Thursday, March 17, 2011

I Am Sorry Mom

This is a story by William Garcia Jr.

She had lain in bed for days, in denial, not eating, rarely talking, and depressed. I am describing my mother’s condition after two detectives knocked on the door and entered the apartment looking for her son, who was accused of murder. I wonder what thoughts and images ran through her mind. Her son, who she always believed would make something of his life, was wanted for a serious crime.I was always in school and during the summer breaks I made sure to get a job. After graduating high school, I wasted no time in finding job that permitted me to move out of my mother’s house and have a place of my own. To my mother, I was a responsible young adult, with no bad habits: a son that would never find himself inside the criminal system or so she thought. It took my mom a number of weeks before she was able to accept that I was incarcerated. She did not come visit me right away. I imagine that had to do with the struggle within herself, dealing with denial and the truth. I still remember her first visit when I was held in the county jail. Her face and her eyes defined the suffering she had endured during the first weeks of my imprisonment I can also remember her words: “William it wasn’t you that committed this crime they are convicting you of. It must be someone else.” At the time, I couldn’t fine the nerve to admit that she was wrong. Every permitted visit in the county jail, she made the effort to be there with me. Every day of my court trial, she sat right behind me with a forced smile to hide from her pain. On sentencing day, no longer able to hide her pain, she burst into tears. That was just the beginning of a long twelve years she endured of not having the freedom to see her son whenever she wanted. She still battles the demons of denial and the fact that her son could have committed such an act. The aggravation of traveling two hours from Hoboken to Trenton, the chaos of entering the prison to sit with me for an hour and a half, and her age have understandably lessened visits over the years. Her fifteen to twenty visits a year have diminished to three or four. After years and years of burdens that I placed on her back. I can see that I’ve scarred her spirit and soul. Twelve years later, my mother is fifty-seven years old. I wonder if she and I will ever experience those special moments of mother and son again: talks at the kitchen table over dinner with the rest of the family, or laughs of joyful holidays together, with nieces and nephews happily running around the house. I can go on writing about the other family members that have struggled with my life behind bars for the last twelve years. But there is nothing like when a son is taken away from a mother because of his ignorant and immature decisions. Do not allow your mother to suffer as I have allowed mine to. Cherish the moments together.

Friday, March 11, 2011

Wanting Life Back

I sit alone in my room,
And then I start to cry.
I ask God to reach out and hold my hand
And help me start a better life.
He tells me not to cry and that all will be fine,
But I still can't stand to be locked up here inside.
All I want is to have my life back
And for things to be like they were in the past.

Jonathan B.

Get Out of My Face

It’s hard to accept it
But it is a way of life.
You tell me you wanna help.
You say that I need to change.
But tell me what you know
About being locked in a cage?

I cannot bear captivity.
My grip on hope is almost lost.
Having to survive through insanity,
I’ll keep my pride at any cost.

This is my environment.
I’ve adapted to it properly.
And now you come and attempt
To help me live life honestly.
Am I supposed to trust you?
Don’t you know that I’ve been beat?

People in the past like you
Said they’d meet me in the middle of the street,
That they would help me,
All I had to do was meet them halfway.
But they never came,
And I was left to get swept by the rain.

Look at me now; I’m doing time.
Just get out of my face with your lies.


Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Now street gang members in Chicago and in the suburbs is now at least twice. And now the gangs are outlying the police departments. Some believe that all the gang population is part of all the Chicago region’s gang population related to Mexican cartels that are taking control of illegal drug sales. There are over 100,000 gang members now in the city, and now they are more powerful than before. Gang membership is rising as a violent crime, to cause murder or any other damage.