I asked him if he carried a gun. He told me not anymore. If he gets caught with a gun one more time, he will go to prison for the rest of his life, and he can't afford for that to happen now that he has his four year old son. His four year old son, who is his pride and joy and reason for living. We don't have much longer to talk, me and the man who has been a part of a gang since he was 13. I'll call him Hector, because I don't know that he would like it if I shared his name, although I told him I wanted to share his story, and that's why I think he trusted me and that's also why I feel obligated to write this.
It’s my favorite part of LA. El Centro del Pueblo.That's where I've been doing my community service . A rec center for under privileged kids in Echo Park. Located on a street lined with murals of Quinceañeras and hip hoppers. And right down the way lives a park with a lake. A lake filled with floating odds and ends, where an enormous fountain spurts out of the middle, like the blowhole of a giant, air hungry whale. I like to imagine that in this park, where homeless couples sleep, an El Salvadorian man fishes, a shirtless, tattooed man plays catch with someone else’s child, and a group of Mexican guys in Cowboy hats play chess, a giant whale lives right beneath the surface of the water, exhaling with all his might, for all to acknowledge the beauty, the magic, and the originality of this part of town.
I just finished my 49 hour sentence yesterday. I made an illegal left hand turn and didn't pay the ticket in time and over the course of those 49 hours, I would say at least every hour that I've been community servicing, I've met some of the most interesting people a person could imagine. Angel, the 70 year old, Cuban ex-pat who always smells of cigars and reads tarot cards in between his Cuban Political meetings. Rudy, the Puerto Rican who just wants to find somebody to love, ever since he lost his wife five years ago. He claims he's been alone too long and he's sick of the hussies who just want to party all the time. Zeek, the half Jewish, half Mexican teenager who has a daughter and is an aspiring actor. He says he knows people who know people. And yesterday, I met Hector.
A black Dodger t- shirt with blue writing. Jean shorts. Bright white nikes. And a silver chain with a cross. He was on one side of the room and I was on the other. The only thing separating us was distance and carpet. A dormant slushie machine behind me and a slumbering TV behind him. We are both the favorites of the community service kids. All the other ones have to go down to neighboring South Central to clean. You know South Central, LA? Where like Ice Cube said, "they say the strong survive, but shit, in South Central, the strong even die." Hector and I get to sit in the front office and greet the people who come in off the streets looking for help. In the moments between crying grandmothers longing for their children to fill their empty homes, young fathers looking to find classes on parenting, and teenagers struggling with addiction and pregnancy, Hector and I get to talking.
I am a privileged white girl. Most people see me and judge me as such. And it's the truth. My dad is a doctor. I grew up in a big house in the mountains of Colorado. I was blessed with a college education. I'm lucky. On paper. But, what I never feel like I get to talk about is what it was really like. It's easy to see a pretty picture and pass it over as just a pretty picture rather than ask what lies beneath. So many times we do this with one another. Conversation stays on that easy, comfortable level, instead of submerging to a place where we realize, we really are all the same.
I wonder what Hector thinks of me. Maybe he thinks I've had it easy my whole life. Or maybe he knows the truth which is that none of us have it easy, no matter who we are or where we come from. An old friend once told me, "If we all put our cards on the table, none of us would want to switch hands." Maybe that's why I wasn't scared to ask Hector about his life. I had a feeling we had a lot in common although the exact circumstances under which we grew up couldn't have been more different. Isn't it true that we all experience it all in one way or another? Life. Death. Love. Sex. Intoxication. Sobriety. Family. Wealth. Poverty. Friendship. Beauty. Joy. Depression. Hate. Remorse. Suffering. Anger. Hope. Trust. Betrayal. Envy. Lust. Comfort. Serenity. The list continues... Isn't life a constant experience of passing states where we feel each one of these things sometimes one at a time and sometimes all at once?
So why did Hector and I have to be so different? Why couldn't we just be two human beings, sharing a room, and some company, and some life experience for both of us to pack with us and take on our ways forever? I trusted that if I loved him for being in a gang, he could love me for being a privileged white girl, and somehow our friendship unfolded from there.
