From Fact to Fiction

It’s one thing to write a blog about my beginnings and our life but quite another to write a book of fiction. One based on our kind, one tinged with the background of violence yet showing the human side of our existence. For there is a lot of kindness and compassion in the way we live that might not be apparent to the casual observer.

With the practice of the blog behind me, it seemed worthwhile to attempt a novel. Not something that will ever compete with Dickens or stand out as a literary achievement, I’m sure, but nonetheless something worth reading. For who knows about growing up in our regions better than one who has done it, lived it and survived to tell the tale?

And unlikely though it might seem, just maybe it could bring a little extra money into our lives. With 4 children we could certainly use more income. The only alternative in these parts involves drugs. That’s something that might have been an option years ago before we had kids, but age and offspring have brought some sense of responsibility so the pen it is.

Our story, looking back over our youth and the places we knew, needs to be told, but truth is not always the best way. Wrapping it into a story, making it interesting and something the kids want to read may just preserve some of the memories without tainting our own reputations still further. For all our sins and ways, most of us try to do better as we grow older and take on responsibilities so I confide only in my blog and the book will sound like a work of fiction.

It’s not for my sake but for the next generation, who are doing better at school and could make something for themselves away from the poverty we know so well. Who wouldn’t want to provide better and see them move to a different world where it pays to dream?

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From Old to New

It’s strange to look back on my life in those times. It still haunts me, the violence, the gangs and the very way of life. And even stranger to realise how my brother and I turned out to be so completely different. In many ways I continued on the same path, whilst my twin changed his life so radically that he became a builder in Worthing. Didn’t turn out to be a millionaire or the top of the pile, but he lives the kind of respectable existence that has always been alien to me. I even paid for him to visit and stay for weeks so he could build an extension on my house and we could catch up on old times and reacquaint ourselves.

Not that I’ve moved that far away, either in distance or in lifestyle. Although my family is away from the worst of my upbringing, you can still feel the latent undertone of violence in the air around here. Whereas my twin shunned that life for one of a more genteel variety. He married a girl from outside our world, one who had a middle-class upbringing, attended a private school and has an elegance about her. Whilst I married Marietta, a local girl from our school, a childhood sweetheart if you will. Clever, brave, loyal and beautiful, but she could never be described as elegant.  My brother has a perfect family, one girl, one boy, beautifully mannered and high achievers at school. Marietta gave birth to five children, one of whom died shortly after birth due to the poor care given to our type. But we have 3 sons and a wayward daughter who love their parents and know from whence they come.

I couldn’t be happier, despite our lack of luxuries and treats that my brother’s family takes for granted. Our pleasures are simpler out of necessity but we have fun and lots of good friends who make living in this area so worthwhile. Our favourite entertainment is an outdoor party, roasting a pig over a pit, singing and dancing with more than a little beer in our bellies. We’re not the sort to drink wine, nor could we afford it, but we’re very happy with our lot and despite the reputation of our town, there’s nowhere we’d rather live.

Now I think perhaps I might move to a new chapter in my life

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Less than Lethal

As we walked our way down the path thoughts were running through my head abut how we were going to handle the situation as planned. Who was going to attack who, and how far we were going to go. When we reached the halfway mark on the path, we reeled around on our feet and squared off against the two. The need to stay tough and intimidating in this situation is important, for them, because now they were outnumbered by a group they thought were afraid of them. The tried to keep the mean mug on their face, but the smallest edges of surprise gave away how they thought this walk was going to go down.

We charged before they had the chance to react with enough clear thought. They obviously hadn’t planned out this walk the way that we did. Within the first few strikes, they were curled up in balls on the ground. As the three of us attacked head, body and back to head. The one violent vote stretched out the arm of the shooter, and nodded to me. This was where I should have brought my foot down on it, but I hesitated. To my surprise the non violent vote was the one to do the action without thinking twice. The sound that resulted let us know that it worked on the first try.

I kneeled down between the two of them, and told them that we had the opportunity to get revenge, we could have killed them if we wanted to, stamped them out in some random back alley, and that would be the end of their street, but we weren’t going to. One life was lost, and that was already too much. We gathered up our bags and sweaters, and walked home, leaving the two on the ground in crumped heaps to tend to their wounds. We felt big, we felt like we sent a message, and mostly I felt relieved that it didn’t have to go any further than that, cause when it came right down to it, I don’t know if I had it in me to take a life, especially if mine wasn’t in any form of real danger in that moment.

The movie ending of this story would play out a lot different, things would escalate, or I would wind up in jail, or my friends would die due to gang violence and not giving up the lifestyle, but that’s not how it played out. We finished our school years with much the same issues as it went previously, minus the one shooting of course, and then I enrolled in community college. My other two friends moved out of the city when they could. I still visit my parents, on the same street, and I see the spot where I lost a comrade growing up, but I feel no attachment. I feel pity for the three kids I see standing on the corner, knowing exactly what’s going through their minds.

But now we’re adults and my story continues

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The Fatal

childAllow me to take you back in time a little bit, to a young kid wandering the streets of a neighborhood that you’d probably roll up your windows and lock your doors as you drove through. This was the area I called home, and though there’s not that many good memories of that place, it’s where I came up, where I learned the lessons that shaped me today, and where I made most of the worst decisions in my life. You see, in this area, we didn’t spend our time thinking of where we were going to go to college, or what we were going to do as careers, it was a constant thought of how we were going to get through the day, and how we were going to take care of ourselves in the moment.

School was a place for everyone to gather, group up and try to intimidate the other groups who were doing the same to us. What block you lived on typically represented how many people were in your crew, and those on a block with more people their relative age had the fortune of having bigger crews. There was a spot two streets over from mine where there was seven kids  on the strip, my street had four. So you either grouped with another street of kids, or you stuck to low numbers and tried to be harder than everyone else.

Fights on the school yard weren’t over trivial things like someone said something, it was usually retaliatory for someone in your group getting jumped by another group. We didn’t just circle each other taunting and then throwing a punch or two, let’s just say that the ambulances knew pretty direct routed to our school yard. Across the halls you would see group after group with little mingling in between, and you formed a close bond with those within your group, even if you didn’t like them that much. They were part of the set you represented, and therefore were people you needed to worry about, if you wanted them to return the favor.

            Being stuck on a street with a bunch of scrawny and timid kids was usually the worst situation to be in, the others wouldn’t represent you, they would hide out in the gym or cafeteria at all times, and try to stay out of everyone’s way. These stragglers of people left on their own would usually jump to joining a bigger street, yet this wasn’t always met warmly. Some kids needed to be jumped into their groups, others had to jump someone else to gain cred. The teachers and other members of the school knew about all this of course, but they also knew that trying to get into the middle of it would just turn everyone’s negative attention towards them, and that was something above their pay grade, can’t say I blame them, I would have given up on us to. Just try to educate, and then get the hell out when the bell rang.