(A long time ago)
“Why are you crying,” the voice taunting me as I get cornered into a wall. “It’s not like anyone will hear you. You're just a little kid who stupid enough to be poking his nose into MY business.”
“I..I’m s..sorry,” my voice breaking as I try to catch my breath.
“ Oh looky here he said he’s sorry,” he says mockingly. “ You better be, buck-o! I’ve spent too much time trying to get out of this hell hole just to have some nosey little brat ruin my plans. You’re lucky kid cause’ if you were one of those Mexicans over there I would’ve pelted you one, but do take this as a warning cause’ if you get into any of my business again you might as well be one of them. And for that, you’ll have another thing coming.” His voice was like the sound like a whistle in the wind with a howl in the air and as he turns away I begin to tremble.
(Present Day)
I see someone out of the corner of my eye but I ignore it. The only thing I can do right now is put all my might into beating up those Mexican kids. They have no right shopping where I shop or even be in my neighborhood.
“Jackson get over here!”
“Yes, Mr.Bridgeport?” I ask with uncertainty of what he will tell me.
“I just received a call from your school and they told me that there was a fellow student who witnessed you and some of your friends beating up a couple little Mexican kids. Now you know what I told you last time you did something like this, that next time you would get a severe punishment. Well you did it again, putting aside my warning and I’m not going to hold back. Now I’ll give you a week to fix this behavior, but if you don’t I’m going to send you back to your last foster home.” His voice making a statement I never thought was possible.
“No, please don’t send me back to that place!” I beg and plead as convincingly as possible. His face was unwavering and as stubborn as a mule.
I know I seem like a tough guy but my last foster home was awful. When I was there I was weak, helpless, abandoned, and alone. I’d get bullied all the time and the guardian at that place didn’t care anything about it. Ok, maybe I’m being a little hypocritical. I was doing basically the same thing to those Mexicans. Maybe I do need to change, but I’ve always thought that Mexicans were uncultured swines. At least that’s what people have always told me in the foster system, and how they should be dealt with. I don’t understand why my foster dad cares if I beat up some Mexicans when my entire life I’ve been told otherwise. Why did no one ever get in trouble for beating me up? If there was ever to be a consequence of beating someone up, it should be of beating up someone of your own race, shouldn’t it?
“Jackson, what are you doing? You look like you’ve been struck by lightning! Why are you still standing here? I told you Jackson, you have to fix your ways if you want to keep staying here. If not, you’re out.”
“Yea, I get it. I just need to go out for a bit and clear my head. I’ll be back sometime later.”
Everything seems blurry. Everything I’ve ever known is shaken. Everything I am is wrong. I need to talk to my friends. They’ll clear my head. I’ve known them practically forever.
“Jackson where are you going? We aren’t done talking!”
“I told you, I need to clear my head!”
“You better not pull off anything crazy with those friends of yours again or else you’re gone.”
“Yea, I heard you the last time. I’m going and don’t expect me home for dinner,” I walk out slamming the door behind me.
“Jackson!...”
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