This first part was written by 'Treason' on her iPod Touch, so she apologizes for any spelling mistakes... Treason is also hoping that 'Maine' will like it and together they will decide who writes the 2nd part... And whether or not to include Jim Morrison from The Doors 'cause Jim is amazing... But he'll probably be included in one way or another... ENJOY!!
It was the spring of 1967 that my world came crashing down. Somehow, someone in mine & my brothers gang (The Fidelitas - that means Loyalty in Latin, incase you didn't know) found out that my cousin, Dallas 'Dally' Winston died. The stupid fucker broke down, foolishly robbed a corner store, was chased down by the fuzz, and then received seven shots to chest, dead before he fell to the ground.
I guess I'm getting way ahead of myself, considering I didn't even tell you my name; so here it goes.
My name is Elise Cadey Sterling; I am sixteen years old and live in the worst part of Queens, New York State. I have blonde hair, green eyes and am the second youngest child, and the second girl. My brother, Benjamin, who goes by Benji, is twenty-three, has a forty-page file with the fuzz that nearly rivals mine and my cousins, and he's my partner, idol, rival, second-in-command, and I trust him with anything and everything. After Benji comes Katrina, my sister, she's as preppy as you can get and still live in our neighborhood. She doesn't realize how bad it is just stepping outside the doorstep, down the street there's hookers, drug-dealers, rapists, child-abusers, and date-rape victims living with the rapist; you name the crime, there's probably someone who's done it nearby. After Katrina comes me, then my kid brother Rowan, who constantly claims he's gonna get outta this part of the city, become a doctor or something amazing and change the world. We just tell him to keep dreaming, it's never gonna happen, everyone around here has said that at least once, but no ones actually done it, or anything even close.
Anyhow, back to what I was saying. The funeral was on Saturday, we found out on Wednesday, so we spent three days in a two cars, driving. Joy, what fun. -note the anvil sized amount of sarcasm. It's Saturday now, we just got to our cheap ass hotel, but the funeral is in an hour. So I don't get to sleep after hours of driving.
We just pulled up to the gravesite, there are a few people around, even the asshole who has the nerve to talk about Dal, "Dallas was a great boy, and I loved him with all my heart, he was an amazing little boy, with blonde hair and blue eyes. I remember when he decided to jump off the shed once when he was six, and he did it to, broke his arm and was so proud of it." I couldn't take it any more; I lunged forward, jumping on his back, pinning him on the ground.
I turned him over, pinning his arms down with my legs, and started punching him. "You don't know what your son was like when he grew up! You weren't there when he lost his first tooth, or when we jumped off the roof of the shed, so don't you dare say you were! Dally didn't break his left arm, I did, Dal broke his right leg and sprained his wrist! You didn't know until Christmas, and it happened on July 8th, and Benji ran inside to tell my mom who drove us to emergency! You or your fuckin' wife didn't raise your son, so don't say you did! My mother and father raised him, he was like a brother to me, and he wouldn't be dead right now if you didn't drag him 21 hours away from home, to here, in fucking Tulsa Oklahoma!" I shouted at him, slugging him after every time I stopped to take a breath.
By now we had an audience; there was a group of guys, the minister dude who looked like he'd rather be anywhere but there, my family and my cousins, and mine and Benji's gang who knew Dally. I looked up, got off of him, grabbed his hand, helped him up, and then pushed him back. I looked at everyone there. "I'm not ashamed of hitting him, he doesn't have the right to say he knew Dallas Winston; the Dallas Winston I knew growing up was anything but sweet, he was my partner in crime and my best friend, when I was seven, Dal was eight, and other than my family, he was the only one who believed me when I said I didn't pull my blade on Penny Johnson in Art Class. He stood behind me in anything and everything, he had my back in a fight, and I did the same for him. He had record when he was ten, and boy, was he proud of it. Dally didn't take shit from anyone, and you knew you were in shit if he was looking for you. Don't believe anything that fucker said; he doesn't know shit about his own son. Go into your memories for what you remember about Dallas Winston, 'cause that's what he would want you to remember, whether its of him smirking 'cause he just swiped a pack of Kools, or him piss ass drunk on a random couch after a party. That, is who Dallas Winston is, nothing else." With that said, I motioned to the gang, we took off our chain necklaces, grabbed one of the metal discs that had 'Dally, Fidelitas for life and after' engraved on it, slid them off and tossed them on top of the casket, then I nodded and we said as one, " Fidelitas for life brother!"