Any Body

TURNING POINTS

                                    1.

The day was cold and windy and it was a Friday in November. I didn’t have to go to school because my grandmother died and it was the morning of her funeral. The morning was rushed because we were trying to get an early start. My 17 year-old sister was busy getting dressed; it always takes her longer. Finally, my mom, my sister and I got into the car. The drive was usually five to ten minutes, but it took a little longer because of the traffic.

                  We drove from the South End of Boston to Roxbury where my father lived. The house is a triple-decker, painted brown with a small lawn in front. There’s a pathway that goes next to the house, and that’s how we always go in. I remember when we pulled up to his house, parked on the street, and used the front door. We usually don’t go that way. My little brother, who lives with my father, opened the door to let us in. He is two years old and was dressed in a tuxedo. I never saw him dressed like that.

                  When the door opened, I smelled candles. They smelled like roses. You know how candles have that burning smell? That was mixed with the rose smell. The living room was a lot cleaner than it used to be. The kitchen connects to the living room, and on the kitchen table was a full face picture of my grandmother with her glasses on. There was one of those rose smelling candles on each side and red flowers were in front of the picture.

                  My step-sister, who is 12, came up to me and said “Hi.” My little brother, who came to the door, was just jumping around on me, happy to see me. Other family members came into the house and everybody hugged.

                  We all went outside because the limousines were there. Some family members came late, and we had to figure out what limo to put them in. There were three limos, so some people had to drive themselves over to the church. I got into the limo with my father, uncle and two younger brothers. We left his house and turning the corner saw a fire at a house which caused the street to be blocked off by police officers. We had to find another way to get out. We turned around and drove to the church for the funeral.

                  The church was old-fashioned, dark brown, and wooden with two sets of stairs in front. The first set went to a platform, and the other set led up to dark brown doors that were open. We got out of the car and went inside the church.

                  My father walked ahead of us by himself. The pastor was already in the church, and male ushers were the only ones in the church besides my grandmother’s open casket. I couldn’t really see her from the back of the church. I could only see my father’s back getting smaller as he got further away. I was trying to follow him, but some other family members got ahead of me. There were three aisles in the church, and he was walking away from the casket down a side aisle. I saw him crying and holding his hands up to his face. He walked into a back room, and my mom told me to go see what’s wrong with him. I went into the back room. He turned and hugged me and cried on my shoulder. I never saw him cry before and I was surprised. I remember feeling really bad for him because he loved her really well. I started to cry too because I felt the same pain he felt. The more I watched him cry the more I did. It was the most memorable moment of my life.

                                    2.

I felt like I messed up most of my life and I never do anything right. It happened again today. I came back to the resource room and I’ve been upset all day. I had been okay since English class and then I came back to get construction paper, and the teacher asked me to call my father. Then I felt my stomach drop like a bomb from a plane. I remember the words of my father crying, “You’re going to get it when you get home.” Yet this isn’t where the story begins.

                  It was January after Christmas break and I was happy to come back. More of the things I do in school and “out of school” in the same day. I was happy to see all my friends. I was happy to get out the crib. I was happy to hear all of the kids jabbering in the hallway of school about how great their vacation was. I remember my teacher talking about an after school studying thing for a stupid test in the state that all tenth graders had to take. I thought this was an opportunity to use an excuse to cover up the detentions I had recently got before the vacation. So I had told my father that day when I got home about it and asked him if I could go. He told me to tell my teacher to call him to confirm that it was true since I had built a reputation in the past for being deceitful. Yet that didn’t stop me from doing it anyway. I really didn’t care at that point in time. I just didn’t want to set off his anger. My father is the type of person that’s very easily angered. So it was set. I would be free after school for four months to do whatever I pleased. I went to the detentions, but after those were done I had to have something to do. Should I actually go to the studies or chill with friends. Surely there was something I could do. So I did what naturally came to my mind which was hang with my friends. So I figured out what to do with my friends which was the only thing I could think of—smoke.

                  Smoking was the only thing in the world that would take away the pain that wasn’t displayed to the face of anyone else. It gave me the edge that I needed to get through the rest of my day. I knew I was depressed, but I didn’t want to show it.

                  The first time I smoked, I feared that other people would find out I had never tried it before, and I would be the laughingstock of the school again. So I played like I had done it, just to do it. I hadn’t wanted to try it for many years, but there was something in the back of my head that told me just to try it once to see if it will do something for me.

                  I remember looking at the long narrow brown paper with the green filling as it came out the pocket of my friend’s red jacket. I was saying to myself, “I’m actually doing this.” There were many people there so it took a while before it got to me. So when it got to me I was anxious. So I quickly held it up and I lit it. I sucked in the smelly smoke, and it quickly went down my throat and burned me. So I did what naturally came to thought which was to cough. Everybody stared and laughed as I took another try at it. This time it didn’t burn as much. So I was able to inhale. It was the first time that I felt successful at anything. I was happy as the smoke took effect. I was blazed for the first time ever.

                  I never thought doing this would ever lead to the kind of life that I live now. For a while nothing happened to me. I never got caught, and I felt I was happier with myself. So I did what I had to do continually for the next year. Then summer came, so I was away from friends and smoking for two and a half months. Then school started again and I was definitely back to old habits. But this time even more so than last year. I was down to smoking every day as opposed to maybe twice a week. It continued until one day me and two of my smoking buddies got caught by the police. My two buddies were expelled, but the only reason I didn’t get into trouble was I wasn’t necessarily involved. So then again I messed up. I had quit for awhile, but that didn’t stop me from starting back up. So I smoked and smoked and smoked.

                  Now, back to where I had left you hanging. My father found out that what had started from a simple lie blew up to a giant consequence. I felt too scared to go home, so I did the first thing that came to my mind which was to run away. There was too much fear in my mind and chest building up to even think about going home.

                  So I went to a friend’s house to crash. We hung around at his house for awhile, then we did the only thing that came to mind, which was to smoke. As soon as I inhaled the scrawny little thing, it instantly took every emotion that I had on my mind away. I was fearless for about two hours and it felt great. Then I realized that what I was doing was the wrong way to approach my problems.

                  I dialed my grandmother up on the phone. The fear kept building up under my skin like a volcano ready to erupt. Finally, she picked up the phone and said “Hello.” She told me that everybody was so scared about what happened to me. I could hear the sigh of relief in her voice. Then she told my mother and father that I was okay. Later on they called me and yelled every bit of anger they had into me.

                  It was worth it to come back. Yet I knew nothing would be the same. There would be a lot of pressure on me to be better. All my trust from my parents would mean nothing to them. School would have to change. Life would have to be better. Smoking would have to stop. But I would not see the last of it.