Personal Narrative Essay

As I walked along the sidewalk, I noticed the cracks in the pavement which spoke of tales known to only hard labor workers. It was then when I realized my life as a teenage adolescent boy was about to change. The cold breeze echoed sounds of silence, which sent shivers down my spine once it touched my skin. The midnight sky was full of stars as though drops of rain on a window pane, captivating and clear. Not like the ones on the reservation, but the view was adequately similar because on the reservation there are no lights and tall building blocking the view. The smell of fresh trees masked the grotesque smell of carbon dioxide polluting the air, but hey we need some type of means of transportation. Suddenly I was swimming in a sea of silence.

The sound of rock bands were like sea urchins, which swam away ever so graciously. The sound of street performers were like clownfish, drifting away with the ocean current. The guy who sat at the corner of the road telling people how they are going to hell and God is watching, was the Seagull from Finding Nemo. Nobody in their right mind likes Seagulls.
Due to a small fight within our group, Melanie and I found ourselves on a street called Van Buren in search for something to satisfy our grumbly stomachs. This particular street is known for its erotic nature. It lures lonely men to lurk the streets looking to receive a happy ending for a pretty penny, somewhere between 60 to 150 bucks, but then again I wouldn’t know. In some sense we all have an addiction, it's just people have a different ways of satisfying their craving. This is something I was about to come to realization with.
-“I can’t believe Johnny and Val, yo.” said Melanie.
-“I know but it's First Friday, man. They have problems leave them be! Highly effective people are not crisis managers, nor are they engaged in other people’s problems”, I responded.
Perturbed and infuriated, she took a deep breath of her cigarette and exhaled small little cancer bubble into the air. Then she began her long rant, which she is typically known for.
-“I know mate, but we all have problems. You have been compulsively reading those self help books. You know books are only an escape from reality. Enjoy life mate. We are young, you have many years to read boring books about life. Instead of reading it, you should be doing it! Dude, let’s go get something to grub. I have the munchies!” she replied.
She hit the last of her cancer stick. Then once finished, threw the cigarette butt on the ground (in tradition of many musicians before her).
Living in Phoenix I was exposed to many new and exciting things, and First Friday was one of them. One day out of the whole month to experience amazing art, music, and oh yes drunk religious people. My group of friends and I went every month, it was our safe haven away from home. We would all bring our skateboards and skate around until it was time for the performance. First Friday, is a three block art gallery held in the streets of Central Phoenix. It is open to all ages and all types of individuals, but the most common are vibrant people having a good time. These people include hipsters, skaters, musicians, artists, people who don't need to be told they are ugly, and oh yeah the homeless.

As we walk alongside the road we see a woman applying makeup to her (tore the hell up) face with sparkly designer bags under her eyes which were highly visible even under the nighttime sky. I found myself gazing into her dilated eyes which screamed “I didn’t chose this lifestyle, it chose me”. I then gave her a brief smile and nod, which signified hey, I see you.
I too, know what it’s like to have people not look into your eyes as though you are an empty chocolate box -once delicious now used up.
I too, know what it’s like to have nothing and notice those around me who have everything.
I too, know what it’s like to call the cold desolate street’s….home. Only left to think, “there ain’t no rest for the wicked.”
Suddenly melanie’s repositioning, caught my attention and drew me back to a conscious state of mind.
-“I thought you knew where you were going. This happens every time!” I said to Melanie, while positioning myself to the left side of her.
-“Well I was pretty sure that McDonald's was this way” she said glaring back at me placing herself between me and the road again.
-“Dude, what are you doing? Do you know where we are at! Get on the right side of me. Girl, you might be a lady in the streets, but are you willing to go be a freak in a stranger's car? Well you're sure implying it!” I said while placing her on the right side of me.
“Man, screw societies logic. I demand my right to walk where I please! I will not be subjected to some idiotic way of life where men are supposed to be superior to me. What if I was your pimp and I was prostituting you!” she screamed (as only a feminist would).
I had to hand it to her, if I was a women I would stand up for myself too. But before I could give in and let her “walk where she pleased”, a car slowly creeped up beside her. It's black tinted windows suggested the driver had a much more mischievous agenda on his mind. I then grabbed Melanie’s arm, positioned her to the right me, and dashed forward. As we speed walked, Melanie’s box of cigarettes dropped to the floor, and the car slowly followed. Melanie took hold of my hand and gripped it as though fear took hold of her. My heart began to race with every step we took. The feeling of the cold air on my skin was replace with heat of the rushing blood pounding through my vein. I was left only to think, what was this guy’s problem?
“Holy freakersticks, LaVonte!” Melanie squealed as the cold air and fear penetrated her vocal cords, gripping my hand even tighter.As though I was going to be her knight and shining armor. Me a scrawny kid. I could barely hurt a fly. Hell a fly could even beat my ass up.
Freaker sticks was a word I adopted after a little incident back in the ninth grade.

Sarah Reyes, a petite young latina girl, was sitting on the bleachers in front of me during a soccer game. She was the talk of the town and always seemed to catch the boy's attention. I guess she was a looker. Then spontaneously out of nowhere a soccer ball came flying out of thin air and hit her flat in the face. I, with the cat like reflexes I have, had caught the ball. Ironically, when I was catching the ball through mid air, she was catching a mouth full of mine or should I say a head full. The impact of the ball made her fly back head first into my family jewels. I then screamed out “Freakersticks!” because my mouth couldn't sum up the strength to say the F word. Ever since then it has been apart of my vocabulary. I suppose I tend to use the word so much, it caused others to adopted it as well. It’s a word I and those around me use when we get into sticky situations.
“Hey man, what’s your problem? Leave us alone” I shouted trying to hide the fear in my voice. My body began to quiver uncontrollably. Even though I was on the verge of peeing my pant, I was preparing myself to engage in some type of confrontation with this creep. Melanie had the grip of a pregnant women going into labor didn’t help my striking fear either. Suddenly the car window slowly rolled down. .

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“Guadalupe! ¿qué estás haciendo aquí?” screamed the man. It was none other than Melanie’s father. I couldn't help but acknowledge Melanie's Dad seemed to have an addiction as well.