A'Marionn Pov
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In the slums, all could be lost in the blink of an eye. Bad decisions, deceit, and betrayal only beget death.
After graduating high school, I was determined to get the he'll out of the cesspool they called Danton County. There, my future was already set in stone. I was the MVP of the All-State team for two out of the three years I was on it. Basketball was my ticket out.
Cliché, I know. But still true.
My life was defined by how many points I could score on game night. My popularity was defined by how loud the the crowd cheered for my team, and how many scouts came to see the show I was putting on.
I often wondered how long that would last if I happened to fall and break my ankle, or worse, tear a ligament. I couldn't answer that, but one thing I knew without a doubt. I sure as hell wasn't going to stand around and wait for that to happen.
My older cousin DaVontae was too hard headed to listen to a damn thing I had to say. I guess he thought I was the young and naive one.
Some of this turned out to be true. I went on to become one of the few and the proud. I was brave enough to address the threats of our lands but naive to the fact that rules and loyalty were highly fragile when death and confinement.
Leaving the hood in search of a better life wasn't all fun and games. Matter of fact, it was treacherous. They say the good often die young. Well, I certainly did. In the confines of a jail cell, trying to uphold the laws of loyalty and respect. My soul was crushed.
I often looked back to graduation day. My cousin DaVontae threw me a party. I got drunk as fuck and nearly missed my bus headed to boot camp the following day. I was an official "jarhead," a true marine. I wore that uniform with such pride. I never would've thought I'd be seated on a bus, headed straight to prison.
"Murder?" Taking the fall for my sergeant was the worst mistake ever. Then again, snitching was social suicide, and there was no way my days in the service would last much longer had I stood up for myself. The murder of a gay marine spread through the media like a virus. Protestors from all over were outside the gates of the base and courthouse.
The freedom to fight for your country, gay or straight, was the highlight of the year. I was deemed the bastard who defiled the honor and glory of the armed services across branches. I might as well have stood outside the White House and burned the American flag.
I was guilty anyhow. Hernandez wasn't my best friend, but he was a man that stood next to me in our lineup and pulled me over the wall when my leg hit a cramp in the field. He wasn't no f*got, not no outright pink-wearing muthafucka. He didn't do much to hide his sexual orientation either.
He was the class clown when we got a moment's peace, and a soldier better than many when the time warranted. Still, having respected the man, I didn't take a step out of line as his commanding officer ordered the beating on Fernandez that subsequently caused his death.
Back home, Danton County Projects taught you to keep your mouth closed, no snitching allowed. I saw how badly that man was being treated, but it wasn't my business; another rule of the hood I carried with me.
Number one: no snitching. Number two: mind your own damn business. They go hand in hand, really.
DaVontae was hotter than lava at my leaving the hood. Though he understood my thirst for bigger and brighter things, he felt abandoned. He didn't have anyone else in the hood who was actual blood. His parents were lost to the ways of the world, from drugs to prostitution. To me, the hood equaled death, and that's what most people living throughout the housing complex expected. It was a blessing for a man to reach the age of twenty-one in the hood, and most were highly praised if they reached the age of eighteen.
Graduation was the best day ever. Shit, it was my time to hang loose. I barely made it. But I did, and my next stop would be San Diego Marine Corps Base in California. I wouldn't be too far from DaVontae. However, two different worlds. My life was looking up. I still looked at a life of staring down the barrel of a gun, but in a world where men were protectors of the people, not one where children are dodging bullets, and young girls are prostituting for a hit.
Graduation was cool until the argument between DaVontae and me. I didn't mean to hurt him. I actually thought he'd be happy for me. But he felt betrayed. He couldn't stand the fact that I was going to leave him there alone. I can remember some of his rants now.
"You ain't shit without me. I'm a real nigga. You will always need me. Your very life depends on it," DaVontae said as he pointed his calloused index finger in my face.
That's when all hell broke loose. We actually came to blows. My guts were soft as shit the entire night preparing to leave for San Diego the next morning. I thought I'd never see Phil again, but there he was, waiting to see me off. We were like brothers.
I didn't see too much why DaVontae was so dramatic about my leaving. He had a sidekick. Carter. He was a hothead as well but less groomed in the area of finessing his kills.
He just didn't give a shit unless DaVontae was talking. Carter was there, and he always hung on to DaVontae's every word, as if he were God or something. Carter wanted out too. He was just too much of a follower to express himself.
Funny thing is that Carter didn't even live within the gates of the Danton County Projects. The man stayed five blocks over in a quiet neighborhood with his mother. She was a single parent and couldn't afford the luxuries of Nikes and Jordans, but she kept food on the table and a nice roof over his head. Carter had options. He could get away with most things, based on the fact that he wasn't labeled as a 'hood kid'.
Even the schools labeled us as underachievers. Danton County Project kids had their own class, as if we weren't good enough to circulate with the general public. Our test scores weren't recorded with standardized testing. We were segregated. I was determined to make a better life for myself. In the end, DaVontae wanted the same.
Change came due to circumstances that caused both of us to reevaluate our take on life. Friends weren't friends at all. Women were nothing but gold digging tramps, and laws were just made to be broken. Living on the right side of the fence didn't mean law-abiding citizens. It meant clout—who had it versus who had the most.
There I was sitting on a bus going straight into the gates of hell. I had done my time. Still, I get a one-way ticket back to Danton County Projects with my dick in my hands. I guess it's true what they say... No matter the knife, you just can't cut your ties to the hood.