For those that have grown up within any of the inner-cities across the U.S. from an early age you'll learn that the choices you make will follow you forever and that no one stays your kin (whether they be family or friends). Edenwald Houses is no different. While you have a number of success stories you also have those who are caught up due to the system, circumstances, and their own choices. The story that I'm about to tell is of two young men that knew each other as children that took two different routes. But suddenly found themselves in front of the same judge.
Throughout my whole existence in the black body I never would've thought that the confinement of a holding cell could feel so comfortable. Besides the piss that was dragging across the floor (caused by a young lady in another holding cell to the right of me) all I have to say was way to go 47th Precinct. Camera's even faced each cell. It was such a site to behold.
A set of bruises and a bloodshot eye irritated me while I was waiting to be summoned for a mugshot.
Holding a placard I put on a nice wide smile before the clicker of the camera went off. A couple a couple of fellows in the nearest holding cell exploded with laughter. One of these fellows was Yoel. Me and Yoel got into an argument that quickly escalated.
"If one man's street cred got in the way of him than the other man's perception got in the way of his." This phrase best describes how the fight between us started. There should be no disrespect thrown towards anybody over a knock on the door. Plain and simple.
Deep down I felt a sense of not just shock, but of sadness. Yoel and myself knew each other since the third grade while attending P.S. 112. Playing in the second school yard (which is now called Edenwald Playground)Yoel taught me my first Knock-Knock joke. It went something like this:
"If one man's street cred got in the way of him than the other man's perception got in the way of his." This phrase best describes how the fight between us started. There should be no disrespect thrown towards anybody over a knock on the door. Plain and simple.
Deep down I felt a sense of not just shock, but of sadness. Yoel and myself knew each other since the third grade while attending P.S. 112. Playing in the second school yard (which is now called Edenwald Playground)Yoel taught me my first Knock-Knock joke. It went something like this:
Knock, Knock
Who's there?
Corny
Corny
Corny who?
Your horny.
My mother was outraged and my step-father (former) thought it was funny.
Eventually, the two of us would grow up. Before me and my family moved into 1155 East 229th Drive South Apt. 2C I would catch up with Yoel from his first floor window while running an errand at my cousin's house (who I now live beneath). During the early spring of 2011 my family and I would become Yoel's new neighbors. Yoel's greeting words were: "Oh shit. You moving in where the Mexicans used to live.
Your horny.
My mother was outraged and my step-father (former) thought it was funny.
Eventually, the two of us would grow up. Before me and my family moved into 1155 East 229th Drive South Apt. 2C I would catch up with Yoel from his first floor window while running an errand at my cousin's house (who I now live beneath). During the early spring of 2011 my family and I would become Yoel's new neighbors. Yoel's greeting words were: "Oh shit. You moving in where the Mexicans used to live.
As a tender sixteen-year old it was clear that me and Yoel lived two different lives. One would say that I was the "lame ass nigga" pushing his textbook across the "ave" and Yoel was the beloved future drug dealer. On one side Yoel was in his room smoking, drinking, talking the shit, and screwing some chick. On the other side you had me doing homework, studying, or doing something productive with my time.
Growing up in the projects everyone's household is not your household. The household that I grew up in was led by a woman that was an Assistant Program Director and a staunch advocate of education and cultural pride. My mother often meant what she said and meant business. Books can be seen laying around or found in cases. My step-father (former) became less active and null-and-void at this point.
To most people's surprise Yoel's household did consist of a mother and a father. His mother did most of the housework duties and ran errands. His father on the other hand was an ex-convict who did right by his fellow tenets. Dad was a real O.G. Anytime me and my mother would throw stuff out they would always (or half of the time) ask for us to send it their way. The outside BBQ's that they would have in front of the building during summer weekends use to crack me up.
You may not think that there is no difference between myself and Yoel. But there really is. Do you want to know what it is? It's choices. Point, blank, and period.
Back at the precinct me and Yoel were taken out separately in handcuffs and giving our court papers. On our way to our places of sanctuary I walked with my mother and he walked with his girlfriend (possibly his ex at this point). I bet the both of our showers brought pain. I'm not talking for either of us. Just going back to that day of memory.
March 16, 2018 was our day in court. Early that morning me and one of my aunts hopped in a cab to The Bronx Criminal Court. While the ride was a little lengthy it was very eye opening. All the rain and thunder was gone and I would see clearly. Seeing the connection between The Prison Industrial Complex and the inner-cities all across the nation was mind-blowing and disheartening. Once getting settled in the courtroom our case was one of the later one's that day. No one was charged or locked up. In other words everything went smoothly. We both went our separate ways, never talking to each other again.
Fear, torment, anxiety all flushed down the drain when me and my aunt decided to pick up some sandwiches from a near by shop. Orders were placed. Our sandwiches were purchased. Off to the train we went.
You may not think that there is no difference between myself and Yoel. But there really is. Do you want to know what it is? It's choices. Point, blank, and period.
Back at the precinct me and Yoel were taken out separately in handcuffs and giving our court papers. On our way to our places of sanctuary I walked with my mother and he walked with his girlfriend (possibly his ex at this point). I bet the both of our showers brought pain. I'm not talking for either of us. Just going back to that day of memory.
March 16, 2018 was our day in court. Early that morning me and one of my aunts hopped in a cab to The Bronx Criminal Court. While the ride was a little lengthy it was very eye opening. All the rain and thunder was gone and I would see clearly. Seeing the connection between The Prison Industrial Complex and the inner-cities all across the nation was mind-blowing and disheartening. Once getting settled in the courtroom our case was one of the later one's that day. No one was charged or locked up. In other words everything went smoothly. We both went our separate ways, never talking to each other again.
Fear, torment, anxiety all flushed down the drain when me and my aunt decided to pick up some sandwiches from a near by shop. Orders were placed. Our sandwiches were purchased. Off to the train we went.
Riding on the D train some small talk was exchanging between my and aunt me. I don't know what the conversation was about. However, I do remember my aunt saying something that I will never forget. My aunt said: "If only more young men and women of color would stay out the system and invest their time in more productive activities we wouldn't be in such a mess." Those were my aunts words of wisdom for the day. A stop that was three rides away from the last my aunt would get off the train and head to her job. Reminiscing back to this event all I have to say is damn what a story to tell. [1/16/2020]
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