Hey everyone, this chapter was very difficult to write because I had to write in the perspective of a man. From what I assume of men, they dont like describing deep emotions or going into details. I had to portray this quality and so most of his story here will be left up to your imagination (at least the details.)

Chapter 2 "Who's got my back now?"

Who's got my back now?
When all we have left is deceptive
So disconnected
So what is the truth now?

The drive to my neighborhood is long and heartbreaking. I really don't want to go back there. I pick at the scar on my wrist, it's a nervous twitch. No one knows how I got the scar; I don't think many people know I even have it. Why do I feel so sad now? Dr. Cameron, being the perceptive munchkin she is, notices my discomfort and questions me. "Eric, what's wrong?" At first, I shrug my shoulders; she doesn't want to know my past. Of course, she is persistent. "Come on Eric, if it's a long story, we have time, it's about an hour drive." Fine, she really wants to know, and I guess I would like to get it off my chest. I tell her my story and she listens intently.

Since the age of 12, I had been convinced that I wanted to be a doctor. No one had made it that far in life from my neighborhood. I was just another kid, high on the dreams of life that would never happen. I did more than dream, I lived it. I'd use my school Biology book and Anatomy book to help injured animals I found. Granted, they usually died; I don't think I understood the difference between a cat and a human just yet. Apparently, open heart surgery while the cat is still awake was wrong. I can't help but still feel a pang of remorse whenever I see a cat. Probably why I don't have any pets now. Ok, I'm getting off topic. Everyone thought my interest in medicine was "cute," but not likely to get me anywhere.

By the time I reached 10th grade, I was pretty sure I'd never make it to college. Only about 40 of graduates from my high school made it to college; the percentage that actually made it passed their first year was much lower. I was aware of the financial state of my family and I knew no amount of scholarships would get me through Med School. Still, I took all the science classes I could while in high school. Why not milk the free schooling for all it was worth? Being a student in a high dropout, low budgeted school, it was pretty easy to be the top of my class. The majority of my peers were into sports or drugs and thievery.

My brothers always had my back. It's amazing that with all the fighting that went on in the ghetto, it was hardly ever between siblings. We were bound together by some intangible chains. I taught them about science when they were interested and in turn, they taught me how to break into homes; lucky me. Every week we would break into a white man's home on the richer side of town. We would map it all out on paper and hide it in case our parents found them. Unlike most parents, they frowned upon delinquency, even for the better good of the family. The one week I chose not to participate, was the week they were caught and sent to prison for a short time. I hated not having them around.

They were gone for almost 2 years. All I did for 2 years was sit in my room and study. I was a senior in high school and my years of knowledge were almost over. I figured I could probably get into a community college with some scholarships and be able to get my AA degree. However, the nearest college was 13 miles away and our family couldn't afford the transportation. My mother was deeply saddened by my misfortune. I could tell she wanted to see me succeed; she even worked more if it were possible out of guilt. It was nothing compared to the guilt I feel today. I still shudder at the distant memory of that night.

As predicted, I graduated top of my class. It was bitter sweet, and it was all over. It was time to work at the factory. My brothers were home and they could sense my unhappiness. For weeks into that summer, they avoided me. I didn't know why, but I was too deep in my own world of self pity to care. Whenever I would enter the room, they would stop talking and look away. I knew they were up to something, but like I said, I just didn't care. It was probably some crazy scheme that would land them back in prison- and I wasn't far off.

One night, as I sat alone in our room, I noticed a map drawn out by hand of someone's home. I hadn't seen this one before so I picked it up out of curiosity. The title said, "Dr. Maslow's home." My heart sank. They were planning to break into the home of the richest man in town. They were crazy. This was going to be the most dangerous stunt they ever pulled. I had to confront them about it. I found Rodney and told him what I knew. He sighed deeply as he explained to me why they were going to do it.

"Eric, you're a special kid. You have the potential of 100 gangsters. I just know that if we succeed in this heist, we could get you into college. It may not last the whole million years, but it would get you started. We wanted this to be a surprise. Mom and Dad will be furious, but we can take the heat. Just don't tell ok?" I was absolutely raged and thankful at the same time. They were going to get caught and probably shot. Everyone knew Dr. Maslow had guard dogs and loaded weapons in his home. I insisted that I should be a part of the raid. I was convinced that they would need me. It took days of pleading, but they finally allowed me to come. So it was set, that night, we would go down in history for attempting the biggest robbery in town. As I look back on it now, I'm reminded of "Ocean's Eleven" and "Ocean's Twelve." If the result hadn't been so grim, I might find the audacity to laugh.

I was supposed to be in charge of hiding the map that night. And til my dying day, I will always regret not finding a better spot for it. After we had snuck out the window that night, my parents found it. It was just before midnight, as we were huddled behind some bushes discussing last minutes details that it happened. My parents, in a screaming plea showed up from no where. To say the least, they caused a scene. I don't know if it was fear or the not wanting to get caught, but we remained in the bushes. The whole neighborhood seemed to awaken. Porch lights flickered on and women in long nightgowns appeared behind black screens. This was bad. All these white people saw were a couple of crazy black people on Dr. Maslow's yard screaming. Someone called that cops and the sirens were heard miles down the road.

My brothers and I watched in horror as Dr. Maslow himself appeared at his doorway, armed with the biggest gun I'd ever seen. The man didn't even hesitate. 2 loud shots rang out and the screaming ended abruptly. So did our lives as we knew it, at least mine did. My brothers remained in our home and continued working the factory. They never broke into another house again and as far as I know, they still haven't. I don't know what did it for me, but I was overcome with a powerful urge to work my way through college. I was going to do it for them. I killed them in my weak attempt to cheat my way through life. I learned that night that only hard work would truly bring happiness.

I could go on and deeper into details, but I don't think either Cameron or myself could handle it. Just wordlessly reliving my parents slowly fall to their deaths is hard enough, if I speak of it, I might breakdown.

In my lifetime when I'm disgraced
By jealousy and lies
I laugh aloud 'cause my life
Has gotten inside someone else's mind

The rest of the ride is in silence. I don't think Cameron was ready to hear that. I look over and see a single tear roll down her cheek. I didn't tell her how I felt about that night, but I think she knows exactly how I feel. Knowing her ultra sensitivity, she probably found a way to feel just as guilty as I do.

I look down at my exposed wrist. I rarely have it out in the open. I cut myself that night. How better to take out your remorse than hurt yourself? I would have gone all the way. I don't think William knows how grateful I am that he walked into the bathroom at that moment.

I left that place only months after it happened. I couldn't live in that haunted hell. I could feel the souls of my parents wandering through the halls screaming, "Why Eric? Why?" I shudder again, but blame the cold. I left that neighborhood and haven't looked back. My brothers haven't heard from me in almost 10 years. Will they even recognize me? I almost wonder if they hate me now. Will they join the mob that circles around my Lexus as I park outside that man's home?

Who's got my back now?