may not have been, but that’s not the impression that she gave off. I don’t remember meeting her. I don’t remember going to her house, but I do remember being in her house. Her parents were not there. it was just us. The apartment was dark, with no lights. in the glow of the street light outside, I could see that the bed, covered in black satin sheets, and a black down comforter. the frame was black also. Shiny black though, from laquor. I remember she had the most amazing body I had seen at the time. from the neck up she was a geek. but from the neck down, she could’ve been a stripper. 44DD titties. I remember because I asked. they were the biggest that I had ever seen. no stomach. Huge ass, and sexy hips. she was a beautiful chocolate specimen.

And she was extremely sexual. the way she talked. the things she said. she mesmerized me with her vulgar vocabulary. She was not afraid to ask me to come to her house and have sex with her. I was drawn in like eulisys to a siren. She was the second girl I have ever had give me oral sex. And the first to give it to me like she loved it. There was so much sexual energy there. She reminded me of the porn movies I had snuck and watched when my parents were asleep. but what I remember the most about her, was that she was so willing to please. Like nothing I had ever seen before. She put her mouth on every part of my body, and made it seem as if she had a clitoris on her tongue, the way she got such immense pleasure from everything she was doing to me. I was amazed and hooked. until the morning.

The first weird thing was her brother waking me up. Here I was lying in bed, in a strange house naked, with this naked girl clinging to me, and this guy walks in. I remember noticing his build. he was strong looking. Gave off the impression of a middle level drug dealer. He wore timbs, and had a gold chain draping from his neck. Scared the crap out of me. What really scared me though, is her not even budging. not even batting an eye about being seen in bad by her brother naked with some strange guy. Neither did he. He acted like it was no big deal. He got whatever he came in the room for, spoke to his sister as if I wasn’t even there, and left.

She got up and fixed me breakfast, I nervously went back to sleep. Then I was startled again what must’ e been only 156 min later. Her mother came in with some guy. standing right at the foot of the bed I’m lying in, looking at me naked. she asked me what had I done to her daughter. I stared at her, not knowing what to say, and her daughter popped up from behind her with a plate of eggs and bacon. Her mother asked again, what have you done to my daughter. She never cooks. Damn, one night with some dick and she waking up cooking eggs and bacon!

This was the first time I had seen a family that was so open and causal about sex. in my house, we never talked about it. I don’t even remember getting “the talk”. the only thing either of my parents ever said to me about sex was “wait until your prom night”. Little did they know that I had already lost my virginity. but anyway here I was lying in bed with no clothes on talking to the mother of the girl that I had just spent the night fucking about how I had just spent the night fucking her daughter. It was too weired for me. I ate my eggs, put my clothes on and left with some excuse about how I’d be back. Chocolate had a strange look on her face, like she knew I’d leave in the morning. A look as if she’d been here a few times, was used to men leaving. Didn’t like it, but accepted it. I never saw that girl again, but every time I walked passed her window I was reminded about her potent sexuality. She wasn’t my first, but she was my first one night stand. I wished for years that I had bumped into her again.

When I left the chocolate girls house It hit me. That same thing that hits every kid who does something wrong. It’s really fun doing something you’re not supposed to do, while you’re doing it. but then when it’s time to pay the piper, you get really scared. I remember going to sit on a bench and thinking about what my mother had said to me 1 year before. If you ever stay out all night without again, you may as well not come back, because if you do, I’m going to beat your ass, and kick you right back out. I thought long and hard about that. My mom struck absolute fear in my heart. I still have marks on my body to this day from where she beat me with a hanger. you can see the impression from hook of the hanger, permanently branded on my arm.

to this day my mother thinks I planned on leaving. My grandmother also. my mother used to tell me, if you were ready to leave home, you could’ve at least come to me like a man, you didn’t have to sneak and leave. She thinks it was a long elaborate plot. She doesn’t know that I just didn’t come home because I was scared of getting my ass whooped. I figured, hey, if you’re going to beat me and kick me out anyway, I may as well stay gone, and not take that ass whooping. So I did.

I went to my friend Darryl’s house. I walked to his house, rang the door bell, walked up stairs, and said, “Darryl, I’m going to stay here now”. He said ok. And that was that.

I remember feeling.. .. .. free.

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