Jalen Smith

11/9/11

                                                           Alpina B7, The Ultimate Driving Machine

I remember the day I bought my dream car. “Ok Mr Garnett, enjoy your new BMW B7, “the sales man said.” Thank you for coming, have a great day.” I couldn’t believe I spent $122,900 on this car. I was so proud of myself. I deserved this, I thought. I am a successful Senior Chief of a criminal law firm. I thought that nothing could have gone wrong with the car. I couldn’t wait to show my wife and kids the cream leather seats, the shinny blue exterior, the navigation system, and the self parking system. Oh, I thought I was so fancy. Hearing the roar of the V12 engine coming down my street. I knew that Gabrielle was totally going to enjoy this car.  My wife and two children came outside to greet me in the driveway.

My son said “Oh my gosh this car is so cool!” He had asked me how much horsepower did the car have. I told him that the car had 500 horsepower. I knew that I shouldn’t have told him that, I knew that he was a little to curious. I told him that after I came back from my business trip, that we could take it for a spin. He was so upset because he would have had to wait 3 days to take the car out for a drive around the neighborhood. That evening I felt regret because I knew that buying an expensive car would lead to something bad. Knowing that my 18 year old son had an interest in cars and had constantly watched Top Gear every night, he would have loved to try to get into my car and take it for a drive himself. But then I trusted my son. I didn’t think that he would have done that while I was gone. He was already going to be with friends for the weekend so he wouldn’t have access to the car. Friday finally came and it was time for me to take a 10:43 am plane to California for my business trip. So I decided to park the car in the garage and leave the key with my wife just in case she had to borrow the car for the day. I would never forget that before I left I said I loved him, and that if he needed anything call me. We both agreed and I left.

“We are going to reach our destination soon, thank you for flying American Airlines” the Pilot said. While I was on the airplane, I felt pains in my stomach, cramping. I felt that something bad would happen to my family as a result of my new car. This was something that I have never felt before. After arriving at the LAX airport I called my wife and asked her if the car was still in the garage. She said of course, where else would it be. I then asked her where Devin was and she said that he was out with his friends. I felt relieved. So I carried on with my day. After the two days past and the business meetings were all attended to, I enjoyed visiting the numerous museums, theaters and restaurants, that California had to offer. I thought to myself that this was a very fulfilling trip. Everything was going according to plan, until the night when the hotel phone rang. There came a demanding voice on the telephone, it was a man calling me and asking me if I was Steven Garnett? I answered, yes. My stomach dropped completely to my ankles. He said: “My name is Detective Brown, do you own a 2012 BMW Alpina B7.” Yes, I answered. I wondered if everyone was alright and if my son was alright. He answered: “Your car has been totaled and 3 people have been killed in your vehicle, the driver was Devin Garnett. He has been drinking and driving and they were all killed. The car had instantly flipped over, pile driving the car into a ditch. My phone dropped to the floor leaving the police officer repetitively saying, “Are you there”? 

He didn’t listen. Why did he do this? My son, my seed? Tears filled my eyes. I called my wife and shouted, how did he get the keys to the car! I told my wife that Devin was dead. Screams and cries burst from the telephone. I kept asking myself why oh why did I even buy this car. Why did I leave this car with my wife and children. How come I didn’t leave the car at the airport? Why oh why? Why my son? It’s all my fault. I need to take the next plane to Atlanta. Filled with such sorrow I boarded the 9760 Airplane to Atlanta’s Harts field-Jackson Airport. When everyone settled and the plane was ready for departure we blasted off into the gloomy sky. Hours past and there were no signs of happiness once so ever. “We are about to reach our final destination, thank you for riding American Airlines.” Drifting in the air looking at the clouds I imagined how much my son meant to me. His smiles, his intelligence and his bright sense of humor left me breathless from what I could have imagined. A big chunk of my heart was taken away from me just because of two things. That car and that urge of curiosity. This was something that I could have never put up with.

I finally survived the 5 hour plane ride and 2 weeks went past after my sons death. Today is his burial. Seeing the features of fall I began to reminisce about how he was such a scholar. He was determined and all he wanted to do was make his parents proud. I realized that my son was special, he was my best friend. I wished to have him back, safe in my arms, free from danger seen and unseen. This was a lesson. Now that he is in a better place I can’t let this haunt me for the rest of my life. This tragedy was just like water spilled on the ground and could not be gathered up again. As I looked into the gloomy sky I known that god was keeping him safe from harm. He would never have to go through no more struggle, no more pain but he will always be my pride and joy. My jewel. 

​Its November 11^th a day to give thanks to the control so im going to take my annual trip to Philadelphia National Cemetery and pay my respect to the greatest war hero who ever lived. Julius R. Jenkins. That man was like a father to me and gave up his life for the safety and everyday I just wonder why would he do it. It Should have had been me if wasn’t for me he would be here today. Why did he choose to save me who or what did he see in me that was worth saving? I look at the name Howard Jackson I think of a worthless man who managed to destroy everything in his life. So what potential did he see upon me that was worth saving. I guess its just something I will never understand Julius so certainly one of those things. But his deaf leaves me with great regret and at the same time hope because if he believed  why can’t I learn to believe in myself. I rethink that week all the time too try to understand….

We were under heavy fire from the North Vietnamese Army and I had just knifed the chest of a enemy solider that had rushed into me. The battle had me full with so much adrenalin that I forgot the strategies that you to taught me that have so many times kept us alive through so many battles. Like the one when u said to secure every kill with a second cut to the throat to be sure that your enemy will never get up. But I didn’t instead I turned my back on him and the wounded enemy was able to draw his gun and fire.I slowly began to turn around in shock of the fate I will soon take I felt powerless and it seem as if I could not move. But then came you  jumping right in front of me  pushing both of us down to the ground. As we laid on the ground I began a sigh of relief, until I notice this blank stare in your face and you where not responding to my cries.” Ceaser Ceaser are you alright” no answer so pushed you off from the top of me and noticed you have been shot 3 times and where heavily bleeding. So I rushed you back to home base for medical attention but by time we had made It I had already lost you. From that moment in life I decided that it was time for me too change my life around. See even in the past life you are still my teacher. So for that I thank you Julius u are a true life changer

                                                Life as a Slacker

 

     I am so tired. I have an English and History project to due by tomorrow morning. There is no way I am going to get all this work done in time. I don’t know how I have gone this whole year without doing enough work to be able to graduate. Hmmm, well, maybe, just maybe, I have just been slacking off a little bit. I haven’t been motivated to do any work.

    I want to be there, at graduation, not watching the other students, but being apart of it. I really do. It is 1:00 am and I haven’t completed any of the projects. I can’t go into school tomorrow without them if I want to move forward with my goals for life.

      I might as well get started. I could always just drop out of school, even though I want to get a high school diploma. Why don’t I just start? What is the English project again? Oh yeah, the paper about that book that we were reading in class. What is wrong with me? Just start.

      My eyelids are starting to get heavier and heavier. I don’t see these projects getting done any time soon. Let me just start to write, I am not sure whether what I am writing makes any sense but I am writing. The clock says 2:30. Whew, I just finished writing the English paper.

              Ahhhhh…..Drifting off…

   I see myself walking into school without my projects. I see other kids laughing at me, pointing at me. I see teachers asking me “why?” That’s when I hear yelling coming from outside of my door. I wake up and hear my mom yelling. “I know you’re still awake in there, your light is still on. Go to sleep!” I slowly lift up my head and hear my mom walking back down the stairs.

      I need to get back to work. I realize that in a couple of hours I am going to have to go to school and hand in my projects. Or what there is of my projects.

     How did it get to this point? Why do I have to do homework? I don’t quite see the reason for homework in general. What purpose could it possibly serve? Is it to make up for the lack of learning in the classroom? Is it that the school year is not long enough, or is it simply to keep us from having fun when we get home? Maybe it is none of the above; all I know is that it is something that I don’t enjoy. Argh, isn’t life supposed to be about enjoyment?  But, I really don’t want to go to summer school! Back to work!

      I can do this. Onto my history project. American history. How hard could that be? I am American after all. Hmmm. It’s supposed to be about World War 2. I know about that, my grandfather fought in that war. He told me all about it when I visited him in Florida. It was fascinating to hear his stories. I particularly remember the one where he flew a plane for 45 hours to avoid enemy territory. This is great. I could write about this forever because I love this subject. It is both fascinating and intriguing. It touches something deep inside of me. Wow, this is great.

    I will finish my projects. I will graduate. I will get my diploma. Hell, I might even go to college.

           

                   “Here they come! Everyone hide! The police is here!” They screamed while I was recollecting all the junk from the tables of that restaurant. “¡Virgen santísima!” I screamed. I remember myself hiding under the table I was cleaning. I tried to hide as much as possible. Silent, I saw people getting arrested by the police officers. They were screaming, crying, begging. “¡No me lleves! ¡No me quiero ir!”  Those people who wanted the ‘’American Dream’’ like me, begged. Poor fellows. They cautioned me about this. I knew this was going to happen. The police would come one day looking for the immigrants. But thank God I practiced a little bit what to do when that situation came, and at least it helped me. I did not get caught.

 

                     While waiting for the police to leave… I felt like all my dreams got broken in one minute. After that horrible moment, I realized I do not want to live another moment like this one ever again. This whole situation about hiding from the government it’s not as easy as it may seem. Now the confusion starts. I don’t know what to do. I remember I was born in the deserts of México, where my dad had to wake up every single morning, put his clothes on, and go to the farm to start working. After hours of hard work, he came home to eat some Tamales and that was it. Saw my family suffering from economical problems my entire life. They had to work every day for long hours to get some money to feed five kids for two days approximately. I remember when my mom gave me her food because it was not enough. Oh dad, I remember you coming home all sweaty, dirty, and tired. While other people in other places without working and without moving one finger, had more money and food than what we had in three weeks. I was the oldest of my other four siblings. Even though I do not have an education because my family never had the resources to send me to school, I consider myself more educated and smarter than a lot of people who attend school. That’s why I decided to move on and do something for my family. I remember that Saturday. When I packed all my things up and finally did it. Crossed the border from Mexico to United States without finding death. I guess I was so lucky no one caught me.

 

                  Now I am here, without anyone beside me. Trying to find myself in this unknown place. Seeing a lot of different people dressing up, talking and acting in a very weird way. Women dress up almost showing her body, and men decorate their bodies with piercings almost everywhere. The funniest thing is that no one seems like caring about that. “Where are you from?” some ask me. “¿Qué?” I answer. Then I realize they are speaking English. I do not know the language. How will I survive like this? I remember when I used to say: “Nothing will stop me. I will look for a job. That is how I will start. It will not be easy, but I will do it”. “Maybe I will have to hide from the police, but not for my entire life because I will become a citizen. Some people have come here and now they have money and the life they dreamed of. So I guess I will be pretty good…”

 

                    Who am I trying to fool? Right now I feel so lonely, sad, and depressed. When I remember those hard times at México, I get weaker instead of getting stronger. I miss my Mexican culture. I never thought living here would be like this. Here everything is just so different. I am not used to this. It’s hard surviving in here. I can’t communicate with anyone. This is not what I expected. Where is ‘’The American Dream’’ I was looking for? Where is the money I want? It was just a fantasy, rumors people say. What am I supposed to do now? Go back to México, or stay here? This is so confusing. They all say love is louder than pressure. But, is it louder than the pressure of trying to help your family with their economical problems? A pressure you had since you were a kid. Is it louder than having no food, clothes, or money?

 

                     It’s hard being in this situation right now. Where all you know is that your body is in Los Ángeles, California… but your heart is in a little farm at Zacatecas, México.

 

 

I am cold, tired, hungry, and afraid, I’m struggling to keep my sanity to keep from eating my friend. I spot something called a motel across the road. I walk over and lay under a parked car and rest. I curl up using my tail as a pillow and close my eyes and gently drifted into my dreams of the life I once had.

            It wasn’t always like this. I used to live in a nice house with nice people. They fed me and played with me. I had my own little bed and everything I could have ever wanted. Then one day the people were packing boxes I wondered what was going on. I climbed into a box and saw some of my toys.  I stared playing with them in the box. The little boy watched and giggled at the sight of me playing in the box. Then the woman picked me up out of the box and placed me in a cage. I wondered what was going on. Two men were gathering the boxes and putting them out into the truck. He seemed to fit a lot of those boxes in that little thing I thought to myself. It had words on it and a picture with words I didn’t know. I try to figure it out. Sa-n-ta Ana. I was confused. Oh well I’ll get it eventually. Suddenly the cage lifted up. I saw the boy’s fingers and I playfully tapped them. I was put into the family car in the back. It was like a mix of a pick-up and a SUV. I was put in the trunk.

 After what felt like 5 minutes we started moving. The purr of the engine lulled me to sleep. In the middle of the night I woke up. I had a feeling we were almost there for a majority of the trip I didn’t feel a lot movement of the truck stopping. And there was a lot of stopping now. Suddenly, there were bumps, big ones. My cage bounced around from them. Then one big bump rolled under the truck and sent me flying. The impact opened the cage and I broke out at full speed to catch the truck. It was too fast I couldn’t catch up. I stopped and looked around. Nothing was familiar, or at least not enough. I started walking down the road to a park. I saw all these strange yet vaguely familiar things. Signs that shined in the night and flashed like the orange lights on the front of cars. I got to the park and climbed a tree to the lowest and safest branch, and rested.

Daybreak came and I climbed down the tree. There were people here. I wondered if they knew the people I came with. I wanted to focus on that but I was so hungry. I walked up to a lady feeding birds. She took one look at me and shooed me away. I walked away. I saw a man with an apron that looked like the one the man that I knew wore when he cooked, surely he would have some food. I walked up and saw a little bird and it looked sad. It saw me and watched. I walked up to the man with the apron. He saw me and how hungry I was. He wasn’t like that lady I saw before. Instead of shooing me off, he gave me some food. I don’t know what it was but it tasted really good. He pulled it out of his sandwich. It was brown and thin. I ate but I was still hungry, but the man refused to give me more food. I ran out of the place and crawled under a tree and slept for the rest of the day.

It’s night when I wake up. I walk past the place with the man and the bird but I only saw the man no bird. I looked around for the bird, no luck. I wondered where it went. I wandered the streets until I came to some tracks. I started to cross when I heard something coming towards me with a rumble that shook the track. I looked and saw three lights heading toward me. I knew I had to move. I couldn’t I was frozen in fear by the sight of this monstrous metal thing barreling toward me. Suddenly the little bird from the place chirped loudly and snapped me out of it and I escaped the tracks just in time. I thanked the bird and we walked on together. We got to a place called a motel after what felt like forever, and we rested. I started to get hungry again. I looked around for something to eat, nothing, I then saw the bird. My mouth started to water. I shook my head to get the thought out. I slept under a car in the parking lot. The next day my friend and I walked into a nice neighborhood and lucky for the both of us the first house we went to ended the journey. My family was here and the little bird was given a new home with me. It’s good to be home.

i write because thats how i exspress my self. also i like to see how creative i can be when i write. Mainly i write beacuse its fun.

I write to express my feelings about the modern times and events. I also write to store ideas I have, and communicate with those that cannot hear or see me.

Writing is a tool for recording, yet I do agree it is another force that has been used for corruption and evil. It can be a platform for propaganda and complete fabrications. It's system can cause oppression,elitism in those who know more words and those who can write at all and it's unfair if not everyone learns to read, which is a global inequality.On the other hand, people write to say things that they are capable of saying face to face, but maybe don't have the stomach. 

Writing is okay but the spoken word and storytelling will always hail in comparison.It's much better to physically interact with an actual human being, and have the social experience of actually connecting with another human being in front of you whether they are reciting a poem, telling a story, or expressing their opinions. I'd rather listen to someones views face to face, accent and syllable,  spit glob to hand motions, body posture, and tone, features, facial expressions, volume and all then simply read it on a piece a paper, not really seeing how they breathe and withdraw sentences out of their thoughts and maybe even getting to build a mutual relationship with them. 


You can write on the bus, and train, isolate yourself in your room or desk. But nothing beats taking someone on the train with you or speaking to an entire audience. Even if you are reading something you've written down, You can always add in other flows of thought, and new ideas your writing generates. It's all about the present moment.

But in modern times, I can't expect people to remember everything in their heads, through the constant chores, stresses, and tasks of modern institutions. So It is a pretty useful, but I like to get out and experience things.

You always travel to a bad writers house and punch them in the face, but how more convenient to punch them in the face when they are right in front of you.