So everyone knows that everything has a beginning- here is one way it may have happened…

Letty had never known a time in her life when people she loved didn't disappoint her. I remember when we were all young and she moved into the house down the block from ours. Before I knew who she was, I knew the house. I always saw people going in and out of the house. I saw random cars parked outside. There was movement around the house at all hours of the night. But, I was thirteen. At thirteen you really only think about yourself. My main concerns were Junior High School and being the first one of my friends to be the badass, take the plunge- have sex. It's odd when you look back on your life- on all your regrets. And you think to yourself, if I could do it again I would change things. But then, you realize that your life might be different. I don't believe in hindsight. I don't believe in fiction. Everything has a reason and an origin. And, this was ours.

Leticia Ortiz was nine when she moved in. Her house was old and run down. It was loud. It was one of those houses that you see in the movies that always has dogs barking and glass breaking. But, there weren't ever any dogs. A lot of the windows were broken, though. It needed to be painted. It didn't look like a place that was fit for a young girl. Some days it looked like a fraternity house, bass pumping, beer bottles slinging, and some days it looked abandoned. I first saw Letty on one of the lonely days. I was walking down the street with my friend Vince. We had just landed a pack of cigarettes but wanted to get far enough away from my Dad to smoke them. My mom had died that year of lung cancer. She didn't smoke. But, I knew if he caught me smoking I'd have an engine dropped on my head. I had always liked a rush, even back then. Smoking, at that time, was forbidden; it was dangerous. I guess, after my Mom died, I realized that life was fleeting. You may as well make the most of it- one day at a time. And if you were going to die of lung cancer at 30, you may as well smoke it up now.

As we walked down the street- more accurately we strutted- it was that stereotypical thirteen-year-old mix between invincible badass and scared shitless of our parents. I knew that if my Dad got a hold of me, I would not be invincible- rather conquerable, dead. I wasn't paying a lot of attention to the world that day, only my own world- much smaller, less water. But, as we passed her house, which we had all labeled a crack house, I saw her sitting outside in a tree. Her skinny legs were dangling down from the highest branch she could reach. She was tan, assumingly Hispanic, and she had long dark hair. She was wearing Umbros and an old tee shirt with a beer label on it. I naturally noticed this. At thirteen, beer is very cool so it got my attention. I didn't say anything to her as I walked by. I had a mission that I wasn't going to toss aside for some kid that lived in a tree. But, I couldn't stop thinking about her for some reason. We had made eye contact as I walked by. I saw desperation in her eyes. She had a longing and a fear all at the same time. If she had wings she would have taken off. I think she would have been a lot better in the long run. I knew I should have stopped. I should have at least said hello. But, I just kept walking. I had a one-track mind, as boys tend to have. That was my first regret with Letty. Actually, it was a regret that I have never really gotten over. Regardless of what my life turned into, I may have been able to change hers that day.

After Vince and I found the abandoned house on 4th and Tyler Street we smoked our cigarettes. It made us so cool. It makes my chuckle but I still remember talking to him about the fact that it made us cooler. I wasn't really good at a lot when I was younger. School was never my thing and it was hard for me to find the motivation to succeed. But, when they tried to put me in special classes I always placed out. Apparently I had good processing speed. I ended up looking this up a few years later and found out that it meant that I was able to make decisions really quickly. The only thing I was good at was fixing cars. But, what good does that do a thirteen-year-old? I couldn't drive. I helped my Dad in his shop every day. It was better than doing homework. And, he made me feel important. That was where my self-esteem came from- my Dad and fast cars. If my Dad hadn't been a mechanic I probably would have gone through my whole life searching for my niche. Luckily, he introduced it to me early. Learning about cars was really the only learning I felt like I needed. I knew I could have a job in it, a good job, if I paid close attention. I decided to give up on school somewhere around eleven and just focus on cars. I liked the speed. I liked the power that knowing about cars gave me. I saw rich people bringing their cars to my Dad. They were helpless. You had them by the short and curlies. But, my Dad was a fair man. He taught me that the most important thing was being straight up. He also taught me about loyalty. He and the men that worked at his shop were loyal. They helped each other, no matter what. They were there for each other. And, when things got tough for one of them, the others stepped in and led them out. That is what family is all about- the "no matter what". But, my obsession with cars was inevitable. I couldn't be Toretto's boy and not love the speed, the beauty, the detail and art behind fixing up a car. You were able to mold it, like clay, into whatever you wanted it to be.

So, when Vince and I came walking back past Letty's house to see an ambulance and cop cars I wasn't really surprised. Vince was shocked. A lot didn't happen on our street. I lived in a bad part of town, no one had money, everyone had problems, but they kept to themselves. It would take a lot for someone to call the cops because 75% of the neighborhood was probably breaking the law. Why invite in the enemy? (A thought that is very ironic to me now). A distrust in authority was introduced to me early. When I was very young by Dad was sent to prison. When he got out, he wanted nothing at all to do with the police. This is an ideal that he impressed into me very early in life and it stuck. Cops never helped me out- well…

Anyway, so when you are thirteen and you just did something that you know is wrong, you automatically assume that the cops are going to be able to sniff you out. When we saw the cops, we ran. We ran straight for Vince's house. He lived with his Mom and Step dad. They had just left for work and it seemed like a good hide out. As soon as the dust settled we reemerged, hoping to find out what was going on. We sprayed some air freshener on us, assuming that two hours later we still smelled like smoke, and headed to my Dad's garage.

"Hey boys, were ya' been? I need some help with this fuel system," my Dad said looking at me. I didn't get paid, but apparently still worked there.

"What were all cops about?" I asked, walking over to my Dad as he rolled back underneath a '78 Plymouth.

"Apparently some guy beat up and really hurt some lady and her kid. He had been threatening to do it all day. It took a lot of shouting and finally some gun shots before anyone called the cops. They said the girl tried to hide but didn't end up going anywhere," my Dad's partner told me.

So that was what it had been about. Some guy had been at their house. He had been threatening her Mom. She knew that she would probably get the short end of the stick also. And, she had been reaching out for help. I guess she didn't say anything because she didn't want to bring attention to herself. Why didn't she just ask for help? I could have brought her back to the garage. My Dad and his crew would have protected her. No one is going to mess with gear heads all inadvertently hyped up on gas and paint fumes. But, I saw the fear in her eyes. I kept walking anyway. Why stick out my neck for someone? If my Dad had heard me say that he would have beat me eight ways to Sunday. "You stick out your neck for people that need you because it's the right thing to do"- I can hear him say.

"Oh, well is she alright?" I asked, trying not to sound like I had any idea about the situation.

"Who?" my Dad asked, rolling out from underneath the car.

"The girl, her Mom," I insisted.

"I don't know, the cops were there. They are Hispanic so probably not," he replied with concern in his voice. "Here, take this," he added, handing me parts of a carburetor, "see what you can do about it."

Her eyes haunted me for days. They would be in my dreams. I would fall asleep and all I would see was eyes. Sometimes they had tears in them, sometimes they didn't. It made me wonder if she was crying when I saw her. I couldn't remember. I tried not to look that closely. It was like when you see someone beating their dog. You know you should say something, but you figure if you keep walking it isn't really happening. My Mom was the most sensitive person I knew. She was able to get me to talk about feelings and dreams when no one else could. After she died, I figured there was no point. I may as well be the man that I was intended to be- car junky. You didn't need feelings when fixing up a car. My Mom and I were close. It was dangerous to let people get close. People you are close to die. I learned this even better a few years later, when my Dad got killed. I wasn't quite the hardened shelled guy I would become, not till his death anyway. But, I figured my Mom was the only woman that I would ever let get close enough to see me. Girls I knew didn't want to see the real me. They wanted to see the macho guy. They wanted the surface, the reputation, not all the problems that came with it. But, despite all the people I'd met in my life up to this point, there was just something I couldn't shake about the girl I'd seen earlier.

TBC

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I'm going to continue this one but any reviews would be nice…

AJ