Thursday, June 29, 2006

Carta Addr3ss3d 2 My 39 Year-Old Futur3 S3lf as 1 Inch 3v3r Clos3r 2 My 3st33m3d Status as a V3t3rano

Part 1

In 9 y3ars I will hav3 surpass3d all of my 3xp3ctations. And if my lif3 go3s according to th3 plan 1 mad3 wh3n 1 was 8, th3n, 1 should b3 d3ad by this dat3. D3composing and c3asing to wond3r how long th3y mourn3d m3, a smatt3ring of ash3s floating in th3 Gulf or th3 Rio Grand3. 1 won't liv3 b3yond 30 1'd d3cid3d--

3rd grade. 1983. Mas o m3nos. Aft3r our dad jamm3d on us, w3 stay3d with my Bu3la. W3'd b33n th3r3 a coupla yrz. My Bu3la liv3d in th3 oblong shadow of a pink church and across from a jonqu3. At nit3 w3 h3ard all th3s3 crazy-a$$ nois3s and my Momz always claim3d th3s3 whistl3s b3long3d to a l3chuza or th3 wails sh3 attribut3d to th3 3ndl3ss sufrimi3nto of La Llorona. This all scar3d th3 shit outta m3 back th3n til my hom3boy Mando point3d out th3s3 ruidos waz probably just tlaquach3's fucking in th3 junkyard. 1 waz 8, a fan alr3ady of fr33styl3, m3nudo and cholos. I wouldn't 3njoy tripas until a f3w y3ars lat3r. So, in 3rd grad3, th3 t3ach3r ask3d us to writ3 obituari3s. Dilig3ntly, 1 plann3d my d3ath for ag3 30 [a m3r3 month and an amalgamation of hours from th3 OG sit3 of this carta].

1'll di3 tragically, a murd3r, 1 convinc3d mys3lf and was instruct3d, by my t3ach3r, to r3vis3. [Now, 1 wish 1 taught at th3 sam3 school as this babosa so 1 could r3ad th3 fuck outta h3r for h3r tir3dness--talking down, low 3xp3ctations and habitual sil3ncing of poor M3scan childr3n.] So, 1 conjur3d a n3w d3ath--car accid3nt. 1 imagin3d an 18-wh33l3r smashing m3 ov3r th3 Harbor Bridg3 in Corpitos and hop3d p3opl3 who still lov3d and miss3d m3 would build a magnific3nt roadsid3 m3morial to honor m3, a languid wr3ath of blu3 plastic ros3s and a giant blu3 crucifix. A good d3ath is not what 1 want3d. 1 crav3d th3 jaws of lif3 and m3lancholy. Wh3n 3xpiring to a p3ac3ful natural d3ath isn't f3asibl3, 1'll opt to aspir3 to on3 that stops traffic ov3r th3 gr33n mouth of th3 Gulf.

1 had a r3lationship with mu3rt3 that oth3r 8 y3ar oldz at St3ph3n F. Austin 3l3m3ntary did not. 1'd alr3ady di3d onc3. At l3ast that's how my Momz t3llz th3 story of how my h3art stopp3d on th3 op3rating tabl3 and 1 flatlin3d for a matt3r of s3conds. N3ta. I don't r3m3mb3r shit about th3 3ntir3 3pisod3, 3xc3pt for th3 brittl3 m3mory of a painkill3r that 1 flashback3d to much lat3r in lif3 wh3n I shot brown on Lor3na Str33t, and th3 r3sidu3 of that hospital m3mory 3xpung3d its3lf through th3 tip of that luminous sharp. Th3 way 1 s33 it, if 1 r3ally di3d in 2nd grad3, my h3art waz only r3sisting th3 forc3d circumcision 1 was 3nduring at 7 y3ars. In d3f3ns3 of my for3skin, my h3art stopp3d and y3ll3d, "O, fuck naw, bitch3s!" Futil3ly, w3 lost that battl3 of th3 cu3ro.

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