CHAPTER 2

The Beginning.

The barrio was changing, subtly from the bottom up.

New immigrants saw only opportunity. First generations were trying to be was this third generation that was seeking validation and identity.

The concept of 'our neighborhood' was slowly evolving into 'our territory'.

This change in environment was most obvious while traveling the few blocks to school. You would pass groups of older youths, "just hang'in" on sidewalks.

You could feel their eyes assessing you. And if you were different in any way; you were targeted. Culled from crowd and subjected to verbal abuse.

And if you showed any form of defiance, physical abuse was sure to follow.

He was different.

The lighter skin inherited from his maternal grandmother was the sign that he wasn't 'full-blooded' Latino.

His hair hung softly in loose waves. It wasn't coarse. It wasn't tight. His older sisters would comment on their jealousy.

At 12 years of age, he hadn't gone through his last growth spurt and shorter and slighter than many of his classmates.

He was a walking target.

Brought up in a devout Catholic family, he carried a strong moral code laced with the guilt of obligation. He had no choice but to interfere that afternoon.

The group on the corner had singled out his sister's classmate. Redheaded and Hungarian, the girl was indeed different. Newly immigrated parents had found the only apartment affordable on 17th Street, in the heart of the barrio. They were oblivious to the developing dangers of this self-segregating neighborhood.

He could see her fear in the way she held her books tightly against her developing breasts.

The three men…not men in years, their average age 17. But 'men' in their minds and physique…circled her like the Jackals, they called themselves, homing in on their prize.

He knew Sasha. She had been a guest in his home and shared many meals with his family. He had to do something.

There was no plan. Disregarding his stature and standing, he crossed the street.

There are actions taken with good moral purpose that decompose into raw emotions. Once these emotions are acknowledged the righteousness of the original act is lost forever.

In a blind rage he pushed his way into the group and stood between the biggest youth and the girl.

"You let her alone, pendehos!"

"Well, well, well if it isn't Ricoitto. Big hombre all of a sudden! When did your balls drop?"

Anger at being called "Little Ricky" caused the next stupid action. He pushed the leader back and told Sasha to run.

Now he was in the Jackal's kill circle.

And the Jackals were hungry.

"Now look what you've done, tonto. Our afternoon entertainment has run away.

I guess you have just volunteered to take her place."

Dragging him by his hair, the three boys pulled him into the blind alley.

"Let's see if you can take it like the man you think you are. I bet he is just a maricon looking for a 'date'.

Thrown over a bag of trash.

Head held down by one of the pack.

He felt his pants being ripped off.

The next half hour was a painful and humiliating hell.

Not once did he cry out. He kept his head down, inhaling the scent of garbage. Using the smell as both a motivator for his hate and a diversion for his humiliation.

After they were satisfied, he was allowed to stand and dress. His back still towards them he gathered himself tall. Spinning around he spit on the leader, defying him with the comment:

"CHUPAME, CULERO!" (suck me, asshole). Turning the table on his aggressors, inviting them to trade places. Inviting… disaster.

Their reaction surprised and emboldened him.

The leader laughed and put an arm around his shoulder.

"Took it like a man and still ready to fight. Guess Ricardo is no longer Ricoitto. You are now Rico…nuestros hermano, our brother."

"I have brothers already. I don't need more"

"Ah, you will someday, Rico. You will some day."

With a laugh the men walked away. He was alone in the alley with his new-found manhood and the pain and humiliation.

It took him till evening to gather the willingness to go back home.

The greeting at the door was surprising.

"Here's our hero now!" was his father's first words.

His head down, all he had wanted was to slip in un-noticed and go to bed. But no, the whole family had gathered in the kitchen to congratulate him on saving Sasha.

She had run home and told her mother; who immediately had told his mother.

His older brother had been sent out to find him.

Whether his brother actually looked for him, or used the time to hook up with his girl would play in his mind and fuel later distrust.

But for a moment he allowed the accolades. The uncharacteristic humility was really buried humiliation.

He knew the truth. He was still feeling the pain. He would for the rest of his life keep this day buried in his heart.

No one must ever know.

There was very little privacy in a house filled with five children and three adults. He shared a bedroom with his two brothers. In fact he shared his bed with his younger brother.

But he had found a place.

His secret place.

A place he would go first to find quiet.

Later to find privacy.

Under the stairs in the hallway was a tiny, unused storage space. Smaller than a closet and bigger than a cabinet. Dark and cramped, it was a forgotten place.

Later that night, he quietly slipped out of bed. He sought the womb of his hidden den.

Curled up, with his knees on his chest and his arms holding tight to his legs…he released the desperation, humiliation, anger and fear that had been building all day in his heart.

He cried.

It was the last time for many years he would allow himself to do so.

The sound of his own sobbing drew him back to consciousness.

Where the fuck am I?

Shit, the damn car.

How long was I out?

I haven't thought about that day in years. Why now?

Nothing in that memory will help you now.

The residual anger and hate remained. Maybe they could be used to rescue him.

He certainly couldn't rely on anyone from the outside to save him, as usual.

He was on his own.

What else is new?