“Listen up, maggots. You are not special. You are not a beautiful or unique snowflake. You're the same decaying organic matter as everything else.” That’s from the book Fight Club. We used to keep this book in the bathroom for toilet reading. This quote makes sense to me. Mainly because it applies quite literally to my life. 

“That kid’s a piece of shit.”  

“Well of course he is, his dad is an asshole.” 

My dad is an asshole. You know that. You know my whole story from when I was flushed to when we became friends down here. We live in a cesspool  of grime and disease but I mean, that’s the sewers for you, right? My dad got rid of me while we were on vacation in Paris. Bam, right down the toilet after his feast of steak frites and various french wines. He couldn’t hold me in so he ran straight to the bathroom after he paid his check. 

I can’t talk about this anymore. At this point it makes me more irritated to think about it then it makes me sad. You know how it feels, Sanchez. Your parents flushed you after they thought you were dead. You went straight to the sewers while you were sleeping. They didn’t even care enough to see if you were awake. They just assumed, “oh he’s not moving... He mustn’t be alive.” 

To the outsiders, our friendship might seem unlikely or perhaps even scientifically impossible. I have news for them, the laws of science don’t apply down here. Down here it makes total sense for a goldfish and, well, a person like me to be friends. What am I even talking about, you ask? Okay, fair enough. You know that big crazy dumb sports game that’s happening today? Yeah the one that everyone’s been talking about. Like a soccer game or whatever. Yes I know, sports suck. They’re about to make our lives and every other sewer dweller’s lives a lot worse.

So when this game gets to halftime, all the humans are going to go to the bathroom. This is going to cause a massive flood for us, almost on a biblical scale, if that helps with perspective at all. When this happens, we’re all goners.  I hope this flood goes all the way up to the streets of the human world and they have to walk amongst thousands of goldfish and rats and excrements like me

I figure it’ll happen within the hour. This is your life and it’s ending one minute at a time. I got that from Fight Club. 

“Mr. Johnson, could you please tell me and Lieutenant Smith what your night was like on January 7th, 2012?”

“Well you see officers, it went like this...

Its a cold Wednesday night at 11PM. I am freezing; in fact, it’s more than freezing, its 13 degrees. As I walk back to my house on the South side of Chicago, I try not to act like I am freaking out. I want to seem “chillin.” Doing that is a considerably hard task because I do not even know if my wife is home taking care of Maya and Leah. You see, the thing is that lately my girl and I have not been on the same page. It’s crazy that after all this time we can both just lose feelings for each other at the same time. The worst part about it is that she does not even care about our two little girls. 

Finally I get off the El and its just 5 more minutes until I can see the two people that can always put a smile on my face. I never get a chance to see them in the morning because I have to be at my first job at 6 AM. I keep on thinking to myself if my babies are safe or not; will she even be home? Where I live one must know where to go and where not to go this late at night.  The moment I have been waiting for all day is just seconds away but as I approach our porch I realize the door is open.

I step into the house and there is complete darkness. Some how I find a light switch. My house had been robbed and everything that I have worked for for the past 7 years has vanished. But that is not my main concern. Where are my children? I run into the bedroom and find my two little babies handcuffed to the heater. I start to break down into tears. Maya and Leah have bruises and scars everywhere. I try to wake them up but they are unconscious. Since I cannot afford the phone bill, I have to run down the street to a pay phone to report what had happened.

As I wait for the police and ambulance all I can do is sit by them and wash them off. I just cannot understand why someone would do this to me. I have lived a respectful and hard working life; what did I do to deserve any of this? My mother taught me that things are earned not given, and I earned everything that was once in my house. 

The second big question I have is who. Who would do this to me and my family? I have a decent relationships with everyone on the block and I have never had any problems with my coworkers. The only person that has been disrespectful and violent towards me lately is Natasha, my “wife.” The past few months she has been coming home later than me drunk and all drugged up. I cannot think of anybody else that would do such a thing to me, besides just a random thug.”

Two weeks is what the doctor told me today. In a way, it’s comforting. I’ve been waiting... waiting for so long for a date. Half my life, it seems. No, it’d take a lot to be half my life. My nurse told me today that she would arrange everything for me for when I die. She comes to see me everyday, even today even though it’s her day off. She told me she wanted to be with me when I found out. It’s nice to know that someone cares about a haggard old lady. 

I told him today. It was the first time I’d heard his voice. It was the answering machine, but that’s the most I can ask for. Even that is better than nothing. He wouldn’t see me if I told him I was on my deathbed. A part of me wonders if he ever thinks about me. He probably has better things to do than wonder how his old, sick mother is. What was it he said? ‘Driven mad by time’, he told me. A ‘raging lunatic’ he said. Maybe I was, but not for much longer (cough out a laugh hoarsely). I haven’t laughed in a while. Not since Christmas in ’99, I think. Or was it Christmas ’09? Well, not since... since I heard. It took me so long to accept it. I wasn’t sure I ever would. He didn’t. Said I had gone off my rocker. I said he was crazy, because I couldn’t get off my rocker without assistance from a specialist, but he said that joking made it worse. I haven’t seen him since. He won’t let me near my grandkids either. Two little girls. They’ll never really know me I guess. Just how he wanted it. 

How many weeks was it? Two weeks is all I have now. Two weeks, an estranged son, three shabby cats, and this old chair that I can’t seem to get out of. There’s not time, it seems, to fix all that. Well, it won’t matter. Not to me, I guess. I won’t have to worry about standing up from this chair for another minute. Will he come to my funeral, I wonder? There probably won’t even be one. All my friends are dead, who’s left to come to mine? I wonder what he’ll do with this old chair. It’s been here for so long. Ah well, it won’t matter in... what did the doctor tell me? Three weeks? One? It won’t matter when I’m gone, I mean. 

I’ve spent so much time on this planet, you’d think I deserved an award. I’m sure no one from my year in high school is still alive. Good thing they stopped having reunions a while ago, I would be lonely there, dancing by myself. No one else graduated in my year that stayed in Birmingham. In... what year was I? Oh well, no one else stayed around these parts. My old leg’s fallen asleep, but the nurse won’t be here to stretch it till later. She comes at the same time everyday. What time will she come? Soon, I hope. I should probably try to stand up to get rid of those pins and needles. That’s what my mama called them. I wonder when she’ll come see me again. 

My damn old leg. Don’t I have a doctors appointment soon? Yesterday, that’s when. I guess the doctor will call me soon. I should tell my son. I miss him, and the grandkids. I know I saw them yesterday, but days seem so long when you’re sick and old like me. When’s that doctor gonna call?

Mmm. That was the best food I’ve had in a while. Especially that burger. Or the fries. I can’t decide, but I think that the burger was better. But then again, who am I to judge? I can’t even remember the last time that I had a McDonalds. Come to think of it, I can’t remember the last time that I had my own money to pay for food.

Chicago is rough, man. It starts with your heat being shut off. Then your water. Then a notice telling you to pay your bills. And then an eviction notice. And then all of a sudden the city if fed up with you not paying and you’re out on the street. It’s not as bad in the summer because of all the tourists, but the winter is fucking cold and windy.

Hm. Maybe there are more fries in here… (digs). Yes! More salty heavenly fries at the bottom of the bag. I think that the McDonald’s worker gave me more fries on purpose. I guess he could tell that I hadn’t eaten a while. (eats fries)

I liked him—the worker. He didn’t look at me like most people do.

“Don’t make eye contact,” they whisper, “we’re not going to give him any money. Just keep walking.” It’s like people think that homelessness is contagious. If they come to close to me, they might catch it. Do you know how insulting that is? They think that they can regard me as trash because of my state. But news flash for you-- I’m still a human, and I’m trying to change my situation.

It was my fault though. And I fucking hate myself more every day for those decisions I made. Ya know, when you hear that trying drugs just once can get you addicted, most of the time you think “Yeah, right”, but now I’m thinking “Yeah. Right.” It happened fast. I’ve never had lots of money to begin with, so once I lost my job I was basically a goner. Hitting the streets was hard, but it made me realize that this is real. I’ve got to get my shit together.

But no. Not him. Not this worker. He smiled at me as I ordered my food and did not seem to shy away from me as I reached out to hand him the crinkled dollars that I got this morning.  But he wouldn’t take them. Can you believe that? He refused my money, and in turn handed me a bag full of food. I could see the grease spots of the bag.

“Enjoy your meal, sir,” he had said.

Nothing more happened then. I left with my food and money. He wished me a goodnight, and I told him thank you.

Turns out he gave me a happy meal. With a Shrek figurine.

This world is kinda twisted, don’t you think? I’m the kind of person who, if I had anything, would want to share it all with people who are in my position. But no, I have nothing to offer, especially considering that people won’t even take a kind word from me. I wish I had it in me to change the world.  

Thanks to this man, I have had my first meal in days. And furthermore, since I left McDonalds it’s like an internal fire has been lit in me.  Maybe it’s the warmth of the burger or the fries that have seeped into me. Or maybe it’s the way that he smiled at me and did not judge. Since I left that restaurant, this cold air hasn’t felt so cold any more.

            Today is it. Today is the day that I leave this house forever, and never have to be near my mother, or annoying siblings again. Given this may not have been the best way to go, but it’s still better than being in that terrible house right? Why is that even a question? After today I know for a fact that it’s for the best that I am no longer in this house at all. No longer will the person that is supposed to love me most blatantly disrespect me. She deserves to be without me; she deserves to have to struggle to make sure that everything goes fine in the house. Fuck it; honestly she doesn’t even deserve to live! But that will come in time. Until that glorious day, I am happy to just be removed from the situation; whether I am in a cop car or not. Why am I in a cop car you ask? The kid who everyone expects to be perfect? The kid that everyone looks up to, and expects to have the best of the best grades, and the best of the best attitudes? Your cousin? What is he doing in the back of a cop car? He’s never even been to the principles office without leaving with the sound of metal bouncing on his neck from the newest award, so why is he leaving his house with the only sound of medal clanging coming from the handcuffs on his wrists? This makes no sense to you I know. But once you think about it, believe me it will. Sure I was happy, during school, and whenever I was around you. Sure I got all my work done, and made sure that all of my class work was completed. Sure I was able to get the valedictorian award 2 years ago in 8^th grade without even having to really try, but what about the things everyone doesn’t see? What about the things that cannot be seen with the naked eye? The things that can only be seen if you get to know this person. Most often these things that cannot be seen are the things that are hurting us the most, and these things sometimes push you to do things you wouldn’t normally do. Especially when they build up inside you, and get released all at once like an irrupting volcano. I should be used to it. It should not bother me that much at this point right? I mean I have been dealing with it all my life. The constant verbal abuse stemming from a sick and bitter mother with nothing better to do than bring you down along with her.

 “Nigga shut the fuck up!” The first 2 strikes came fast and unexpected. As what seemed like half my brain tried to register the pain that I had in my face, the other half was already reacting with a sense of overwhelming anger, and pure hatred. In an instant my brain had chosen whether or not it would go into fight or flight mode, and unluckily for my mother, it had chosen fight. As the pain continued to engulf my face, before I could realize, another strike hit my face. The third strike. Strike three took me to a place I had never been before. The anger that burned inside me; the adrenaline that rushed through my veins; these two things brought me to do something that I never believed I would do; hit her back. My one solid strike to her face had more force behind it than the 3 strikes she had landed on me combined. This resulted in more surprise on the faces of my older sister, and little brother who had been sitting on the bunk bed next to us watching the entire thing. From the moment it happened I knew what would come next, but deep down inside I knew I didn’t care, because I would finally leave the abuse that I had struggled living through for the past 16 years. Not another year, not another month, not another week, day, hour, minute, or second, would I deal with it all. So as I sit here in the back of this cop car and you wonder why I am here? You should be wondering, why am I not here earlier? And the answer would be, because of the three strikes.