I was busy in thought, going over my alphabet while I waited for my mom to come and pick me up. I almost have my whole alphabet down pat. I knew all the letters it was just some that confused me like J and G. She worked really hard to keep food on the table. I loved her and all she did for me. Our homey 3 room apartment was enough and life in the Bronx was as good as it could be. My Mom never did drugs or drank which is a surprisingly big accomplishment here in New York. My Dad was on the other side of the spectrum. Apparently that's all he ever did. He left when I was two and I don't remember a sing le feature about him. I don't really know or care whether he's dead or alive. He was always mean to my Mom. She told me horrific tales, which will make me stay off drugs and alcohol for my entire life. Boredom started reaching over me like the clouds covering the sun. Finally I heard the faint call "Patrick, come on Patrick its time to go", her angelic voice always soothed me. I scurried up and called out a quick goodbye to Mr. Johnson who was busy talking to Harley the old bartender about the bar again.
As we were driving home that night a sleek black car pulled up beside us. I saw blue and immediately huddled to the floor. I knew in New York when you saw lots of blue to be scared. I heard three Ear drum shattering bangs and the screech of tires as the car fled the scene. I started calling and shouting to my Mom but got no response. I got out of the car and started running, I didn't know what to do. I ran back to The Shady Corner Pub and I told Mr. Johnson what happened. He was devastated and I was in shock. He called the cops and told them and I stayed with him that night.
It was 10 years ago today that my mom was shot. The most the police discovered was that it was a hit that got screwed up and gang activity was involved. I knew my mom she wasn't the type to be in gang she didn't even drink. The clouds were grey and dull in the sky just like how I feel. The feeling of depression squeezing my heart and making a lump in my throat, I tried to not cry. "Mr. Johnson when are we gonna get going?" I gloomily mumbled across the room. "Hold on Patrick I'll be a couple minutes" He answered quickly back. I started sauntering around the bar. I was legally to young to be in here but Harley never cared. He was happier I was in here than out there on the streets Bad memories flushing my mind from 10 years ago. Looking back at Mr. Johnson he was talking to Harley, probably negotiating the price of the bar. Mr .Johnson really wanted to but the bar for a long time now. He used to talk to my mom about it, she was really good at math because her schooling was far better than mine. I don't blame her though I know how hard life is to sustain and she wasn't really ready for a kid when I came into this world. Mr. Johnson was also the best father figure I had he had a good job and life with him was nice.
Angry and dejected feelings were storming my mind. I was engulfed by these emotions. I had depression for my mom's death, Anger towards my gutless father, and fiery hatred towards my mom's killers.
I've lived with Mr. Johnson for nearly 10 years now. I find it amazing how sympathetic some people can be, and how damned some pieces wasted oxygen others are. "Ok Patrick let's go" Mr. Johnson said as he walked by heading towards the exit. Feeling excited and low spirited I followed him with my back hunched over. When I reached his rusting 93 Camry it started drizzling. The creaking of the door sent shivers down my spine every time no matter how used to it I ever was. "Could we stop by Jack's Mr. Johnson?" I asked politely. "What do you want there Pat?". "I want to but a rose for my mom". "So sorry Patrick, Harley wants every penny I got for the bar". "No, no look I've saved up enough money" proudly pulling out 9 dollars and 23 cents. "Ok Pat lets go to Jack's". I could feel the smile grow across my face.
I had used most of the most of the money from the bank buying our apartment to give my mom a proper funeral. She always said if she were to die she wanted a funeral. She didn't mean it to be when I was 5 though. The beautiful red rose I bought at Jack's was perfect. "Pat this rain is getting kind of heavy let's make this quick ok?" hollered Mr. Johnson from under the large maple tree. Nodding back to acknowledge him I turned back to my mom's grave. I carefully placed the rose at the foot of the tombstone. Mumbling a quick prayer I went and followed Mr. Johnson. Tears streaming down my rosy cheeks. Finally feeling the nip of cold, that's been there all day but blocked by my emotions. I decided to hurry quicker now. Glancing back it was as if the tombstone were glowing on this dark day. It felt good knowing my moms soul would rest in peace.
I wrote this for English. We got to see a picture and then put ourselves in their shoes. I picked a bored kid in what looked like a bar. I also went over the limit but what ever. and the name I thought was pretty clever.