1. Too Late
I looked down at the freshly dug grave in front of me, rain falling like a fine
mist. Mourners dressed in black floated past like shadows, murmuring their condolences to
the family of the deceased. “I’m so sorry for your loss. He was a good man. He will be
missed.” The same thing over and over again. No originality. Nothing new to break the
humdrum of those three sentences being repeated countless times. Each time a little more
feeling lost until saying it was automatic response to the situation. Even death had been
boiled down to monotony. I glanced over at your family when there was a break in the
mourning line.
Your younger sister was sobbing into an old plaid bandana of yours, faded and
more grey than red from the grease of cars you used to fix. Stray strands of her beautiful
auburn hair escaped from the bun carefully twisted on the back of her head, sticking to her
face in erratic designs. Your mother looked worse. Her youthful Hispanic looks had faded
twenty years in one night. Her shoulders were hunched, making her small body even
smaller. Her simple black dress seemed to devour her. A rosary swung limply in her petite
fingers. The priest officiating this horrible freak show, otherwise known as a funeral, went
over to your mother and began to speak to her.
Since I couldn’t make out what he was saying, I averted my attention back to the
un-elaborate tombstone in front of me as I began my stroll down memory lane,
remembering the day I met you twenty years ago.
On the 21st of May 1990, my mom had just moved us into the inner city. Being five at

2. the time, I had no friends in this strange neighborhood. Spanish was the official language
here. Older women sat on the stoops all around me, gossiping with swift words and rapid
gestures. Well-dressed men and young women bustled by, focusing solely on getting to
their destinations or out of this neighborhood. Gang members hooted and hollered at the
passersby, insulting the men and tempting the women. Children were playing with jump
ropes and marbles.
Sitting on the front stoop of my new and unwanted home, I observed these
strangers, feeling lonelier than ever in this strange new world. You broke away from the
crowd and causally strolled up to me with the innocence only a five year old could possess.
“Hola.”
“Huh?”
“Hola,” you repeated. “It means hello in Espanola.”
“Oh, hi,” I said shyly.
“You new here?” you asked.
“Yeah. My momma got a di-vorce,” I said, tripping over the pronunciation of the
newest addition to my limited vocabulary, not knowing that my lexicon of human
knowledge would grow with every second I knew you. “And she moved into the apartment
on the floor three.”
“I live on that floor too!” you exclaimed excitedly. “My name is Rodriguez. Cómo
te llamas? What is your name?”
“Vanessa Elise,” I answered hesitantly.
“Bonito. Pretty,” you said. Then you paused, studying me closely. “ … I have
decided.”

3. “What?”
“From now on,” you proclaimed proudly.“ You will be my Vanessie!”
“Huh?” I questioned.
“You’re my Vanessie,” you repeated with childlike enthusiasm.
“Nuh-uh. My name is Vanessa.”
“No. You’re Vanessie!” you argued.
“Nuh-uh!”
“Uh-huh!”
“Nuh-uh!” I exclaimed, tears coming to my eyes. “My name is Vanessa Rose Elise,
and I want to go home!”
You gave me a confused look, the effect almost comical on your small face.
“No es tu casa? Isn’t that your home?” you asked, pointing to the brick apartment
building behind me.
“No!” I wailed. “My house is big and… and white….and has a big pool in the
backyard!” I slumped onto the steps, curling into a ball and sobbing into my lap.
“Hush, uno poco,” you consoled, putting an arm around my shivering form.
“I want to go home. I want to go home to my daddy,” I sobbed, my voice slightly
muffled by my arms.
“Shush,” you breathed.
After a few minutes of you consoling me, my tears dried up.
“Todos los mejores? All better?” you asked.
“Uh-huh,” I hiccupped.
“Good,” you said, standing and extending a hand. “You want to see something

4. cool?”
“I… I guess,” I said hesitantly, taking your hand.
“Then, come on, mi amiga!” You raced down the street as fast as your little legs
could carry you with me in tow trying to keep up.
Five years passed in the blink of an eye. On a sunny Saturday in July of 1994, our
friendship became rocky.
“Ow, Rodriguez! That hurts!” I complained.
“Qué? All I was doing was tickling you,” you said.
“I don’t care! You’re hurting me!”
“Come on, Vanessie,” you placated. “I was just messing with ya. Stop being such a
baby.”
“Stop calling me Vanessie!” I commanded, stomping my foot on the ground. “I’m
not a little girl anymore. So call me by my name, or I’m leaving!”
“Geez… Lo que hasta en el culo? What’s up your butt?” you asked, folding your
arms across your chest.
“You!” I exclaimed angrily. “You’re so annoying with your ‘Vanessie this!’ and
‘Vanessie that!’ I wish you would just quit it!”
“No,” you said indignantly. “I’ll call you Vanessie if I want! Vanessie, Vanessie,
Vanessie, Vanessie!”
“Stop it!” I shrieked.
“Vanessie, Vanessie, Vanessie,” you chanted, almost songlike.
“Stop it now!”
“Nunca, Vanessie!”

5. “Fine,” I snapped, losing my temper. “I’m leaving!”
“Vanessa, mi amiga, don’t be like that. I was just teasing you,” you pleaded.
“Stay away from me, Rodriguez Alverz, and don’t ever talk to me again!” I yelled
before I stalked out the apartment and slammed the door shut.
Another five years would pass before I saw you again standing on a street corner
with members of Los Escorpiones Negro, the cruelest gang in our neighborhood.
“Rodriguez? Is that you? Why aren’t you in school?”
“I could ask you the same thing, muñeca,” you said coolly, your eyes becoming
dark.
“Alverz, you know this amplio?” one of the gang bangers asked.
“Yeah. She’s just a little princesa that gets whatever she wants,” you answered.
“I’ll take care of her.”
You led me away from the gang bangers.
“Rodriguez, what are you doing with them? They’re bad news,” I warned.
“That’s none of your business, Vanessa,” you scowled.
“But,” I argued, “If you stay with them, bad … things will happen to you.”
“You don’t think I don’t know that!I have to stay!Mi padre ran up a huge debt with
them. As payment, I must join the Los Escorpiones to keep mi familia safe.”
“What about your dreams of becoming a therapist?”
“That dream is dead,” you said, giving me a sad smile. “Once a Escorpione,
always a Escorpione.”
“Don’t say that! Come back to school. Just walk away.”
“I wish it was that easy, muñeca,” you said, turning away. “I’ll see ya around.”

6. “Wait. Rodriguez!” I yelled after you, but you never turned around.
I spent my high school years worrying and wondering about you and your welfare
within the Black Scorpions. On the day of my high school graduation in the spring of 2003,
I saw you standing in the back of the auditorium, arms folded across your chest with a
black scorpion tattoo barely visible beneath your shirt sleeve.
“Oh my god! Rodriguez! You’re not dead!” I squealed as I ran up to you and threw
my arms around you.
“Last time I checked, I was still alive and kicking,” you laughed.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Qué? Is it a crime to see mi amiga get her diploma?”
“No,” I chuckled. “I was surprised. That’s all.”
“So, how does it feel to hold that diploma?”
“Like holding a giant piece of paper,” I joked. “But enough about me. What about
you? How’s gang life?”
“That’s a difficult question to answer, Vanessa.”
“Well, try.”
“Gang life isn’t the easiest thing to do. All the drug deals, murders, and scams can
really take a toll on a hombre. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been shot at. A few of
those bullets have actually got me.”
“Oh my god! Are you okay?”
“I’m standing in front of you, aren’t I?” you joked lightheartedly.
“That’s not something to joke about, Rodriguez,” I scolded.
“If the Los Escorpiones has taught me one thing, it’s life is too short to be serious.

7. You never know when your last moment will be.”
“Rodriguez…”
“Qué?”
“Please quit.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The gang, Los Escorpiones! Please quit Los Escorpiones!”
“Vanessa,” you sighed. “Please don’t do this.”
“But, Rodriguez! You’re risking your life and freedom for these criminals! Is this
how you want to live your life?”
“Vanessa, it’s too late for me to worry about that decision. I’m too far in to back
out now! To leave is like committing motín, mutiny!”
“You can try!” I shot back.
“I’m sorry, Vanessa. I really am, but I can’t.” you said sadly, turning away.
“Felicidades on the diploma.”
For the second time in my life, you turned and walked out of my life. I held onto the
feelings of hurt and betrayal as I went through college, studying to become the therapist
you could never be. I graduated with flying colors and started my own practice in the inner
city for troubled teens.
One late night in 2010 as I was closing the practice for the night, I heard frantic
knocking on my office door. I opened it, and you fell through, looking anxious and panicky.
“Oh, Vanessie, I messed up. I messed up bad!” you moaned.
“Rodriguez! What’s wrong? What happened?” I quickly asked, leading you to the
couch and sitting you on it.

8. “Oh, Vanessie. I messed up, and it’s not like one of your small errores. This is big
time!”
“What did you do?!”
“La policía! They found our headquarters and arrested Enrique, el jefe!” you
exclaimed loudly, throwing your hands in the air.
“Ok. What does that have to do with you?” I asked calmly.
“I led them to Enrique! I didn’t mean to. They must have had a cop tailing me. I
didn’t know… I didn’t know,” you said, placing your head in your hands.
“It’s going to be okay,” I soothed, placing a hand on your shoulder.
“No, it’s not!” you exclaimed, jumping off the couch. “Maldita sea! I knew you
wouldn’t understand.”
“Understand what? Rodriguez… If you don’t tell me, I can’t help you.”
“I can’t pull you into this, Vanessa. I’m sorry. You have always been my light that
blocks out some of the locura that I have immersed myself in. If something happened to
you, I would never forgive myself.”
“What are you talking about, Rodriguez?”
“I’m sorry, Vanessie, but I have to go.”
Somebody rammed into my shoulder, bringing me out of my reverie. I stumbled
back a few steps as the person mumbled an apology and went on his way. I glanced back at
the marble tombstone, and with a sigh, I left the cemetery with only the memories you had
left me with.