Modern American History

There is nothing like a nice warm shower first thing in the morning. After I placed the phone back onto the receiver I walked toward my inviting bathroom. I neatly put the towel down next to a stick of deodorant and laid my clothes on the toilet seat parallel to the shower. The water ran down my face and onto my chest, which I lathered with soap and rinsed off. My mind wandered through today’s potential.
         I was to meet a friend to play guitar soon. I met him at a concert through a mutual acquaintance. Him and I both shared similar interests and both were musically inclined. We have a folk project that we try to work on two to three times a week. We try to spread a positive message with our music. I know I write with my students in mind. They are our future and my main concern. We usually get together whenever we find time around our work schedule. He is an engineer for a vaccine company and I am a high school teacher. History is my subject. It always has been since my childhood. I love my job and I love my guitar.
         I shut off the water and exited my shower. After drying off and applying deodorant I dressed and looked out the window. It was a beautiful spring day. The sun couldn’t be brighter. I walked out and closed the bathroom door behind me. After picking up my acoustic guitar I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and left my home. I placed my keys deep into my pocket after locking the door to my apartment and strolled out onto the sidewalk. The sun was epic. It was refreshing after such a long, dull winter.
         My friend lives four blocks from my apartment. I turned to my left and began my journey to his home. My feet moved anxiously down the cracked sidewalk as I breathed in the fresh air of spring. For some reason spring always put me into such a good mood. There was rebirth and love in the air. Summer was on deck and that excited me to no end. School would be out and I would be able to perform more music for friends with friends.
         A block down the street I entered a general store. It sported a payphone in the front with bright blue graffiti that stretched from its booth to the store entrance. I tossed my empty bottle of water into the trash and made my way to the coffee. I filled a large cup, meticulously added a little milk, and two sugars. The clerk smiled up at me as I placed my coffee onto the counter. I asked for a pack of Marlboro Blend 27s and today’s paper. He gave me my products without hesitation. The bill came to $7.65 and I handed him a ten-dollar bill. After receiving my change I left and continued down the street to practice.
         The coffee was amazing this morning. It coated my mouth and throat with warm energy. I lit a cigarette and took another sip as I tucked the paper deep into my armpit. Today will be a great day. I can just feel it. Today is going to be a great day.
         After another block down the street I came to the school. My friend lives right on the other side of the it. I looked up at it and tried to pinpoint my classroom. Tomorrow school will be back in and I will have to be there bright and early. That is another reason why I plan on enjoying my day today. Having great weekends help me get through the week. Don’t get me wrong. I love to teach, I love the subject, I love this school, and I love my students, but this area has began to go down-hill with the introduction of drugs and gang violence. As excited as I am to teach I always go to class with a shred of fear.
         Suddenly I heard a child scream. It sounded like a young boy. My teacher’s instinct kicked in and I quickly turned my direction and began walking towards the shriek. Across from the school there was an alley and I peered down it to see a group of boys standing over another. None of them could have been older than seventeen. “Who the fuck do you think you are? You wanted to push so I fronted you that bag… now where is my fucking money?” A boy in a baby blue t-shirt seemed to be in charge. He was crouched down next to the boy and holding his face up to meet his. I noticed the child on the ground had his eyes closed. “I’ll teach you to steal from me, you son of a bitch.” Baby Blue lifted his fist high into the air and released it into the child’s face. Another scream filled my ears.
         I stood, unseen, unmoving, horrified, and yet I couldn’t look away. Baby Blue stood up and faced his cronies. “We don’t like thieves.”
         “Someone robbed me! It wasn’t my fault! I’m sorry! Please!” The child choked out. One kid looked to another and then to Baby Blue who let out a chuckle. The rest of his buddies laughed as well.
         “You might as well tell him,” Baby Blue said to the one boy.
         “You’re god damn right someone robbed you.” One of the cronies said with a laugh, “I fucking robbed you.”
         “What?” The boy on the grounded sounded more hurt by this than by the punches.
         “You’re so stupid.” Baby Blue stood over him again. “You wanted to deal drugs like a big man so I gave you that sack to deal, but I bet you weren’t expecting me to get it back!” He laughed a long evil laugh. “Now you have to pay the price regardless.”
         “No!” The child screamed as Baby Blue dropped his foot down heavy onto his face.
         “That’s—fucking—business.” Baby Blue said with each stomp. The rest of the cronies joined in. The beating was outlandish. How could a group of kids be so merciless? How could they be so bloodthirsty? They are supposed to be our future… how can this be?
         Suddenly there was silence. I watched Baby Blue spit down onto the child as he gurgled out a cry. His face was beyond recognition. His clothes were torn, dirty, and bloodied. His small hands were lifted towards the sky and his bloody fingers seemed to be pointing to God in an attempt to save himself.
         It was then I dropped my coffee in horror. This gained the gang’s attention. They stared at me and I stared back. I began slowly stepping backwards as they stayed fixated on me. “Get him!” Baby Blue shouted. I’ve seen too much and so I began to run.
         I ran back across the street and down past the school. I heard their feet catching up to me. “If I didn’t smoke,” I thought to myself, “I would have no problem getting away from them!” Panic filled my body with every step I made. How could I be running from someone close to half my age? How could this be our future? Could these be my students? I guess this is our society anymore. Harming your teacher with no mercy because he witnessed a crime. What a shame. What a crime in itself.
         My friend’s house was in my sight as I tried to sprint to his door, but right as I saw it I heard them close in behind me. I was suddenly struck in the back. I stumbled over my feet and fell flat onto my face. A warm burning sensation came over my entire head as my eyes began to tear. I tried to lift myself off the bloodstained sidewalk as they administered another blow to the left side of my ribcage. “It’s fucking Mr. Jones!” I heard one of them say. They had to have been my students, but who? I couldn’t see. My eyes were blurred with tears and blood. I spun to face them as Baby Blue stepped directly onto my guitar and busted it.
         I saw his leg penetrating the body of my guitar. Shards of musical peace and hope fell onto the pavement around it. I felt as though he stepped on my heart and my faith in a better future.
         I arched my back and let out a scream hoping my friend would hear, but it was no use. Fists and feet rained down. I squeezed my eyes closed until it stopped. I laid sore and bloody on the sidewalk in front of my friend’s house. My guitar was smashed next to me. I opened my eyes to face the spring sun, but it was gone. Baby Blue scared it behind the clouds.