91 lines
4.9 KiB
Plaintext
91 lines
4.9 KiB
Plaintext
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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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Something Original
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------------------
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He always wanted to make a mark on the world. To affect people. Somehow
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he always managed to cheer me up when I was feeling blue. In the end, that
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wasn't enough.
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My brother and I grew up in the barrio, behind the train station. I
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remember when we used to put quarters on the tracks and watch the iron
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horses chasing each other over the tracks, pounding the coins into flattened
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disks of metal. A fortune in silver. He poked a hole in one and made an
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amulet once.
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Miguel kept me out of trouble in those days. Our mother put the fear of God
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into him in that respect. I was to go nowhere without his watchful eye until
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I was old enough to lift the groceries by myself, at which time I was deemed
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"old enough" to watch out for myself. But he kept watching over me anyway,
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my guardian angel. We got along better than most brothers, though we did
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have our share of fights. Little things. Insignificant. Pointless.
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Our mother was so proud. She moved here from Mexico, working hard to support
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us. She would never let anyone make her feel small, even though she had no
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schooling. She could speak little English, but she was an intelligent woman.
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When we did poorly in school she would scold us, and when we did well,
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praise us. She always stressed the importance of learning English well so
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that people would not look down on us or think we were stupid. Miguel and I
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studied hard and learned.
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I didn't know why, but Miguel became more and more quiet through the years.
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He studied harder and kept up with all of his work outside of school, but he
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became more serious about things. He became more critical of himself. It was
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a stressful time for us all because of it, but he pulled through. He seemed
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happier and more lighthearted as his high school graduation approached.
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On the morning of his graduation, our mother kissed Miguel and told him how
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very proud of him she was. She bundled us into the car to go to the
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ceremony, and he surprised me by letting me sit in the front. He sat stiffly
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in the back seat but grinned as if he had a secret.
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At the concert hall where the ceremony was to occur, we parted: Miguel with
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the rest of his graduating class, and we in the rows behind. I heard the
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students joking, laughing, asking each other, "What are YOU going to do on
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stage?" The school filmed every graduation and every year someone had to do
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something completely crazy on tape. It was a contest.
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They still talk about it to this day.
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He stood and walked forward in the line of graduates. When he was almost due
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to step up on the stage, he looked back at us and I was surprised to see
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tears standing in his eyes, where before he had seemed so carefree. When
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they called his name he stepped up, turned to the camera, and reached into
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his black graduate's gown.
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I think everyone was too shocked to move or to try to stop him when he
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pulled out the sawed-off shotgun and put the barrel under his chin. I was.
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I couldn't move, though every cell in my body was screaming at me to run to
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him, to hug him to me and tell him it would be OK, that he didn't have to
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do this.
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He looked at us and said he loved us.
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And said goodbye.
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-steve
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= Questions, Comments, Bitches, Ideas, Rants, Death Threats, Submissions =
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= Mail: jericho@dimensional.com (Mail is welcomed) =
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= To receive new issues through mail, mail jericho@dimensional.com with =
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= "subscribe fuck". If you do not have FTP access and would like back =
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= issues, send a list of any missing issues and they will be mailed. =
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= AnonFTP FTP.DIMENSIONAL.COM/users/jericho/FUCK =
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= FTP.SEKURITY.ORG/pub/zines/fucked.up.college.kids =
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= FTP.DTO.NET /pub/zines/fuck =
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= FTP.ETEXT.ORG/pub/Zines/FUCK =
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= WWW *** http://www.sekurity.org/~fuck *** =
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= http://www.dimensional.com/~jericho =
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= http://www.reps.net/~krypt/fuck.html =
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= http://www.simunye.com/fuck =
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= http://www.dis.org/se7en/fuck =
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= (c) Copyright. All files copyright by the original author. =
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