Ever Since by Marcus Tillmon

Ever Since Marcus Tillmon

The ConTextos Authors Circle was developed in collaboration with young people at-risk of, victims of, or perpetrators of violence in El Salvador. In 2017 this innovative program expanded into Chicago to create tangible, high quality opportunities that nourish the minds,,expand the voices and share the personal truths of individuals who have long been underserved and underestimated. Through the process of drafting, revising and publishing memoirs, participants develop self-reflection, critical thinking, camaraderie and positive selfprojection to author new life narratives.

Since January 2017 ConTextos has partnered with Cook County Sheriff's Office to implement Authors Circle in Cook County Department of Corrections as part of a vision for reform that recognizes the value of mental health, rehabilitation and reflection. These powerful memoirs complicate the narratives of violence and peace building, and help author a hopeful future for human beings behind walls, their families and our collective communities.

While each author’s text is solely the work of the Author, the image used to create this book’s illustrations have been sourced by various print publications. Authors curate these images and then, using only their hands, manipulate the images through tearing, folding, layering and careful positioning. By applying these collage techniques, Authors transform their written memoirs into illustrated books.

This project is being supported, in whole or in part, by federal award number ALN 21.027 awarded to Cook County by the U.S. Department of the Treasury.

Ever Since

Marcus Tillmon

I ran to her . . . I cried. We cried. Everybody cried.

The sun rose February 2, 1989.

“Marcus? Marcus!?”

I heard my name being yelled loud as a whistle. I turned around to find Crystal running across the street. I know you remember Crystal? Thick as hell! Definition of ass for days, bad as hell, with the squeaky voice? Sound like shorty that played on that show “The Nanny.” You remember that shit? If you don’t remember the show, I know you remember her. “Here,” Crystal said, handing me her phone. “It’s your sister,” she told me. Staring at her titties I answered.

“Hello?” All I heard was Drea crying. “Drea, what’s wrong?” I kept asking. “What the fuck going on?” my homie Chris asked me. We was coming from his house when Crystal popped up. I was telling him about my father’s wedding that I was just a groomsman in.

“Drea, what’s wrong?” I asked again. “P.C. got shot!” Crystal screamed. That was my phone call. The first of many, but the worst to this day. I use to wonder how my sister’s phone call went.

I couldn’t even imagine my mother’s. It was so many people outside that day bro. I swear to God once Crystal said those words it’s like the whole block went quiet. “What she just say?” Dontae asked. “Patrick got shot; he at the University!” She kept screaming.

G, I was stuck, like couldn’t move. “Grab Lil Marcus, come on” Dontae said. We all got in his car.

Nobody said shit the whole ride. I wanted to tell myself everything was gone be alright, but it didn’t feel like it. By the time we made it to the hospital everybody was there . . .

You were in surgery. Everybody was crying. “Where P.C. at Danny, Ma, what happened?”

“They shot him in the head bro, they shot my little brother!” “Oh my God!” Drea cried on my shoulder. I’m holding her and Danielle, while Danielle held our niece Nasyiah.

Bro we just had our first niece in January! Now you got two nieces and four nephews . . .

You was gon be okay. I know you were. But until then I needed my momma. “Where our momma at Danny?” I asked my sister.

I knew she could fix this. She been fixing everything our whole life. We didn’t have fathers. Shit she was the only reason I went to my father’s wedding. I ran to her. My momma . . . our mother.

I cried. We cried . . . Everybody cried.

All that could be heard was “ssshh” and “It’s gon be okay” every couple of seconds from our Auntie Pam.

The Doctor came. The bullet had traveled and was lodged in the back of your skull. Your brain was swelling, or swollen. Too swole for them to do anything I guess, I don’t know.

“Can we see him?” one of our Aunties asked. We were allowed, but not too many at a time. I think I went third, but I went by myself. I remember . . . you in the hospital bed, big bro.

My Big Brother! My Hero! Shit, the hood’s hero! It wasn’t a nigga younger than you that didn’t look up to you where we was from.

You had a bandage over your eyebrow. That’s where they shot you. A drive by. They said they didn’t even know you got hit. They said you started swinging. By the time they saw blood, it wasn’t a lot. They thought it grazed you. “He was talking and everything,” Grump told me.

You had just moved over east with our Godmomma Helen. I wonder if our momma regrets letting you move?

I hope she doesn’t because this wasn’t her fault, and she needs to know that. I held your hand. “Don’t leave me bro, please,” I cried.

Your legs kept moving. “Muscle spasms,” the Doctor said. But you heard me. I know you did. All we could do was wait, and pray. So that’s what we did.

The next day it was quiet . . . The quiet calm before the storm.

You were brain dead.

It was nothing they could do. The quiet tears became loud again. I remember laying in bed next to you. Somebody was praying, I can’t remember who. I think our Auntie Helen.

You were only breathing because of a machine.

The doctors left the decision to our mother. Can you believe that shit! I couldn’t understand her pain even if I tried.

To this day, it’s been 18 years, 4 months, and 29 days.

Everybody told me it was gone get better, but it never did.

Rest in Peace Big Bro I love you!

Gone but never forgotten Patrick “P.C.” Cross

The sun rose February 2, 1989 and it set May 22, 2005 . . .

It’s been dark ever since

Marcus Tillmon I Am From I am from ah single mother From who you think I am boo boo the fool From tell me the truth I ain’t gone whoop you just be honest I am from a broken home because of a broken promise I am from low income and section 8 I’m from a couple days without lights Cause mama made the payments late I am from where the sun shine so bright But you’ve never seen a darker place I am from the trenches Where if you never faced a mandatory sentence then you can’t relate I’m from “what you on shorty” and “how you coming gang” I am from “Bro why they just kill lil what’s his name?”

I am from where God will never put you in a situation that you can’t handle I’m from his mama asking why While they spelled his name out with candles I am from where death make you a legend And murder make you famous I am from a blue box, to shackles to blue birds and cages I’m from where you from gang I’m just one of the latest I’m from his vision From where ring cameras catch more murders than visits I am from y'all ain’t just hear them shots…

Ssssh Listen

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