You Can Never Change the Past
What You Get Is What You Got
It was early Monday morning as I shot up in my bed.
Another nightmare pierced through my mind making me wake up with a headache already.
I threw off the covers and turned on my stereo, letting a random CD flow through the speakers.
I looked in the bathroom mirror, staring at the figure staring back at me in disgust.
---
I sat in front of my high school with a cancer stick hanging from the side of my lip waiting for Chris.
He appeared from around the corner, also smoking.
He threw out his cigarette out on the ground and stepped on it as I followed his pursuit.
He laced his fingers with mine and kissed my cheek.
---
After school was the worst part if the day though.
Dodging drive-bys, and running from the police.
Chris had an appointment with one of the drug dealers we bought from.
So we had to get to 64th street before 3:30pm or would have to owe his an extra one hundred dollars.
“Come on.” Chris said as we heard sirens coming our way.
You never wanted to be a suspected teenager to the police.
We picked up the pace, running through alley ways to get there in a shorter time.
We arrived a minute late, costing us another hundred dollars that neither Chris nor I had.
“I only have as much as I owe you today. A hundred dollars I can give you tomorrow.” Chris panted, out of breath.
“Same time, same place.” The man said deeply as he snatched three hundred dollars from Chris’s hand and in exchange, gave him a small baggy with white powder filling it.
Chris never did drugs.
It’s his way of living though.
The only way to get money, especially on the streets.
You buy it, and then you sell it, and then pay it back.
I never grew accustomed to that lifestyle, ever since my dad died from drug related crimes.
“I’m sorry Jinni.” He said to me as we started off of 64th street towards where we lived.
64th street was my living nightmare, which I never wanted to relive again, but I do live it, every day.
“It’s okay.” I replied weakly as I let out a deep sigh.
Why did he have to live like this and why was I a part of it?
---
It was quite dark when I snuck out of the house with Chris.
We were on our way to a party when Chris needed more cigarettes from a nearby gas station.
We headed towards the gas station while a car crept behind us.
I felt tensed and squeezed Chris’ hand, warning him.
We stepped into the gas station, passing through the front door, and the ringing bell telling the cashier he had customers.
Chris went straight to the front counter as I wound up looking through the aisles.
I felt more tensed then usual as my hands brushed against a bag of chips.
My eyes moved to the front of the store, staring at the same car that was following us.
My eyes grew bigger at the gun drawn from the passenger towards Chris.
All I could do was stare, not say a word, nor scream, or move my legs.
A shot went off forcing itself through the glass door hitting soda cans.
I ducked as another shot rang through my ears hitting a random spot.
More shots went off as I covered my ears.
Silence over came the gas station as I let a breath out I didn’t know I was holding.
I laid on the ground covered in glass, hearing more sirens arrive in front of the gas station, taking place of the drive-by car.
I heard Chris on the other side of the aisle wheezing and hearing my name leave his mouth.
I contained composure and crawled slowly around an aisle and to the front, through glass, noticing Chris was lying on the ground.
I felt hot tears sting my eyes, but forced them back while I hovered over him.
He had a trickle of blood running down the right side of his lip and his breath was ragged.
His hand found mine and he managed a smile, aside the pain that surged through him.
Police ran through the shattered door, guns drawn and looking for anyone else with a gun.
Noticing no one with a gun, they put them on safety and called for an ambulance.
Even an ambulance couldn’t help his death.
Coming and going, crying then dying, was how it ended.
---
Most days are spent at his grave site, or in counseling that I supposedly needed.
Getting over drug abuse was said the hardest to over come.
But the lifestyle that was once mine, but lost in regrets was.
Not a day do I go on knowing I could have changed something in the matter of those moments I didn’t speak.
I had the chance, that came and passed.
You know what they say though; you can never change the past.
Another nightmare pierced through my mind making me wake up with a headache already.
I threw off the covers and turned on my stereo, letting a random CD flow through the speakers.
I looked in the bathroom mirror, staring at the figure staring back at me in disgust.
---
I sat in front of my high school with a cancer stick hanging from the side of my lip waiting for Chris.
He appeared from around the corner, also smoking.
He threw out his cigarette out on the ground and stepped on it as I followed his pursuit.
He laced his fingers with mine and kissed my cheek.
---
After school was the worst part if the day though.
Dodging drive-bys, and running from the police.
Chris had an appointment with one of the drug dealers we bought from.
So we had to get to 64th street before 3:30pm or would have to owe his an extra one hundred dollars.
“Come on.” Chris said as we heard sirens coming our way.
You never wanted to be a suspected teenager to the police.
We picked up the pace, running through alley ways to get there in a shorter time.
We arrived a minute late, costing us another hundred dollars that neither Chris nor I had.
“I only have as much as I owe you today. A hundred dollars I can give you tomorrow.” Chris panted, out of breath.
“Same time, same place.” The man said deeply as he snatched three hundred dollars from Chris’s hand and in exchange, gave him a small baggy with white powder filling it.
Chris never did drugs.
It’s his way of living though.
The only way to get money, especially on the streets.
You buy it, and then you sell it, and then pay it back.
I never grew accustomed to that lifestyle, ever since my dad died from drug related crimes.
“I’m sorry Jinni.” He said to me as we started off of 64th street towards where we lived.
64th street was my living nightmare, which I never wanted to relive again, but I do live it, every day.
“It’s okay.” I replied weakly as I let out a deep sigh.
Why did he have to live like this and why was I a part of it?
---
It was quite dark when I snuck out of the house with Chris.
We were on our way to a party when Chris needed more cigarettes from a nearby gas station.
We headed towards the gas station while a car crept behind us.
I felt tensed and squeezed Chris’ hand, warning him.
We stepped into the gas station, passing through the front door, and the ringing bell telling the cashier he had customers.
Chris went straight to the front counter as I wound up looking through the aisles.
I felt more tensed then usual as my hands brushed against a bag of chips.
My eyes moved to the front of the store, staring at the same car that was following us.
My eyes grew bigger at the gun drawn from the passenger towards Chris.
All I could do was stare, not say a word, nor scream, or move my legs.
A shot went off forcing itself through the glass door hitting soda cans.
I ducked as another shot rang through my ears hitting a random spot.
More shots went off as I covered my ears.
Silence over came the gas station as I let a breath out I didn’t know I was holding.
I laid on the ground covered in glass, hearing more sirens arrive in front of the gas station, taking place of the drive-by car.
I heard Chris on the other side of the aisle wheezing and hearing my name leave his mouth.
I contained composure and crawled slowly around an aisle and to the front, through glass, noticing Chris was lying on the ground.
I felt hot tears sting my eyes, but forced them back while I hovered over him.
He had a trickle of blood running down the right side of his lip and his breath was ragged.
His hand found mine and he managed a smile, aside the pain that surged through him.
Police ran through the shattered door, guns drawn and looking for anyone else with a gun.
Noticing no one with a gun, they put them on safety and called for an ambulance.
Even an ambulance couldn’t help his death.
Coming and going, crying then dying, was how it ended.
---
Most days are spent at his grave site, or in counseling that I supposedly needed.
Getting over drug abuse was said the hardest to over come.
But the lifestyle that was once mine, but lost in regrets was.
Not a day do I go on knowing I could have changed something in the matter of those moments I didn’t speak.
I had the chance, that came and passed.
You know what they say though; you can never change the past.