When
He Found
Me

Written By: Elizabeth Amy Hernandez

Chapter one

It’s hard to picture yourself being somebody when drug pushing, human trafficking, gangs and homicide are your majors growing up. I grew up in el barrio of Juarez Chihuahua Mexico. The streets were always full of living humans when the sun arose, but it seemed almost deserted once the sun went down. The odor of cream nieve and chile covered fruits filled the streets along with bicycles crowding and riding close by the houses. We lived near the Rio Grande, where the water was brown and toxic. During my time, all the houses were connected together, colored blue, gray, and red, and green. Everyone knew everyone in my turf. We lived in the Ghettos. Our house was a shack looking place, measured exactly to be 23 by 21 feet with dirt ground floors. It was enough to fit 5 people. A kitchen, two rooms and a sofa was there for the comfort. I’m the youngest of 4 kids and the worst. Although my mother always provided and worked herself out night and day to put food on the table, I never saw it as a blessing. My mother, Aida, was a single mother and had all 4 of us by the age of 30. Raquey, Tony and Santi were apart of the family tree connected to me specifically. Raquel the oldest, being 19, was the smartest and the one to never appreciate anything given to her, the neighborhood knows her by Raquey. She was a real thug in her high school days. Even though she was suspended for over a month for breaking a girls arm and ribs, she always came home with nothing lower than 96’s on her report cards. Tony, real name Antonio and being 5 years of age, was the youngest, the most innocent, and the one to always pursue for his dreams. We’d always tell him he was adopted because of how light colored and perfect he seemed to us. He spoke with a lisp and his hair formed majestic curls. He could solve 50 piece puzzles by the age of 4, and also had “stuttering attacks” when fear hit him badly. He was allergic to most things and was asthmatic too. He was also delicate and sensitive to everything. He was scared of anything dark, hairy and “un-normal” looking. His eyes would sparkle and he always seemed to make us have a laugh in our gloomy days. We all knew he was our mothers favorite by the way she spoke to him, the way she cooked for him and even by the way she looked at him. Even though we had every reason to hate him for everything he was, we loved that boy unconditionally. Santiago, the one in between Raquel and I, was always the worst to talk back, to sneak out at night and to introduce me to the world of drug dealing and prostitution. He was 17. The bangers know him as Santi, coming from the word “Santo” meaning Holy. He was named that only because there was nothing holy about him. And I was 16. I was the child to worry my mother the most, only because my teachers “saw potential” I could never see. They set goals for me I felt I could never reach. I was okay being an idiot and being a banger. The word “Gangster” seemed too proper for the gangs in the neighborhoods, so everyone knew them as bangers. Bangers were made up of dark Mexican male teens and young adults ranging from the ages of 16-21. They were all over 160lbs of pure muscle covered in scars, tattoos, and the aroma of smoke. They would join at night to talk over their business. I remember the night I joined the bangers. A tattoo was engraved into my skin. I was to show no pain and no fear. We were to wear black flags accompanying our daily clothes. Cocaine, peyote, marijuana and guns were provided. The point was to gain respect and to be known. My brother and I became closer after the night I joined. I had an obligation now, to look after my family and the rest of the guys that were bangers as well. That was many months ago, and now, other bangers with different flags began to give birth around the area. It was a February cold night and I was called in by the leader of the crew, Hadiel. The most feared and