I remember two years ago like it was yesterday. I was loitering on 183rd Street and Andrews Avenue. At the time, my “mother” was the streets and my “father” was my homies. Around that time my cousin Coco got jumped. I thought anybody who messed with my cousin messed with me. Coco, some others and I wanted payback so we walked down the street. I was wearing a ski mask with a black hoody and had 20 people with me. In the streets you would call that 20 people deep. As we were walking we barged into a building to get to the roof so we could have a meeting.

Three hours passed talking about how we were going to get the boys who jumped Coco. We didn’t know that those up the block were the same people who jumped Coco. After we left the building, we continued up the block. Coco asked to wear the ski mask; I gave it to him and before we knew it, I was ahead of Coco. I turned around to tell him to catch up and saw him on the ground with a gun to his face! I was stupid and thought it was a BB gun, so I started walking toward the gunman. He pulled the trigger and missed my head by inches. I saw my life pass my eyes as I felt the hot breeze of a bullet go past my head. Then I wondered, Why must this be my fate - to die in the streets? I ran past a bush and around the corner to wait for Coco. Five minutes later he showed up, without his clothes or anything, but he didn’t care because he was still alive.

To this day, there is a darkness that surrounds me. People who hear this story ask if it is true, and I tell them it is. I tell them this story to teach a lesson to those who have not experienced it: stay out of the street because the consequences may be death. If you have a story that’s very deep to you, don’t be afraid to tell people because it could teach others some lessons.