“When a flower doesn’t bloom, you fix the environment it grows in, not the flower.” Three years ago, I moved back to Chicago from the tropics to start my family in the same environment that gave me so much opportunity. I was afraid of the winters, but this year during the polar vortex, I learned that freezing temperatures can actually bring us closer. Shared stories compel us through cold times—stories of neighbors helping each other shovel, of dibs on parking spots, of hotel rooms for the homeless. These stories build empathy and bring us together. Stories have the power to inspire. But for too many, seeking a better environment means leaving Chicago. The rippling effects of violence, not the weather, motivate people to move. At ConTextos, we work with young people who have experienced the brunt of Chicago’s violence and abandonment. Their stories complicate traditional concepts of victim and perpetrator, revealing deep trauma and potential for great triumph. Like with the weather, the numbers around violence can be terrifying. But when we take time to listen to the real stories of lived experience, we see a harsh environment with incredible potential. The stories in this compilation come from around the City of Chicago. They are the brave stories of young people who have done deep work to navigate their past and reflect on the constant traumas around them. They are stories often ignored, shadowed by terrifying statistics; they deepen our understanding of what’s going on in Chicago’s communities. Not only what happens in an instance of violence, but the trauma that surrounds those moments—the before and after that doesn’t make the headlines, but haunts and informs our collective and individual understandings. These stories show us why our young people cannot bloom in the environment as it is.
Partnership with law enforcement is vital to transform our communities into nurturing, healthy environments where young people, and all people, can bloom. After all, the police, too, experience the trauma of Chicago’s violence every day. They, too, carry the stories of withered hope. In this effort, Joining Forces, we bring together police and youth, two groups uniquely exposed to violence in Chicago, to understand the stories of our City—stories that spark dialogue and reflection, forcing us to confront assumptions about violence, poverty, race. We invite them to look closely at the environment, and work together to better understand our ecosystem so that we can improve it. This is a critical moment. On a national stage, we are experiencing rapid criminal justice reform. Locally, mayoral change and the Chicago Police Department consent decree create an opportunity to build trust between community and law enforcement. And across the globe, an increasing commitment to trauma-informed practices helps lift up voices that have too often been ignored. We are moving beyond an us vs. them, good guy vs. bad guy mentality, and toward a sense of shared compassion. Hurt people hurt people. At ConTextos, we seek to heal. Spring is finally coming to Chicago. There’s a feeling of collective unity as porches and stoops are reclaimed, windows are opened. Some of us look forward to the hot days of summer, eager for the best weather of our city. Yet for many Chicagoans, this will also be the most dangerous part of the year. I left the tropics to come back to Chicago because I know this is an environment where my young daughter can blossom. Now, we are Joining Forces so that everyone in our city can thrive. Debra Gittler Founder and Executive Director, ConTextos April 2019
Dear Lil D, James
D
amn big bro. I keep having dreams of that night they took you away. Like how we let ‘em creep up on us like that. Everything happen so fast. We was just chillin', playing the game. Talking about the old days and how you didn’t want nothing bad to happen to me. Little did we know it was somebody outside lurking, ready to take somebody life. But still we decided to go to get something to eat.You left me traumatized mentally and physically, 'cause all I remember you saying to me before we left out was, “Lil bro, leave your gun. We don’t need it.”
Now look what happen. I’m out here all alone with the thought of you pushing me back in the gangway to save me from getting shot. And me sitting back there listening to you die slowly. Why they keep shooting? Knowing I can’t do nothing about it at the time made me more angry. ‘Cause it wasn’t your time to go. And the fact that I didn’t know who did it meant everybody had to get it. I didn’t know who did it meant everybody responsible. Somebody had to feel the pain I was feeling. They took somebody I looked up to. Now who suppose to watch my back out here? Make sure I ate at night? They don’t make 'em like you no more. You didn’t even get to see your son be born. He look just like you, with that fat nose. December 22, 2014, when you died. I was just 16. My homie Dreski was killed by gun violence on March 13, 2016, when I was 18. Other people died, too,
between you two. Maybe eight people. But Dreski was innocent. He was just 16 when he got killed. He wasn’t in the mix. That’s when I started carrying a gun everyday, not just sometimes. And that’s when I got caught. Early in the morning, walking through the alley. I got caught in my homie’s grandma’s backyard. I got a year at 50. Six months in jail, seven days in Stateville. And came home on house arrest for three months. That’s when my uncle told me about IMAN. He didn’t want me to go back to what I was. And I didn’t want to go back to jail.I know you would be so proud of all the stuff I’ve accomplished. I finally got my high school diploma after all them times I told you I wasn’t going back. Funny how things change. I went from being in the trenches every day, gangbanging, running from the police and dodging bullets, praying I didn’t make the news. But now I’m working. Got a job. Learning a trade. I’ve finally learned to take the blinders off. I can see myself, and Lil D, I can still see you.
I never dreamed I’d be here. — James
Sandwiched Possum Lee
I
t was around 9 p.m. and here I was, downtown, lost be-
cause my GPS was taking me Every Which Way besides the way I wanted to go. I had on two hoodies and a coat, that’s how cold it was outside. A woman approached me who I didn’t know from a can of paint. She said, “Here, I just bought this from the store. It is still hot.” I guess she thought I was homeless. Normally I would have flipped out, but instead I felt like being kind. So I accepted her sandwich and let her walk off with a big smile on her face. I think she felt like I was in need of food, but I thought she was in need of satisfaction.
HEAD UP so tears
don’t fall.
— Marquist
The life I live won’t last. — Anonymous
Escaping The Madness Jonathan
T
he blue lights illuminated my face. I stood empty, lost and broken. Standing in the middle of chaos, time moved in slow motion, the world stood still and struggled to move forward. People on their knees, river of tears stream down their faces. The police yelling and shoving people back trying to gain control of a way-too-familiar scene. My friend laying lifeless. Slaughtered on the street. I stood on the steps hours after they removed his body staring into space at the bloodstained sidewalk where the life of a loved one last stood. Growing up in the ghetto is challenging. Hard to dodge trouble but easy to find it‌ or most of all it finding you. Raised in a concrete jungle, it’s essential to find an escape from the madness where gang life is glorified. Most gangs in Chicago started off as organizations created to uplift and protect the community. Crazy how over the years it evolved into the very thing it sought out to destroy. I always excelled at school and sports, which became my outlet and world away from the world. People dying, selling drugs, violence and peers alike was the world I was living in. Math, reading, football and baseball became the world I escaped to.
My world was day and night. Black and white, but I lived in the grey. Education was always a strong point in my life. Contact sports released my built-up aggression. Together they gave me hope in a seemingly hopeless place where everyone is viewed as a statistic. With the reality of a fallen friend lying dead forever etched into my memory, the walk home felt like a thousand miles. I was in a world of loneliness, deaf to anything around me. Rage, anger and homicidal thoughts took over my mind. Gang violence took someone I loved and retaliation seemed natural. We’d been together since third grade and in a blink of an eye his existence became only a memory.
My world was day and night. Black and white, but I lived in the grey. From that day on I was two different people. During the day I was an honor student and football player with tremendous promise. During the night, I was a whole other person. School became harder as I lived with the grief of endless funerals and countless visits to friends locked up. People who were the closest to me hurt me the most. Being compassionate and caring was a vulnerability that could get you robbed or killed. I saw the world as a cruel place. My heart grew cold. I put up a defense and hurt before I got hurt. Love was a fairy tale. One day I went to school and a teacher held me back to talk. She started crying and said I reeked of weed and was throwing my life away. I laughed and walked away when
I should have been crying too. People who loved me cared about me more than I cared about myself.
I saw the world as a cruel place. My heart grew cold. I put up a defense and hurt before I got hurt. My Great Grandmother Nana was my heart and soul. She raised me and said all she wanted was to live to see me graduate. If it wasn’t for her I would have given up on life. She became my white light in my world of darkness. I excelled at everything I did even if it was unhealthy or damaging. It got to a point where I became tired of living the street life. Tired of catching cases and tired of gambling with my freedom and with my life. Tired of throwing my life away. I used school to take me away and eventually the scale tipped until the good outweighed the bad. School and sports became my focus. Once you’re involved in the streets it's hard to leave it behind. It’s always a part of you and who you are. I’m just grateful I gained the wisdom to know that’s not who I wanted to be anymore. I graduated high school and went on to college. My family was proud and I was happy to make them smile. I moved out of the hood, changed my friends and left the old me behind. I was once told that you have two wolves living inside of you. One evil wolf and one good wolf, both are fighting for dominance and control. In the end it is the one you feed that wins.
My First Job
B
Wakil
upe! Dupe! Fupe! Tupe! Beep Beep! My four-digit PIN code was entered and accepted. I had clocked in and was eager to complete any task required of me. My cousin Renae had “hooked me up” with the gig at KFC where her brother Mike Mike and her best friend Zach were working. As the new maintenance captain, my duties were to clean inside and outside the work site, stack and manage the pantry and freezer, clean and manage the oven and fryers, set and reset the soda fountain machines, and fix any minor issues that arose on the property. I worked overtime the same day, well into the night. The entire work crew was present from every shift, about 15 to 16 employees total. Our goal was to prepare our site for its annual health inspection. The inspection was scheduled for the following day, so we had our work cut out for us. Both of my cousins were in attendance, so I wasn’t too nervous, but I was nervous. I did not want to make any mistakes. As I put on rubber gloves and grabbed cleaning supplies, someone turned on the radio. Jam after jam played. Soon my previous anxiety was completely alleviated and replaced with ambition. We scrubbed the walls, the ovens, the floors, the concrete outside and everything reachable. I even degreased the dumpster cube, located behind the restaurant, to the point that you could eat inside of it without a hint of foul odor.
Satisfied with the job we had done, Zach let us know it was time to wrap things up and clock out. I was complimented on my work ethic by all of the employees in attendance. The round of applause made me blush modestly. I was slightly embarrassed to be put on the spot. Renae smiled with relative pride. Secretly I was surprised of myself, I mean growing up I was always in trouble; in and out of lock up, fights, gangs, guns, drugs, that’s what I was known for, not working. I guess I half expected something to go wrong. Like my background disqualifying me for any position anywhere. Or getting into some kind of physical altercation with another employee or customer. It was possible in my mind that the police could have come in and arrested me for grand theft auto. LOL pretty paranoid, huh? Trust me I’ve seen enough to influence such scenarios. Gratefully nothing of that magnitude transpired. I declined every offer to be carpooled home, decided to walk the distance home, adrenaline still pumping. During my duration I began to evaluate my life. The summer night breeze placing Chicago at the perfect temperature. The aroma of crime, sex and addiction filled the air, things I was familiar with. It was mid-June 2006, not long after I was released from prison and ordered to serve 18 months parole. I was only 19 years old at the time and had already got two adult felony convictions. With each step I felt the need to start a new path, a new time, a new life. Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock! My slight rhythm indicated my arrival. As I entered the apartment on North Avenue and Kedzie, where my grandmother, mother, aunt, brother and several pets resided, the effects of work had settled it. I was sore.
“Hey man, how was your first day?” my mother asked as Katie our chihuahua attacked me. “It was great! They liked the way I worked,” I replied. “Good, I’m proud of you, son,” my mother said. Then she grabbed my face and looked me straight in the eyes. “Promise me you are going to stay out of trouble this time,” my mother requested. “I promise, I’ll try, Ma,” I replied. “That’s good enough, baby,” my mother said as she kissed my face. I had already eaten at work, so I grabbed something cold to drink from the fridge. After a nice hot shower I played a few video games with my brother, and talked on the phone with my girlfriend. Noticing the late hour reminded me that I was severely cutting into much needed sleep time. I called it a night and smiled as I drifted off. Boom! Boom! Boom! Hard knocks to the front door woke the family. “Who the fuck is it? Banging like the police at 4 a.m. in the morning!” my grandmother demanded. It was the police. Just by being on parole I was subjected to random searches. I had already been on parole for at least two months. They had never searched before, why now? I asked myself. With total disregard to the neatness and organization of the home, they continued their search. Handcuffed and sitting with my back to my bedroom wall, I waited patiently and confident that their efforts were futile. I had gotten rid of
any negative elements, with the intent to change my lifestyle. Once they were satisfied, I was uncuffed, and they exited leaving a mess for me to clean up. I admit that after the officers left I felt discouraged, like no matter what I would always be treated like a criminal. I felt like no matter how hard I worked or how many times mother told me she was proud of me, I was destined to be a street king. I was also ashamed because it felt like I was a burden to my family. My grandmother’s home was being searched at 4:00 a.m. because of me and my shit. My grandmother must have been reading my mind because she said, “Look man, it’s not your fault. Grandma not mad at you, baby.” Then she offered me breakfast before I headed out for my second day at work. There was no use in going back to sleep, it was almost 7 a.m. I followed my grandmother to the kitchen. I said, “Why bother? They just gone keep trying to lock me up again.” My grandmother looked at me sternly and said, “You carry your ass to work now, hear. You doing good, you keep doing good, don’t let no one make you give up on yourself.” She turned around and started scrambling eggs, frying turkey sausages and making pancakes. So I returned for my second day of work, inspired and motivated. My grandmother’s words were everything I needed to hear. I could change, I wanted to change, and I was actually doing it. Something as simple as a 9 to 5 had provided a breakthrough for a young man who was used to crime and incarceration.
Found not guilty,
still not innocent.
— Andrew
New Beginnings
B
Leronn
ang!!! That’s all I heard when the car hits the gates. My shirt went from fresh white to blood red. Ambulances and firefighters are all I see after I realized I was shot. Have you ever seen your life flash before your eyes? Have you ever felt a horrible burn you can’t take away? Well I have and it changed me dearly. I was shot on May 21, 2016, just a few days after my daughter Kamara’s first birthday. Since that moment, I was lost and misguided, and full of anger. It traumatized me in an instant! I was shot while driving a car. Among the three people in the car, I was the only person shot. I was shot once in my left shoulder and twice in my back. The bullets remain inside me ‘til this day. Every day I have pain from the incident, so I’m still taking medicine for the wounds. It saddens me to even feel this pain. It saddens me to have to wake up every day and see these wounds on my body. What if I retaliated and put myself in a hole which would prevent me from seeing my daughter? What if I wasn’t so lucky and would have died inside the car? What if I put myself in harm’s way by retaliating? Life wouldn’t be the same for me nor anyone else. All the same I was lost and misguided, wanting revenge over and over again. I could have done something back, but what would that have done? What would that have caused? It definitely would have made me regret doing something that isn’t going to change what happened. Instead I faced every obstacle and looked for what could
help me better myself. I focused on getting into a working field, instead of hurting another person or their family. I surrounded myself around family every day, because I was almost taken from them. A month and a half later, I was with my big brother Steve on the block. We were kicking it and drinking when he brought up an opportunity, a job at the Youth Peace Center. One winter morning in the Roseland area of Chicago, I was set to meet with Mr. Rogers Jones, Chief Director of the Youth Peace Center, about employment placement. Mr. Jones is a nice, healthy and fit man. He dresses nice: white collared shirt, tucked inside gray slacks with a nice belt and dress shoes. I know he is also very helpful to the Roseland community and fellow African-American youth. He and his wife, Mrs. Jones, are co-executive directors of Roseland Youth Peace Center. I was happy and grateful for the opportunity, because I was out of work and really needed a new beginning. I started training and earned certifications such as my 10-hour OSHA training and high school diploma. I’ve never had such big accomplishments as these. It’s a blessing to work and be able to earn your high school diploma at the same time. No one has ever done so much for me before. I’ve come to appreciate the help and the opportunity that was given to me.
I fought hard
to recreate me.
— Kimberly
I Don’t Want Him To Grow Up Like This Jeremy
I
do not want to live my life this way. I haven’t been wanting to live life like this for a long time. When I was eight years old, I had to make my own food. My parents weren’t there to take care of me, so I had to take care of myself. I had to figure out what I was going to wear to school. I came in the house anytime I wanted to. I was blessed to have some good friends whose mom cared about me to help me with my basic needs. Now I would rather be drama-free. Why? 'Cause I got a son that I want to raise to become a man. I don’t want him to live the same life I’m living. I came up without a father. That’s why I was in all of this negative stuff in life. I ain’t have a father to tell me right from wrong. My mom was out on drugs. So I was forced to become a man on my own. I want to be there for my son Brayden and show him how to live drama-free. I will tell him don’t go down the route I went. If he did, his life would get harder. He would go to jail and get treated like a slave. He would have people tell him when to go to sleep, when he can eat and most of all it would be real difficult to get a job. 'Cause one day he would see the big picture after all the gangbanging is over with. He would want to change. I would want to show him how to grow up to be a positive man and know that he can be anything in life if he put his mind to it. I want Brayden to not have days like what I’ve had. Like that one day… I had only woken up less than an hour ago. I had a rough night sleeping, but when the sun came up I felt good. I started my morning by telling God thank you for waking me up this morning and starting me on my way. I went to sit on the porch and saw my friend walking down the street. That day’s routine was like every other day. But that day, it wasn't right.
Before I knew it, I was running from the police. I ran inside my homie’s two-flat. He stays upstairs. The doors were unlocked. I locked the downstairs door behind me, yelling as I was going up, "Open the door!" Then I got to knocking on the apartment doors. “Can y'all please open the door?” And I repeat, “Can y'all please open the door?” No answer. I knew it was his apartment, but nobody was answering the door. I started to panic. I was running up and down the stairs with nowhere to go, saying to myself, “I gotta get out of here some way, somehow!” But I was stuck in the hallway with nowhere to go. I ran back up the stairs and looked out the window to see like a half a dozen police around the house. As I looked out the window, that's when my friend’s father open the door. I ran over. I said, “Red, I got to get in here or I'm gonna go to jail!” He held open the door for the cops. They busted through and grabbed me. “What's going on?” I asked. They asked my homie’s father, “Who is this to you?” He stared, shaking his head at the officers. He said, “That's him.” They handcuffed me and took me to the police car. “I hope they overlook the gun,” I was saying to myself over and over. But within minutes they came out with one. I just shook my head. I'm ‘bout to go to jail. I spent three months in County and three months in the joint. And when I got out, I knew that jail wasn't for me. Inside, I'd been stressing. I'd been to jail for the block and the whole time I was in there, ain't no one send me no money, ain't no one visit me. I learned to not send myself over the river and not get locked up for nobody else. After that, I also knew that I could pick up a gun to protect myself, but not to protect the next man. At the end of the day, I won't be mad for going to jail trying to protect myself. But I ain't going to go to protect someone else, Knowing I was doing this hard time alone, with nobody in my corner, you feel me? I could've come out and said I ain't going to touch no gun. But the way I live, I’d rather get caught with a gun than without it. The opposition ain't going to care that I'm trying to change my life. In my neighborhood, if they catch me lackin’, they gonna kill me just as well as they kill my homies. I want something better for my son.
Don’t get killed trying to fit in. — Hayes
New Steps, New Moves Lonnie
M
arch 3rd, 2009, I woke up in a great mood to birds chirping, still pumped, feeling the excitement from the Lil’ Wayne concert the previous night. Living with my aunt I was never happy. When I wasn’t locked in the basement, I was raising my sisters and getting beat because the majority of my time my aunt was too high to keep up with reality. I was always the dirty kid in school. Nevertheless school was my escape, not to mention I never got to go outside unless I was screaming out the window. So the fact that I got to partake in something my classmates were doing and I would actually get to be a part of the conversation was everything! I was excited to go to school for the first time in years. Little did I know this day would go from great to hell in a matter of hours all because I forgot to unpack my book bag. Apparently, when attending a Christian school random locker searches happen and everything unholy is frowned upon. So my pictures and memories from one of the best nights of my life are contraband and grounds for expulsion. So of course when I got home, I was whooped for nothing. But as a young man, it comes a time when being wrong when you are right is no longer accepted. I was very adamant about not accepting consequences I didn’t deserve. To this day I can’t decide what made me lose respect for my aunt. Between watching her snort coke and being locked in a basement the majority of my childhood, who could blame me? So, I left and traded one hell for another. I went to my sister’s.
The first night all I could think was at my aunt’s at least I had my own room. But when your life is falling apart, who really has time to stop and think. So, I left again. My brother was selling crack so I chose that as a means to survive. The first night I sat in a trap house and kept 50 off a 170 pack and pretty soon, this was life. Pretty soon it went from single packs to holding a couple at a time. It went from hold this for me to keep this on you at all times. From we gonna eat to you gotta go and get it. And to be all the way honest, I started to live for the rush. I went from holding bro’s hammer to buying my own. I went from chasing a dream to putting my team on. The first raid fucked me up. Cuffed on the porch with no shirt and no shoes on, officer yelling, “What you gotta tell me?!” while the dog walking past. The whole block outside, but I’m sitting here alone. All them homies that I had? I ain’t hear a word 'til I came home.
To be a part of the solution I had to stop creating the problem. My OG washed her hands of me so I came home to nothing. Met my Baby Mama, yeah we happy, but we are struggling. So, I ask you, am I supposed to sit and be content with a life that I never wanted to live? But either way life doesn’t stop, so eventually I got tired of struggling and it’s back to the block. Taking the same steps and making the same moves. Mistake after mistake in front of my son, but expecting him not to follow in my shoes. Here I am eight years later and to be honest it’s still tough, but I am handling it different because instead of just reacting, every time I find myself in a situation, I think about the 35 years my uncle just got or the fact that if my son ever asked me, “Dad, why you keep leaving me?” or “Why don’t you love me?” I would be speechless. Although my moves are to protect his future, I also have to remember that I am a big part of his present. He is getting older and so am I. To be a part of the solution I had to stop creating the problem.
Off The Top D w a y n e
“S
tep up!” the guard yelled when it was my time to receive my money for bus fare home. My heart beating 300 miles mph from the excitement of knowing that I was a couple of minutes away from being a free man. It felt like I wasn’t ever getting out. I was happy as hell. I was touching everything. Everything felt brand new. The city looked different. It was like I missed out on something and I was ready to catch up on everything. I thought I was on my way home to see my family, but that’s when we pulled up in front of the funeral home and everything went left. For the moment I felt as if my whole body was numb. Seeing my little sister in a casket broke my heart into a million pieces. Every care I ever had was gone. For a second it felt like I was back in hell. I come home to more pain. Just the day before I was in a different hell. Cook County Jail. I was there for one long year. I hate to even think about it. “On them doors!” the C.O. said from the other side of the deck. I can smell the scent loudly coming from under my arms. I haven’t showered in two days. My head was in a whole other galaxy. Tac! Tac! Tac! was the sound I heard at 4 o’clock every morning. Breakfast trays hitting the floor on the inside of the cell. Having to wake up for breakfast so early. I’m sleepy as hell, and on top of that I gotta eat some bogus ass applesauce and stale graham crackers for breakfast. “Aye, cellie, you want this?” “This must be hell,” I thought to myself.
Fights everywhere. One day I was using the phone and a nigga told me to hurry up or he was hanging my call up. Me being me, he gave me just enough reason to go off and it went from there. I knew I would end up going to the hole. I thought to myself, shidd, I’ll be okay. Until they put me behind that door and locked it. Court days were terrible. Having to wake up at 5 o’clock in the morning to get ready for a judge you only finna see for two to five minutes. Being transferred from bullpen to bullpen, for hours and hours. Gotta look over my back every second. Nobody to trust. I thought to myself, “This is what being grown feels like.” Eating nasty ass choke sandwiches with a little jug of juice, in handcuffs, waiting to be called into the courtroom. All to be told you have a continuance for the next 30 or 45 days. To hear the same shit until the judge feel like he’s ready to let you out. Not only is the process going to court a hassle, you have to worry about running into people who hated you. Or hated the niggaz you be with. Tough guys. Then it takes long as hell just to get back on that boring ass deck. June 28, it was my visiting day and I had court the next week. My Mom was finally bringing my little sister Aquela to see me. My little sister is in a wheelchair and it was really hard for my Mom to bring her. I was excited, because I hadn’t seen Aquela in an entire year and I love her so much. Visiting hours were 3-8 p.m. and time was running out. I called my girl to see if she had heard from my Mother. She called my little sister Shamaya on 3-way. The moment Shamaya picked up, I heard screaming. “Hold on! Something’s wrong.” I can hear the screams from the other side of the phone. “What’s happening? What’s going on?” I ask. No answer, just more screaming. “She not breathing!” I hear her voice even louder. “She not breathing.” My girlfriend and my sister Shamaya were both panicking. It killed
me not to be able to help. I blacked out. I panicked. I didn’t feel myself. It felt like I was gone. While everybody was doing normal things on the deck, my world was crashing down. I was panicking and my heart was beating fast. It hit me-reality was real. It seemed like stuff I used to see in the movies was coming to life. Pain, hurt, death. Everything I thought was fake was real. It felt like everything hit me at once. My heartbeat was racing, speeding 300 mph. My girl stayed on the phone with me as she followed the ambulance to the hospital. The C.O. let me stay out of the cell. I kept calling my mom. When my sister got to the hospital, she died. Everyone was losing it. My brother was crying. My mom sounded like she wasn’t there. Then it hit me, I just lost my little sister. I haven’t seen her in so long. I still remember the mumbles of her voice saying, “Dauh, dauh, dauh” in the back of my mind. I snapped. The C.O. moved me off the deck.
I blacked out. I panicked. I didn’t feel myself. It felt like I was gone. Then court day came. My lawyer had been telling me not to take the time I was offered to cop out. He said it would take longer, but we could beat the case. I called him and told him I was going to take the plea. He was mad at me. I told him I had to, I had to get home. The judge was offering me 14 months at 50% and I had already done a year in County. If I took it, I just had to dress in and dress out of Stateville for one day, then I could go home. So that's what I did. Losing Aquela fucked me up. It still does to this day. First thing or person I can take my anger out on, I will. I’m learning to handle that better, but it still happens. People’s emotions can affect them for real. You never know what people are going through. I lost my
Grandma and Uncle while I was in jail. Losing Aquela was different. I never lost a person that close to me before. My Mom visits the gravesite every Saturday. I went once, but I can’t do it again. I don’t want to go. That shit can make a person crazy. I don’t care if you are 30 years old. Until you realize it’s time to become a man, the kid’s mindset will you hold you back from being the man you are supposed to be. I never knew how much one mistake could cause so much hurt to so many people around me. Everyone makes choices. I made choices good and bad, but I had to realize the choices I make also affect the people I love.
PLEASE don’t forget to
REMEMBER me.
— Francisco
Grandma’s Love Ty r i c e
G
rowing up was hard on me. Living in the projects, raised in a threebedroom apartment with three generations was even harder. You got my grandmother, my mother and her kids, and my aunt and her kids all in one. We stayed arguing about every little thing from who will be the first one to get in the bathroom, to kicking and fighting, to getting to the Frosted Flakes cereal for the little toy tiger that was at the bottom of the box. We all wanted that tiger because when you pulled the tail the mouth opened. We would even argue about who would get the biggest bowl. My granny always kept us from arguing and fighting. My Grandmother (Mom’s mother) was a big part of my life growing up from giving advice with girls to whooping my ass when I got in trouble. She was the backbone of the family, especially for me. She helped me through so many situations, good and bad. When she died it crushed me to the point I wanted to go hurt someone and make them, or their family, feel the pain I was feeling. Because the last words I said to her kept playing in my head. They weren’t bad or good words, it was actually a stupid joke. I said, “God shouldn’t have gave you his number because you keep calling him.” I shouldn’t have never let that come out of my mouth. When I think of it I feel so bad that I can’t breathe. My grandmother died the same day I made that joke. I never let myself forget what I said. I had so much hatred in me when she died that I wanted the world to understand where I was coming from. Right after we buried her, it’s like the
family went their separate ways, which made me have all these different emotions from hate to confusion. It was like no one cared that the family was breaking up. No lie, I felt some type of way because we didn’t even call and check up on each other no more, like how we used to when she was alive. I began to lean more on my other Grandma (Dad’s mom), from going to see her daily to her giving me advice. When I was around her, she made me feel good, because she always thought I was a perfect angel. She never saw or heard of my bad side and I wanted to keep it that way. She was a churchgoing woman so everything was about God with her, which made me feel uncomfortable. Somehow I think she knew that.
Now I’m telling my story. A story I haven’t told anyone. And I kind of feel relieved that it’s out. When she died I lost everything which fucked me up mentally. I started popping pills heavy, drinking a lot, smoking heavy to the point I blacked out or passed out. Eventually the streets took over my life. I started staying out late, selling all types of drugs, playing with guns. My life took a complete turn for the worst. Now I’m telling my story. A story I haven’t told anyone. And I kind of feel relieved that it’s out.
No matter what, never show emotions.
— Anonymous
TRENCHES made me, didn’t break me.
— Zay
A Letter With No Address Michael
G
oing 16 years in this world without knowing you were here. Never seen your face, but all I ever had to do was look in the mirror 'cause you are literally my twin. At 13, I started my street life. I was a young, savage, dope-dealing lil boy with no guidance, and didn’t know why. Although you were supposed to man up, my mother was part of the blame, too. She felt you wasn’t fit enough to be a father. But in reality, was that her decision or mine? One day your sister decided to bring me a stack of pictures. Your sister, "the pop lady," who would ever think that the pop lady was my auntie? I went over there to get a pop and square which is what she sold as long as I’ve known her. Out of all the pictures, just one stood out the most. It was like I was looking at a picture of myself. I took the picture and quickly went over to Shedd Park, heart racing, thoughts rushing left and right. I saw my right-hand man, Neil, before I made it to the park. I stopped and asked, "Aye Lord, who this look like?" He tried to hold the laugh, but couldn’t. “Lil Mike! Boy WTF! Who the hell is this?" I slight laugh, “Shidd, we' bout to find out now.” We kept walking on to Shedd Park to find my other auntie, my mother’s sister. Auntie Kim had a lil candy store in the park during the summer. Approaching the gate, I put the picture right there in her face.
“Auntie, who is this man?” She looked under her glasses and grabbed the picture, “Now, do you really wanna know?” “Yea,” I said without one facial expression. “That’s yo daddy!” “Is he dead?” “Nope. Call yo mama and ask her ‘bout him.” I took the picture from her, thinking, “Fuck my mama. Fuck the whole world!” I just sat at the park and got high for the rest of the night, wanting to be left alone. Now, it’s a new day. That’s a whole new mindset. Now I’m adventurous, dying to know who you were. Maybe I can live a regular life now? What if the nigga rich? What if he don’t fuck with me? Just all these questions to myself with no answer. I went back to your sister’s house and made her call you. I remember this day like it was yesterday. Everybody told me not to converse with you and forget about you. Especially my mother, she ain’t want me to even know you fucking existed. She had so much hate towards you and 'till this day I don’t know why, and she felt she didn’t deserve to give me an explanation. So me being me, I did what I did 'cause I just wanted to see what the hell you were like in person. That night sitting on that porch on Hamlin waiting for you to pull up, my mind couldn’t do shit but rush. Should I cuss him out? Should I steal off his ass? Should I listen to what he got to say? Should I even still be right here, waiting? Just some of everything on my mind. But before
I could decide you were already right there and out the car. Out of all my shit talking, I did not have a hateful thought cross my mind, just the thought of a new start on life with you. When I heard you speak, I thought, “This nigga voice is like mine, all soft and shit.” “Wassup man, we got a lot of shit to talk about. And a lot of stuff I want to fill you in on.” I just said, “Cool ok, bet just get up with me tomorrow.” I was really just sitting there in shock… I thought when I first met you that I would be able to drop all this shit and live a little again at 16, shidd. Maybe a MF come watch me play basketball, but it ain’t nothing like that, we both wasn’t ready. Shit just made me worse. After not knowing you for 16 years, then try to get to know you and fall out and end not talking for another five years. That five years of knowing you and not talking was way worse than the 16 years of not knowing you at all. That night when we were on the phone caused those tragic five years. Hearing you clearly say, "Fuck you, who the fuck you think you are," caused me to flip. "Nigga fuck you, I been doing this shit and never needed yo bitch ass."Click, now it’s hatred toward you. 'Cause now in my eyes you are weak! And afraid of responsibility. Reminding myself not to be you while I have three kids caused me to take a different look on life and become a man. To do so, I put in my head that I had to forgive you. I wanted you to be a grandfather to my kids, even though you wouldn’t be a father to me. October 16, 2017, I was walking the block as usual. It was about 8 o’clock at night and I decided to walk on Ridgeway and Cermak, not knowing when I turned the corner I will be walking right into you. I said, "Sawbucks". You looked right up at me, eye to eye, but just put
your head down and didn’t say nothing. I didn’t say nothing either, but the big question is why you didn’t say nothing? How can you just walk passed your first-born and not say shit. So me being me, I put it all on you and considered you weak again but not knowing it was just both of us afraid of the man in the mirror which was ourselves. Oct 17, 2017. The very next morning my phone was blowing up. I’m wondering why. I called my OG back and she told me you were dead. Just my luck, huh? Soon as I want to start getting shit together you die. After your funeral I received a necklace with your ashes and vowed to never take it off. That was the only thing I had of you, but life never fails to kick me. I took the chain off one morning to do a lil job and I was in the kitchen so I couldn’t wear jewelry. When I got back home I noticed my chain gone. My thieving ass uncle never seems to care about the value of things he takes, just the thoughts of a fresh high. He knew what was in the chain, he took it anyway. Now what I got? You’re gone again. You just can’t stick around, huh? But it’s cool, I’m gonna remain focused and hope you live through me and help me push to achieve the goals Im setting. I’m 22 years old now. Who would’ve thought I’d make it this far, even without you. Went from selling dope, taking care of a child and going to school all in one day, with minimum support. To working, going to culinary school, taking care of three beautiful little girls you never got to meet. All by one beautiful woman you never got to meet, who will one day be my wife. Most of my support now comes from people who haven’t even known me a whole week, but can understand my pain in two minutes. I am 22 years lost, 22 years unfocused, 22 years misguided and out of 22 questions, I only have two. What kept you away? Was it you or was it me?
Free Behind Bars Autumn
“N
o matter how old you get, you’ll always be my baby girl.” Baby girl is what he called me and it’s the only thing I responded to besides NeNe. This person is my father. I only have known my father briefly through calls, letters and cards. I’ve never seen him in person. The thought of never touching his face with my baby hands or him being able to even hold me, sickens me still to this day. But we can’t cry over spilled milk, right? My Dad was sentenced to 30 years for murder. I was about 10 when my older sister Briana told me. Briana is two years older than me. I sometimes would get upset at the fact that she had him around for a while, but I wasn’t selfish enough to neglect her feelings for losing him too. When everyone hears that someone is a murderer, they instantly profile them as a bad guy. That’s not how I saw my Dad. My Dad helped me with my homework over the phone sometimes. Even if I didn’t need help, he would quiz me to make sure I’d understand what I was working on. My hands would be entirely sweaty, as if I had touched a bald guy’s head in 100 degree weather. I would be so nervous and feel relieved when it was all over, because I didn’t want him to think I was stupid. I eventually realized he was just trying to help me.
I only have known my father briefly through calls, letters and cards. I’ve never seen him in person. My Dad would ask me questions about myself. Some of them I wouldn’t be able to answer: What would I like to be when I grew up? What’s my favorite subject in school?
As time went by, my Dad didn’t call as much. My mom told me it was because we didn’t have enough money to keep the lines open for him. I knew my mom and my grandma were having a hard time maintaining bills. The house phone was off for about a month and they permanently disconnected the cable. In the meantime I found new hobbies and became close friends with my neighbors, Nayeli and Yamilet. They were around both my and my sister’s age. We would play outside from the time our homework was done, until the street lights came on. I’d hear the screen from the window screeching from the second floor as my mom yelled out our names to come inside. We tried to have as much fun as possible, because we didn’t get to get outside everyday.
I love my Dad, not for the simple fact that he is my dad and I’m supposed to, but because he shows me that he cares and loves me. Sometimes I’d sit at the window watching my friends next door happily ride their bikes without me. If I could jump from the second floor and fly back up in time before my mom noticed, I would have. I was having so much fun at school and outside with my neighbors, that I hardly noticed my Dad wasn’t calling anymore or when he did, I’d be at school, according to my mother. My Dad and I have this kind of long-distance relationship that could never be broken. He sends me cards and I swear he’ll never miss a holiday! When I was younger, I really didn’t have too much to say or even feel about my Dad being locked up. I never met him in person anyway, so it was like having love for a stranger, but closer. I love my Dad, not for the simple fact that he is my dad and I’m supposed to, but because he shows me that he cares and loves me. There are so many people in this world who have lost their fathers to the streets or some of them are dead beats. Unlike these people, my Dad chose to be a father despite his situation. There is only so much he can do in prison and he does the maximum when it comes to my sister and me.
Finding Them Again Kalil
Y
ou received a collect call from inmate Kalil at Cook County Jail. To accept charges please press 1. I asked. “Kalil, what’s going on?” she responded in a worried but angry voice. “Ma… They in here lying on me.” “Kalil… sit in there. Don’t tell nobody in there nothing, you don’t gotta talk to nobody, I love you!” Right or wrong my mom was always there to ride for me 100%! A lot of things can change in 365 days. This time last year, I came home from college on spring break to let my mom know that school wasn’t for me anymore. I was a full-time college student at 18. If I’d stayed in, this year was going to be my graduation year. I had goals. I lost them. I was 19 years old and somewhere I didn’t want to be. Inside the County looking out is a lot different from the outside looking in. You don’t see no hope from the inside. It smelled worse than the zoo. Food nasty, shower nasty, you gotta do everything on another man schedule. Waking up at 6 for breakfast, can’t make calls until 8. Everything has a time to it that you have to follow every day. You start to get your routine in after a while. Feeling like a trained dog, jail isn’t a place for any man. Sometimes I wake up forgetting what’s on my ankle. It don’t take me too long to remember. Having a job, I’ve been able to leave the house. It keeps my mind off this situation. But when I’m running late from traffic or whatever the case might be I start to get nervous. The Sheriff be on my heels. After 5:30, that house arrest box acts as if it’s my life support. I got to be near it to be out here in the world. Not wanting to hear that box beep or them doors close. Always paranoid about my curfew.
Thankful to my mother, family and friends. They are big help for me while on house arrest. In some form feeling handicapped for the moment. It’s a learning experience. Being on house arrest is irritating, but that’s what it’s made for. It’s better than the County is what I think to myself when temptation and frustration come across my mind.
I am 20 years of age and I am lost. I don’t know who I am but I know who I want to become. There’s many of things that you can’t do while on the band but there are also a lot other things you can still enjoy or gain from it. I’m still on house arrest and I became an author while on it. I like the idea of being an author, or even a businessman. It’s different from the norm. The norm from where I’m from is everybody wants to be rich, including me, but there’s only two legal ways of getting it… off of basketball or rapping dreams. I am 20 years of age and I am lost. I don’t know who I am but I know who I want to become. I know I am a brother, I know I am a son, I know I am an educated 2015 high school graduate and I know I am a black male in America. I have been to college and I’ve been in County. I want to support my family, I want become a father, I want to have something no one can take away from me. Deciding what to do next isn’t easy. I know I have options but I also know I have limitations. I know I used to have goals. I’ve lost them but now I’m finding them again. I have strong values. I know who I want to be. And I’m trying to figure out how to become that.
Breaking the Cycle Vincent
I
t doesn’t matter the circumstances you grew up in or if your father wasn’t in your life. You can always be the one to stand out. I was the first one to graduate from high school on my daddy’s side. My mom didn’t even graduate from high school either. But she was a parent to me. He wasn’t. I used to go out with my daddy just to go out. We never even really had a conversation. But there’s one thing that stuck to me that he said… One day, I got in trouble at school. On the phone, he told me, “Don’t grow up to be like me. Be better than me.” I was in fifth grade. It was just months before he died. As I grew older, I got to see the things he did. He was riding around with me selling drugs. I was just nine years old. We could’ve got pulled over. The police arrest him. I could’ve been in DCFS. But I didn’t know any better. I was just with my daddy. I would’ve asked him why… How one day you going to tell me not to be like you, but you’re selling drugs around me. And I don’t know what he would’ve said. But that never even came to my mind to ask that… I would’ve asked him… Why was my grandma and grandpa on drugs? I remember, one time we was in Minnesota, my dad was arguing with his parents. I guess they was asking him for some drugs, he was cursing them out. My dad, his dad and his mother all died two years apart, right after each other. I would’ve asked him, why this family so dysfunctional? Why you said one thing, but did another?
He would’ve told me, the conditions he grew up in. I asked my aunty once and she told me that he grew up in an unstable home, under a different roof. Looking up to the big brothers, and uncles and all the men in his family. They were selling drugs, and he’d look up to that. That’s what they knew. That’s what he learned. That’s what he chose. In my life I also learned some of the same things, but I chose differently. When I was in grammar school, from third to sixth grade, I used to always get in trouble. Always getting suspended. Everybody thought I was a bad kid. Everyone saying, Vinnie gonna be bad when he grow up. People would say, Hey Vinnie, I thought you were the one who was gonna be totin’ polls. Instead it’s your cousins. They like, Man, Vinnie… you doing good things in life. Graduate from eighth grade, go to Morgan Park. No one thought I was gonna make it that far. Then, when I graduated high school they was like… Damn, Vinnie. You grew up to be a decent kid. I stopped getting in trouble because my momma stayed on me. She was always on my heels about me doing the right thing. Whoopin’ me. Disciplinin’ me. She used to tell me that she just wanted better for me. Her mama never disciplined her. She wanted different for her kids. There’s only me and my brother. I didn’t have no good male role models on either my momma’s side or my daddy’s side. I was just looking up to my big brother. We never got locked up, none of that type of stuff. We graduated high school, and now we’re trying to open up our own landscaping business. It’s not easy. We want the people in our community to see that two young black men are trying to do positive things in the city of Chicago. We want to start in our own community, in Roseland. Last summer, I was out there in Minnesota visiting my aunty, my daddy’s sister, and she called my mom crying. Said, “Dang, Vinnie the only man who is going to graduate high school on his daddy side. I’m so proud of him.”
My momma told me this two weeks ago. I’m always asking my momma stuff. She told me that my daddy wasn’t a bad guy, just did some bad stuff. They used to be calling him Vinnie the Nut. Now they be calling me that, on my daddy’s side. This story was hard to write. It’s something that’s important to me. I’ve got a legacy that I got to keep living on. They see my daddy as something bad, but they see me as Dang, his son didn’t do none of that. In communities like mine a lot of young black youth don’t have their father in their life. How are we going to learn to be good men if we don’t have good role models? If someone does read this book, I hope they get from it inspiration. To be like Vinnie, Jr. It’s hard to not know my dad. Knowing what he did but never knowing him. I could’ve easy been out here selling drugs, robbing… but my mom disciplined me. And those words from my dad stuck with me: “Don’t grow up like me. I want you to be better than me.”
Surviving, coming from where I’m from.
— Eugene
A Simple Grab Eugene
O
ut drinking with the guys on the block, cracking jokes and talking about past times. Everyone’s there. Drinking, smoking, playin' music, laughter. But most of all, no negativity and no police. Before I knew it, it’s 1 o’clock in the morning so it’s time to go home before my girl begins to think the worst. I was promised a ride but that guy was too intoxicated to drive. I tell my homie to take me home but he had other plans. I couldn’t call my family back out at that time. So I asked my other buddy and he agreed. But he had some chick with him. As we began on the ride to my house, his lady friend became hungry and wanted to stop and get something to eat. But the place she wanted to go was a bad place at those hours. I disagreed with the stop, but the alcohol and female gave my homie courage and a lack of reasonable thinking despite my thoughts and words. He decided to make the stop. It was dark and empty, so I figured it would be a quick and simple grab. Then three guys walked into the restaurant. Oh, how wrong I was… As we ordered, you could see and sense the bullshit in their aura. I was right 'cause they weren’t even trying to order food. One of the guy’s attention was on my buddy’s female friend, but once my buddy let him know that she was with him, their attention switched to us, but mainly my buddy because he was the one that spoke up about his female friend.
Compromising words turned into hostile words which turned physical which turned into gunfire. Seven shots inside of a 10x20 room. I was hit by the very first shot in the shoulder which fractured my collar bone and for some reason, my vision left. All I could see was darkness, but I heard the other shots.Suddenly my sight returned only to see a gun directly in my face. My buddy and his friends are nowhere to be seen. The gunman saying, “I should kill yo ass,” but one of the guys say, “He shot already, fuck him, let’s go.” The gunman agrees and all three run out of the restaurant only to be met by more gunfire. About 15 rounds were fired. Then complete silence. I waited a couple minutes, then I rush out of the restaurant only to be met by the gunman and him pointing his gun at me and continuosly pulling the trigger. I run back into the restaurant and plead for the cashier and cook to let me in the back with them, but all they do is shake their heads and holler in a language I didn’t understand. The gunman comes back into the restaurant and points his gun at me again and begins to continuously pull the trigger again. Nothing comes out. He aims the gun downward. I hear thunder as I’m knocked off my feet. That night left me unable to walk for two years. How could a night filled with friends, fun and laughter end in such a way?