{Jynelle}
I woke with a start from the sudden shouting in the next room. I fought my way through the bedsheets to peek into the living room through the partially closed door. To my relief, the shouting came from my mother’s boyfriend, Tyson, drunkenly celebrating after winning a round of dice.
I shuffled back to bed after determining that my life was not currently in any mortal danger. Just another Thursday night of unemployed gangbangers and crackheads; gambling, drinking, smoking, sexing, you name it. This was the kind of shit that happened daily when you lived in a trap house on the eastside of San Antonio.
I laid in bed looking at the ceiling, desperately wishing that I belonged to another family. I almost had my chance once when child protective services arrived at our house unexpectedly one day. The energy in the house that morning was tumultuous. My mother, Sabrina, and Tyson spent five minutes running around trying to flush dope down the toilet and hide the weapons under the floorboards. Someone anonymously reported that my mother was hooked on drugs, prostituting, and allowing all kinds of men into the home and, as a result, was putting me in a state of neglect.
Whoever reported my mother didn’t lie on her. At this point in her life, my mother was familiar with CPS and knew how to finesse the system. I could feel the tension and uneasiness that oozed from the CPS worker’s pores. She was uncomfortable and wanted to be anywhere else but there. I could tell that she was one of those who just graduated with a Bachelor’s in Child Development and wanted a job to get her foot in the door. She didn’t plan on working this job for long, and she wasn’t here for the right reasons.
The gawking blonde scanned the home, cringing at the sight of the bullet hole in the living room wall and the acrid smell of stale beer and menthols. She spoke to my mother for a few minutes, and I knew that I would be next. I paced my room rehearsing my lines of what I would tell the worker. I would lie and tell her that I’m well taken care of. I never missed a meal, and my mother never hit me when she was wasted. Oh, this bruise here? I fell off the monkey bars. No, my mother’s "friends" never make a pass at me. I had to lie. I didn't know this woman. What if my cries for help fell on deaf ears? Where would that leave me? I’ll tell you, getting my fucking ass kicked from here to Sunday. Better to play it safe.
I had to take a deep breath before answering every question that I was asked. The urge to blurt out the truth was great, but the human will to live was even greater. The CPS worker left 15 minutes later, seeming to be satisfied with the answers she received. The CPS worker advised my mother of case closure as she scurried out of the door. Whackass bitch.
My chest tightened with fear as my mother stared daggers through my soul. I still got my ass beat that night. My mother was somehow convinced that all of this was my fault. She believed that I ran my mouth at school and told all of her “business” to my teacher. She even went as far as stating I called CPS myself. Where’s the logic in that? I wouldn’t have lied to the woman if I called CPS.
I rolled out of bed once more to use the bathroom before returning to sleep. The screaming of screeching tires rang through my ears, dismantling my ability to think. I was still groggy from sleep, and it was too late by the time I realized what was going on. A sharp pain pierced through my body, knocking me back into the tub. I stayed down, realizing that the tub was the safest place for me to be at the moment. The shots continued to ring out. It reminded me of an old western shootout. Tyson and his crew were, sure enough, returning fire.
I laid in the tub, building up the courage to look at my wound. Blood began flowing towards the drain. I was shot in my left hip. I didn’t bother checking the rest of my body for wounds. The only pain I felt was in my hip. I focused on applying pressure to the wound to try and stop the bleeding. I silently thanked God for all those trauma shows I watch, knowing that what I learned would eventually come in handy.
Once the firing ceased, and the sounds of sirens wailed in the background, I tried to sit up in the tub. Shit wasn't happening. I think I might have gone into shock. I couldn't feel anything, and everything sounded muffled. The paramedics burst through the door after what seemed like a lifetime. I remember smiling faintly and then passing out from the pain.
