Pieces

I want people to hear his story. I want people to realize life brings so many gifts and to be thankful. Everyone has there own story, but I want them to hear this one. In my first year of high school, I met this boy. We started dating; I was so young I had no idea what I was getting into.
He moved from Mexico 4 years before he met me, he came here with his dad and sisters. In Mexico his dad was a cold blooded killer. He shot a man in front of his son. That boy watched that man die. His dad beat him so much, even tried to hang him. If he fell off a horse, he would force his son to sit on that horse for the whole day. He wanted to teach him to be a man. This boy would tell me stories that would put chills down my spine. He was an alcoholic by thirteen years old. He would do anything to show his dad he was a man, for him to be proud.
Then there was his mom, he would tell me stories about how she was so smart. She cared so much about her son. Even though in Mexico they had lots of money, she would make him earn his money and be smart with it. She would do anything to keep him in school, and for him to go to collage. His dad would beat that woman; never let her leave the house. When she was 7 months pregnant, he beat her till she lost her baby. A little girl. This boy was so helpless. Watching the women who gave him life and cared so much about him be beat. His little sister, so tiny and small. Dead, never take to breath he gets to have.
He really loved Mexico though; he told me stories about him as a little kid. He had his own car and horse. He was so free, but his dream was to come to America. When he was 14 years old, on December 25. He lost his mom; she was shot along with his cousin. He and his sister watched her die. Only 14 years old he shot the man that killed them. The only day in his life his dad was proud. He was a child; he would have been put in jail. The jail where they put all of the killers, it doesn’t matter that he was 14 or that his mom and cousin were shot first. Even though they told the police that it was his cousin, the one that got killed to. There were still people that knew it was him. All of his friends wouldn’t be around him, they were so scared. People were after him, they wanted revenge, they wanted him dead.
He had no time to get a visa, so his family hid in a trunk. He lost his mom, his family his home. He wanted to die, wanted those people to find him. His life was already over in his eyes. Going back was not optional.
When I couldn’t sleep id ask him to talk, because I have always enjoyed the sound of his voice. It has always calmed me. When I would lie on his chest, he would tell me stories about how great his mom was and what he would do with his friends. He really missed his home. But sometimes we would be on the phone and he would break out in tears. He would tell me pieces at a time.
It always made me re-think everything. How much I should be thankful for. Those men are still out there. Threatening people to give them information about where he is at. To me his life seems like a movie. I think it should be.