A Hundred and Five to Life

A Hundred and Five to Life

You know you’re in trouble when you ask your lawyer how much time you’re getting and he pulls out a calculator.  Count One, attempted premeditated murder, 30 to life.  It would be a lot less if it weren’t for the gang allegation and the prior strike, he said.  A consecutive 25 to life for personal discharge of a firearm.  Not that I was the one who discharged the firearm.  Not that they care.  But anyway, that’s 55 to life.  Then, Count Two, the other victim, the one who ended up without a scratch, another 30 to life; with 20 years more for the personal discharge.  That makes 50 to life for Count Two.  So the total is 105 to life.  I’ll be 128 when I’m eligible for parole.

Can’t wait.

You’re going to think  I must be a horrible person to get such a long sentence.  I want you to understand that I’m not.  I just went along for the ride, that’s all.  When they ask you to go with them, you go. You support your friends, and they support you.  They’re your family.  You don’t say No to family.

That family was all around me when I was growing up.  There was never any choice about joining.  You grow up in the neighborhood; you join.  Otherwise you have no protection, no one to count on when there’s trouble. 

I want you to understand what happened.  Those guys came into our neighborhood.  Right into the heart of our neighborhood, wearing their colors.  It was a deliberate provocation.  Maybe they were suicidal or something.

I was in the back seat.  I didn’t have a gun.  It was Puga who had the gun, Puga who pulled the trigger.  The witness said it was me.  I guess we all look alike.

I didn’t tell the cops that Puga was the shooter.  I didn’t tell anyone.

I didn’t know that Puga was actually going to shoot at them.  He could have brought the gun just to scare them.  Anyway, one guy didn’t get hit at all.  And the one guy who did get hit, he just had some skin wounds.  Just needed some fragments removed.  That’s all.

Does it make any sense that I should get 105 to life for that?

About the earlier incident – the strike.  I want you to understand that one too.  We didn’t go into their neighborhood.  That playground was borderline -- disputed territory.  And we didn’t even go there looking for a fight.  We were just there to shoot some hoops.  We weren’t wearing colors.  What happened was, I left to go to the bathroom.  As I was coming back I  heard Iggy screaming.  He was lying on the ground and they were kicking him.  How would you feel if you saw your best friend, your lifelong friend, the one who stood with you against the bullies in kindergarten, in third grade, in sixth grade, being kicked like that?  Of course I ran after them.  And when I caught one of them I hit him. Hard.  But just with my fists.  There were no weapons involved. 

I tried to explain to the lawyer that I was defending Iggy.  What was I supposed to do?  Let them get away with it?  But the lawyer said that defense wouldn’t work because number one, those guys were already running away and number two, the guy I hit was just a bystander.  Just a bystander!  Then why did he run away from me? 

But I don’t want to lie to you.  Not to you.  I don’t know whether he was one of the guys who attacked Iggy or not.  Maybe he wasn’t.  Maybe I was just too angry to care.

I look at your picture.  It’s a few years old already.  I guess you don’t look like that anymore.  I run my fingers over that crooked smile.  I remember your smile.  Do you still smile like that?

I heard that Lobo has been prowling around.  He never was one to miss an opportunity.  I wonder if he’s moved in yet. 

I wonder if he’s good to you.

You, my angel.  The light of my eyes. 

At the sentencing hearing, I wanted to tell the judge It’s not fair!  I should get just a few years; we were provoked; I’m not that bad!  Even 10 years I could understand.  Or 20.  Then I could be in your life again.  But the lawyer said Just say you’re sorry.  Don’t say anything else.  My mom was there, pleading with her eyes for me to say whatever they wanted to hear, whatever might make that hard ass judge happy.  So I said, I’m really, really sorry.  I turned to the one victim who was there, the one who got a few little pieces of metal removed from his skin, and I said No one should have to go through what you went through.  Then the prosecutor said I had no remorse.  And then the judge gave me 105 to life.

I humbled myself for nothing.

105 to life!
 
I guess I’ll never see you again. 

And that wolf, prowling around, sniffing out opportunities, taking what’s mine.

Amalia, hijita mia, mi niña. 

Do you call himDaddy?