The car that killed me was a 74′ Cadillac and it was blue in color. My brothers
and I were in a foster home at the time. It was my sixth birthday and like any
red blood American child I wanted candy to celebrate. My older brother Ed was
tasked with taking me to a corner store to get some penny candy. As we came to a
street I decided that I was old enough to cross the street myself. I pulled away
from my brother’s grip and ran into the path of an on coming car. I was told most
of this because I don’t remember what happened. That is not entirely true. I
remember exactly what transpired. I died on my sixth birthday under a car.
I was told that the bumper of the Cadillac hit me and I bounced off but in reality
I was dragged under the passenger side of the car.The front tire runs over my back
crushing the majority of my ribs. As the wheel ran over my body and destroying
my new clothes it violently turns my body over. The rear tire flattens
my sternum pushing blood, urine and feces from all of my orifices. I will be alive
for another three minutes.
My older brother is on his knees. He is too shocked to even cry. People gather to
see the boy who has died on his birthday. I think of my brother Raymond and my
mother. How will they react when they discover that I have died.
I tell myself that I am not died. I tell my self that this is little more then a
scratch and I will be back at my foster mother’s May house in a week or two. I tell
my brain to make believe that I go back to my mother’s care in a few months time.
I make my brain tell me that I am 7 years old and living at 730 N Sawyer and my
best friend is still Christopher Wright. My mind has experienced such pain that
it refuses to let me be happy. My mind knows happy it not normal for me. It creates
scenarios were I am molested by a friend of my older brother. It let’s me think
that I spend cold winters huddled in one room with the rest of the family and hot
summers with no electricity or gas. It makes me feel alone and abandoned. My mind
lets my know that suicide is an option that I will gladly indulge when the pain
is too great. Even brain lets me find a love but only to cheat on her shortly
after the birth of our first child. My dying brain makes me a shiftless and
lazy man who is a bad copy of a father and husband who can’t hold a job and feel
sorry for myself.
I fight for control of my dying minutes. I push happiness into my mind. I help
to make kids who will become adults that my wife and I will be proud of. I
overcome my troubled mind to become a better person. I make my mind push myself
through school and beyond. I make myself see my grandchildren and great
grandchildren who are every color of the rainbow. I make my brain see me on
my death bed with my children and the woman I love around me.
Then I close my eyes.
I used to believe that women were actually better than men. A few bad relationships
cured me of that.
When I was a kid I thought humans were like plants and if you give them water and
sunshine their limbs would grow back. odd right.
Before I became what you call an atheist I believed reincarnation and I had
dreams of past lives and I assumed that I would be born an indian boy in the next life.
A part of me still thinks that are dreams are glimpses into alternate realities.
I thought that if a gay couple adopted a “normal” child that they would make him
White people use to weird me out when I was young. I thought they smelled like wet
(I married one so clearly I got over it).
I used to wonder what was behind the sun.
I used to think that a girl’s vagina was a lot closer to her belly button.
I thought that getting molested would make me gay. I got the distinct feeling
that my family thought the same.
I used to think that my parents would get back together.
I USE TO THINK THAT IF I CONCENTRATED REALLY HARD THAT I WOULD MAKE MYSELF FLY.
I use to think I was special.
I knew for a fact that I would never cheat on my wife.
I use to think no women would ever love me.
I use to think that there would never be a “black” president.
I use to believe that mankind could prevail over its own nature.
I use to think someone was watching over us.
I use to try and tell myself life could be fair.
I use to think a lot of things that turned out to be false
or an half truth. The only thing that I know for sure is
that this man loves this wife and kids and hopes the world
can pull it’s head out of it’s ass.