Fan Fiction: Monster/The First Part Last
By Ashli Bianco
Then
After my cousin, Steve, got off the hook for the robbery and murder of a gas station clerk, he laid low for a little while. I knew it wouldn't last though. The kid has always been a bit of a loose screw. Our birth certificates might say we're the same age, but I know that we are far from similar. If I had the chance, I would grab him by the shoulders. Hard. And scream in his face how much he should appreciate his life right now. Because life is not full of second chances. He made one mistake, got off the hook, and is right back at it. Running around with the wrong crowd again. It's only a matter of time before he really gets it.
Now
We went to visit him in the big house today. All shackled up, orange jumpsuit, the whole look. We had to talk through a plexiglass window. Steve seemed to be convinced that he was innocent. Had his mom convinced too. But I knew better. Each time he told his story, he became just a little more distanced from "the other guys." The "real" criminals. Steve had been involved in way more than he let on. I'd heard the stories around school. He always managed to fly under the radar. He seemed to play the quiet, reserved card well. But only me and my buddies, K-Boy and J.L. knew that Steve had started shooting up the hard stuff right before classes. Or that he once stole twenty-six diamond tennis bracelets off of a roadside stand downtown to pay for new rims for his ride. I couldn't look at him. He disgusted me. What I wouldn't give to be kid-free and carefree right now. One stupid mistake and I'm tethered to this small human and alone in the world, while this kid gets to run rampant around NYC shooting up drugs and committing petty crime with his buddies. He doesn't even realize that his life could be so much different than this. It pains me to look at him, so I don't. After our time was up to talk to him, we walked back to the car in silence. My mom, his mom, and myself all buckled up and shut the doors, and his mom began to sob. Made the most god-awful noise. And I looked out the window and wished I was somewhere else.
Then
"Hey, man. You should seriously try it sometime. It's not as bad as some people think." One of Steve's buddies, I can't remember his name, was trying to convince me to smoke a joint with him after school.
"Nah, I've done it before. It's not really my thing."
"Ah, I get it. So you're one of them high-society boys now."
"What?"
"Too good for this stuff now? Dating that Nia girl. Her parents are rich, right? Probably want one of them clean, Christian boys or somethin'." His friends chuckled and muttered their agreement. I started to get really pissed. I took a step forward, inches from his face. In a voice so low and quiet it scared even me, I countered: "Listen, man. It's not like that. And even if it was, I'm ten times the man you'll ever be. Without the joints. Don't tell me you've forgotten Danny already."
Danny, the little brother of one of their mutual friends OD'd on painkillers two years ago. The whole school had been in shock about the whole thing for months afterward. The family ended up moving back to North Carolina to be closer to their grandparents as they tried to get over the loss. Things like that though, you don't really "get over." You can never really "get over" them.
Now
My mom dragged me to a church service this morning. The pastor was talking about forgiveness and not judging other people. He spoke from John 8 and told the story about how there was a lady who was cheating on her husband and the uptight religious guys were going to kill her by stoning her. He said that Jesus showed up and told them if anyone had no sin, that they should be the first one to throw a stone. But all of them had sinned, so all of them dropped their rocks and walked away. It made me think about how much I have judged Steve. But the truth is, getting my girlfriend pregnant is not seen as being any better than being caught in a drug deal. We're going to visit Steve again next week, and I think I'm going to share this with him. I might bring Feather with me. She always seems to make things a little less intimidating, with her gummy smile. Maybe he'll appreciate my words to him. Then again, maybe he won't. At least my conscience will feel better either way.
Then
Sometimes I wonder about my cousin. I wonder if I would have taken the time to hang out with him more, instead of distancing myself from him, if he would've turned out differently. We were close at little kids. I used to call him "Steve-man" and he always called me "Cuz." Sometimes I wonder if he still remembers. Our moms would take us for walks in Central Park every Wednesday and we'd each get all-beef franks from the hot dog vendors on the roadside. Lots of mustard, no onion. We decided one day that we would both become hot dog vendors when we were older and sell all-beef franks with no onion and lots of mustard, because onions were nasty. We'd become world-famous and be featured on one of the food network shows our moms always watched. After we finished our hot dogs, we'd play "who can jump off the swings from the highest point" while our moms gossiped about the neighbors and worried about our safety. Then, when we were about 11 or 12, we signed up for basketball together. I had some ups, and Steve was a pretty stocky kid. Long story short, I had a lot of playtime, and he was always benched. He stopped playing ball, and we began to make other friends. There was no way of knowing that would be the last time we would ever be that close.
Now
I sat in the cold, metal chair with Feather on my lap. I was waiting for the prison guards to escort my chained cousin to the scratched plexiglass window. As I looked around, others shot me judging looks as if to say What are you thinking, exposing such a young child to this environment?! I don't want to hide Feather from the real world, though. I decided that the month she was born. The real world is raw. It is tough. It will knock you down to the ground and beat the crap out of you if you are unaware of it. But if you are exposed to it, if you know about it, you can wade through the waters without being taken under by them. I want Steve to see that the ugly, uncomfortable, hard things in life can be redeemed. That's what my pastor spoke to me about this morning. With a handful of quarters and a payphone, I called Pastor Eddie up. I was hungry with questions. I felt better after speaking with him. He somehow gave me comfort, though I barely knew the man. I definitely didn't want my parents to know that I was speaking with a pastor though. They would get all misty-eyed and mushy and I couldn't have that. It would be too much. As the guards opened the door and led my cousin to his chair, I hoped my shock did not show. The prison had hardened Steve. I could see it in his face. His eyes were piercing and angry-looking. Stubble had begun to grow from his chin, and he had a cut across his face. This was not the same kid I used to run around with. He stared beyond me, avoiding my gaze, as if in a trance. I took a deep breath and began to speak.
Then
"I don't know where we could've gone wrong…"
"He was always such a good kid…"
Steve's parents sat in the kitchen with my parents. I stayed in my room, trying to keep Feather as quiet as possible. Steve had just been arrested for aiding and abetting the robbery and murder of a local convenience store clerk. Although a little surprised, I wasn't all that surprised. Not with the crowd that my cousin had been rolling with lately. These kids were known around school for causing trouble and getting into the serious stuff. Drugs, alcohol, hanging around the gangs. I could see how his parents might think their kid was in the right, but I knew he was in the wrong. There are so many things that we kids can keep under the radar, and for a split-second, I felt a little bit guilty for not tipping his parents off at his behavior. Then I wondered, would it even have really mattered? Maybe the big house will scare him enough to come back to his senses. He used to be such a good guy. And so, I kept quiet and listened to the soft coos of Feather and the wailing voices of my aunt and uncle.
Now
After I said my peace, I sat there. I stared at his face, tracing the deep, hard lines that had formed across his forehead from worry. Feather whined and squirmed in my lap, and I bounced her on my knee gently to keep her quiet a good bit longer. Steve's face softened only slightly…or was it my imagination? Made eye contact with me for a second or two, then hung his head. He sighed loudly, and I noticed two huge, wet drops splash from his face onto his thigh.
"Steve-man…"
I put my hand on the plexiglass. I wondered how long it had been since he had been touched. In love, not out of a directive or violence. He raised his head again, and I was startled to find his face angrier than ever. His face shone from the tear tracks, and he began to raise his voice, making Feather upset.
"What makes you any better than me?!"
"Steve, that wasn't my point—"
"You think you can just come in here and tell me how to live my life?!"
"No, I came to—"
"GET OUT! GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!"
"I love you, man. This doesn't have to be how it ends."
I looked him in the eyes as I said it, and a shadow of remorse traced his face, before he became angry again. Feather began to scream. People around us were beginning to stare in horror. The prison guards grabbed Steve by the shoulders, and dragged him away. I turned away slowly, and walked out the door.
Sometimes the people we love make bad choices. Sometimes we make bad choices, and we can't see how they will affect others. But they do. Like a chain reaction. I am done making actions that cause a chain reaction of regret, shame, and guilt. I want to begin speaking the truth in love. Because even if it hurts to hear, in the end I believe that we can start a love revolution. I hope one day that Steve can come to realize this. If not, I will still die happy knowing that I did what I could in the end to save him from himself, instead of passively standing by watching him throw his life away. Because no one is completely lost.