By Richard Zamora
I was feeling a little car sick as we drove to the Toy-R-Us. A cool chill traveled through my spine. I pictured myself gliding through the wind, my body rushing against the opposing breeze. I’d been waiting for this for a very long time. Finally, I was going to get my new bike. We pulled up to the Toy-R-Us parking lot trying to find a spot near the entrance.
“You happy?” he asked, with his strong Mexican accent.
“Yeah I’m happy.” I said, actually feeling somewhat joyful for once. We parked and got out the car; I was jumping up and down like a pogo stick.
“Relax.” he said, as he pulled me towards him.
“Come on let’ go!” I said, trying to break free from his grasp. I ran up to an employee.
“Oh, go down aisle nine and when you get there make a right. You can’t miss it.”
I began to walk down the aisle, scoping out the other toys in the store. I made a right and there it was. Bike heaven. They had almost every brand — from Haros to Mongooses; it was quite spectacular.
“That one,” I said, pointing to a Next. It had a shiny, navy blue coat. It came with pegs and a bottle holder. It was perfect.
“Get it,” he said.
I grabbed it and began to walk it to the shortest line. A whole bunch of kids waited; some had action figures, others had scooters. I was standing proud with my new bike. Finally, it was our turn to pay. The total cost was $130.00 and it was all worth it.
We went home. I couldn’t wait to show off my new bike to my friend, Kyle. We arrived and I rode my Next to Kyle’s house. I knocked, hoping he’d answer so we could cruise. His sexy-ass sister opened the door.
“Hey,” I said, eyeing her up and down.
“Hey, how you been?” she asked.
“Good. Is Kyle here?”
“Yeah, he’s inside. Kyle!”
“What?” he moaned.
Kyle ran to the door.
“What’s up?” I said, holding my bike.
“That’s your new bike?” he asked, surprised.
“Yeah, you wanna go riding?” I asked, taunting him by pretending my bike was a motorcycle and I was revving my engine with my hands.
“Hell, yeah. Let’s ride.”
I waited till my friend mounted his bicycle. It felt like adrenaline was ready to erupt from within my body.
“Ready. Set. Go!” I yelled, pedaling with full throttle.
“Cheater!” Kyle said.
The race began. I was in the lead, smashing and drifting around corners. Kyle was riding on my left side and there was a speed bump approaching. I hit the speed bump and popped an Ollie. As I was soaring in the air, I looked back at Kyle and I saw him in the air as well. I thought to myself, “We must be pros, doing shit like this.”
“I won!” I said.
“No fair. You had a head start.”
“Whatever. Let’s cruise for a bit.”
We rode for several hours until it got dark. Then we headed to his house to eat. Kyle was half American and half Asian and was about 5’6” and kinda slim. We met because his sister and my sister, they were friends. The truth was that I had a crush on his older sister, Denise, the one who answered the door earlier.
“ Hey, you guys hungry?” Denise asked.
“I’m starving,” Kyle answered.
“What about you?” I wasn’t paying much attention to what she was saying, I was more interested in her physique.
“Just a little.”
“Sit down and eat,” she said. Denise was so sexy with her long black hair, pretty brown eyes, juicy lips and her stare – man, it was hypnotizing. Anyways, we ate some orange chicken with steamed rice. It was bomb. After we grubbed, I told him I had to leave because my dad would whoop my ass if I came in late. We said our goodbyes and I rode home on my bike. It was nine o’clock and I knew he’d be waiting for me.
He was yelling at my brother. He stood six feet tall, with a husky physique and stomped when he walked. Screaming was normal for him, a trait he and my grandmother shared, and he was my father.
“Onde estabas?” he asked, staring me down with his dark, soul-piercing eyes.
“Outside, riding my bike.”
At that moment I was expecting to get hit. Usually my brother would get it first. The hellion would beat him so bad, he would have to wear long sleeves and pants for days. If my mother got in the way, she was beaten as well. I grew to hate the son of a bitch.
“I told you nine o’clock!”
“Sorry,” I said, sensing an evil vibe.
“I don’t give a fuck! You listen to me!” he said, taking off his leather cowboy belt. I was scared, but I knew my mother was horrified because she knew what was about to happen.
“Come over here!” he said, smacking his belt on the wall. If I didn’t come the beating would be ever more severe. The despair combusted and I began to tear.
“Leave him alone!” yelled Tony, my brother.
“Shut the fuck up!”
He began to strike my brother with the metal part of the belt. It made a sound louder than thunder. I dropped my bike and ran towards my mom but he intercepted me, grabbed my right forearm and with his free hand he started whipping me with the belt, slashing my body.
The wounds instantly swelled up. I looked at my brother, watching him explode with rage.
“Fuck you!” my brother hollered as he kicked my father in the balls. My mom grabbed the phone and called the police but I knew the cops wouldn’t understand her broken English.
“Please my sons, help!” That’s the last thing she said before he snatched the phone from her hand. Now my mom was getting beat. Me and my brother tried to stop him but he overpowered us.
Then all of a sudden I heard sirens and in seconds they kicked down the door and rushed in. They caught him red-handed.
“Freeze. Put your hands in the air!” the officer said, pointing a Glock 9 directly at my dad’s forehead.
He didn’t listen to their command so they tackled him to the floor. He tried to resist but he was no match for the brute policeman.
They arrested him and that was the last we saw of him.
Richard Zamora is a senior at Spring Valley High School in Las Vegas, Nevada. After graduation, he plans on attending culinary school to fulfill his goal of becoming a chef.
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