Black Eyes

Jane was not a good person. There had always been signs that there was something else lurking behind those beautiful, soul-piercing, dark green eyes of hers. The day I saw the darkness behind those eyes, was the day I knew there was more to life. That there was a hidden life that not many people were aware of. And if I did not run away from the one I was living, my world would succumb to a quick and tragic ending. So, on the day I saw her black eyes, my life was forever changed. As I reflect on it now, lying under this car working, there was a purity to that blackness. A purity that was just as holy and divine as its opposite. Her eyes were all black! No irises, just f*****g black! Jane always had a look about her though. This unexplainable mix of charming evil, it felt as if something else was peeking at you. Those gorgeous green eyes had something dark that influenced and protected her, quietly lurking behind. Her look would always make my skin hair stand in a swift shiver each time they pierced into me. The effect they had was hypnotic and alluring. Misty, as we called her back then, she was a convicted felon already. She had been involved in all kinds of criminal activities at an early age. She was eighteen years old then, short in stature, with a tight fit physique, and my favorite part, was her perfect apple bottom. Her long hair was thick jet black, matching the thick eyeliner she always wore. It ended in a peacock’s beak at the corners of her emerald eyes. She was fearless too and knew how to defend herself. Quick to throw punches even with men. Knowing exactly where to strike to exact pure pain. Many had tried to take advantage of her but those who tried paid dearly. There were rumors about her too, dark rumors that she was a witch because she always seemed to survive, get away, and demonstrate feats of strength that no woman her size should have possessed. No one dared to confront her about those rumors. She made men bow down to her, with a hard swift kick to their sack. The black, steel toe boots she wore most of the time were a bonus to her fierce personality. I was young back then but had already been to gladiator school. Gladiator school is the school of hard knocks. A place where you cannot leave and are confined to. A place where if you are weak, you will not survive. A place that ends up making you as strong, as any warrior. Youth Authority Prison or Y.A., for me, started at a young age. So, I went through the juvenile system, and by the time I met Jane I was considered institutionalized, a graduate of the system. A young O. G., I had already put in work that earned me the respect of the younger homies like Lizard. He and I had grown up together in the streets in Los Angeles. Already a g**g member by the time I was fourteen. After all, if we didn’t protect ourselves no one else would. Growing up in a g**g environment will do that to you. Being the third g**g member in my family did not help either. My oldest brother is appealing his death sentence in San Quintin Prison, an old prison that was first opened in 1852. Located in Marin County, California. Considering that most prisons were located out in desolate areas, the location of this one was not half bad. It is right on the coast, sitting on the point of San Quentin across from the San Francisco Bay on the north side. My brother Solo was one of over 800 inmates waiting to be executed. He had killed an off-duty cop during the commission of a robbery. He had gone out that night to blow off some steam after his girlfriend had broken up with him. Norma was going away to study at some fancy University and thought it would be better if they took a break for a while. Even though he knew it was the best thing for her so that she could continue with her studies. It hurt him, but deep down he was proud of Norma, and wanted her to be successful in life; a Latina from the barrio who wanted to be a doctor. That did not stop the heartache he felt, he loved her. So, he had told her to go ahead that he didn’t care, that it was perfect because he wanted to start seeing other bitches anyway. Obviously, he was lying but that was the only way he knew she would forget him in order for her to focus on her studies. She had slapped him, calling him all kinds of names. He did not respond or say anything else to her. He just got back in his car and drove off; leaving her sobbing outside her house. He took off before she could see the tear that rolled down his cheek. A tear he now wore permanently as a tattoo on his right eye. He really cared deeply about her, loved her really. He decided to leave the crazy life behind as he drove. He thought of opening his own tattoo parlor. Why not, he had been tatting ever since he could remember, he was a gifted artist, drawing since he was a kid. That evening however he was also hurting and wanted to numb the pain. He decided to buy an eight ball of cocaine, take a few tokes, and sell the rest for profit. He knew that in less than a couple of months he would have enough to buy new equipment and be able to rent a small business space to start his own business. And in a few more months he could travel down to the University California of San Diego to visit her and take it from there. Yes, he thought that would work. There was only one problem, he did not have enough money at the moment. f**k it he thought, what’s one more armed robbery. This one would be for a good cause. An investment. So, he drove up to Hollywood to hit up Liquor King. Like taking candy for my honey, he thought. “Can I help you?” the clerk asked when he walked up to the counter. He had parked his dark blue Chevy Nova on Sherman a parallel street down from the liquor store. “Yeah, let me get a pack of Cools,” he calmly responded. The clerk turned to get the cigarettes and when he turned back around, a g*n barrel was staring right at his face. Solo , managed to empty the register and quickly walked out of the store, half jogging back to his car, and walked quickly as he turned the last corner only a couple of feet from his blue demon. As he reached his car he heard, “Stop, police!” Solo had the g*n tucked under the white T-shirt he was wearing in his waist. He turned around quickly grabbing the g*n and pulling the trigger, hitting the off-duty police officer that had been in the store he had just finished robbing. Three bullets banged out. One bullet smashed through the officer’s forehead, killing him before it broke out through the back of his skull, the second bullet hit the dead man’s torso; going through the abdomen and shattering the spine, lodging itself in the seventh vertebrae as the officer was falling back. Solo had not even noticed the bullet the off-duty officer fired in a blink of an eye before being struck in the forehead. The officer’s bullet pierced right through Solo’s left shoulder. Solo’s third shot went off as he turned, hitting the dead officer on the bottom of his right foot piercing the sole of his white Reebok tennis shoe. Solo, got in his car and drove off. Only to wake up in the hospital handcuffed to the bed with an angry looking cop watching over him, apparently the 45 slug that ripped through his shoulder caused him to quickly pass out as he bled three miles away from the robbery. The Blue Demon as Solo had christened his Chevy Nova was in the police impound with its front end smashed. It had struck an eighteen year-old University student’s car; killing her instantly when the side of her head hit the side window panel breaking her neck. She had been texting her ex-boyfriend and didn’t the Blue Demon before smashing into her grey small grey Honda civic. Norma would never send out the text message she had been cautiously typing, glancing down quickly at every other sixth word. Being raised in this type of environment made it mandatory to learn how to fight, I was taught from a young age. I did not always use my brain back then. Fists were more effective. I still remember my first fist fight. I was still innocent back then no more than ten or eleven years old. Innocent meant no drugs, no real violence committed, or record to taint your persona. My mother used to take me to Catholicism so that I could receive my first communion. A straight connection with God. A Catholic ritual where you learned the Lord’s Prayer and are taught about Jesus and how he gave his life for humanity absolving us from our sins. So that the gates of heaven open and our soul is allowed entrance into the Kingdom of God. Attending these classes on Sundays was the first step in accomplishing this. My mother had high hopes for me, she did not want me to end up like my older brothers. Jorge was already lost in the world of drugs; he would later die of a h****n overdose. My mom, bless her heart prayed religiously that I would be different. But so far, her prayers had not yet been answered. At that time however, I was her last sparkle of hope. I honestly enjoyed the Catholicism classes. I was really curious about Jesus, and asked tons of questions about heaven. There was one question that got me in trouble though, and the attention of Pablo. He was the class bully. I asked questions because I really wanted to know, and they just seemed natural and logical to me, to ask. After asking if my brother Jorge would also be forgiven by Jesus Christ and allowed in heaven, even if he never did his first communion. I then asked if I were to die as a kid, would I continue growing in heaven. Both of my questions perplexed the Sunday school teacher Miss Amelia, she was beautiful. She had beautiful almond shaped brown eyes, with soft, thin lips along with a thin nose that was perched beautifully above her lips. Her smile never revealed her teeth. Her lips were thin enough to outline a smile that favored her right side. My third question however made her blush, turning her golden honey skin to red. Maybe her beauty was the reason I didn’t mind going to Catholicism classes. I had asked her, that if we went to heaven were we allowed to have s*x. The class burst out in oohs, and aahs, with a couple of damns mixed with laughter. I kind of laughed too, but I really wanted to know. Even though Miss Amelia told us to settle down in a serious tone, she still managed to smile. She just told me that, those were enough questions for the day, and we were let out for an early twenty min recess. I remember during recess my friend Carlos and I were talking. He was laughing at me telling why I would ask those questions. I just shrugged my shoulders and I laughed with him but suddenly stopped when from behind I heard Pablo’s voice, - “What’s wrong with you, ese?” He asked rhetorically following up with – “Are you some kind of p*****t or something?” He was a couple of years older and taller than me, but I did not care. Growing up my brother Jorge had taught me how to defend myself. He always said - “If you wanna win a fight you gotta hit’em first, right on the nose or kick’em hard on their nut sack.” – “Don’t think about it just do it.”- “Otherwise, they will know you are scared, and you will get your butt handed to you.” – “Entiendes ?” I kicked Pablo as hard as I could, right on his nuts before he finished his third rhetorical question. Since he was taller and was standing right in front of me, I figured it was my best option. He bent over grabbing himself, screaming out in pain. I thought he was going to fall over but he didn’t. I did exactly what Jorge had always told me to do afterwards, to keep punching or kicking – “until someone stops or pulls you off.” – “If no one pulls you off and he’s still moving, keep punching.” I could almost hear Jorge’s voice as I punched Pablo hard, right on his jaw with my left, seeing how he was already leaning in that direction. He toppled over and I got on top of him and started hitting him hard with my right then my left, right, left, right. Before my next left struck I felt a shoe against the side of my head, whose leg was attached to Pablo’s younger friend Jesus. The irony would not go un-noticed. Jesus and Pablo were major figures in the Bible. And here I was getting knocked out by Jesus and beating on Pablo. After he kicked me, I fell over and was kicked a few more times, I was knocked unconscious by the second kick. Pablo was slow to get-up and was getting ready to stomp my head but Carlos, thank God pushed him, causing him to go off balance and he fell again. By that time Miss Amelia and one of the priest was running towards us to stop the fighting. Miss Amelia saw me on the ground, scared she quickly kneeled to pick up my head and torso, squeezing my head tightly against her breast, as she slapped my cheek with her right hand to wake me up. I did wake-up, in heaven I always say, when I tell that story, my left cheek was firmly pressed against her perky breast. Pablo and Jesus got kicked out of Catholicism and were not allowed back. I was seen as the victim, so I was allowed to stay and finished. This made my mother proud. Sadly, it would be a long time before she would be proud of me again. My mom believed that you were protected by God’s angels and if anything happened to you after completing your first communion you would automatically be guaranteed a place in heaven. Sure, hope she’s right. I on the other hand always felt more protected by the warm metallic feel of my Nina, a dull grey 9-millimeter g*n that would come in handy from time to time. Especially during the times, I was alone or found myself in the wrong neighborhood which was quite often. I have always felt my brain’s capacity was limited during my pubescent years because I never really used it. I lived in the moment, school was a failed venture, and I generally did whatever I wanted which is what would land me in jail. I was dumb. No brain inside the head that would eventually lead me to Jane. I was almost twenty years old back then. So, when our paths met, she easily manipulated me and got me to do things I would never have done. There was a limit for me and I didn’t see myself as an evil person. I know that I have done things that I am not proud of, but I have always felt I did not have a choice. I did have dreams and to be honest she was the reason I made a drastic and positive change in my life. With all that said let's get to the nitty gritty. This is the truth regardless of what people may think and it is the first time in over five years that I have mentioned it. But it is something that I have never forgotten and has haunted me ever since. Just thinking about it now still frightens me and makes me not want to share it. I feel that if I do, I will invoke that evil. Somehow, I feel just by talking about it, it will cause my own death. Well, here it goes and may God protect me and shield me from any harm. On that unforgettable night, we were on our couch watching T.V. Jane and I were both tired and had returned from San Diego, America’s finest city. We had partied while there and hadn't had any real sleep in almost two days. We visited the city to do some things that I will not mention here. Anyway, she had fallen asleep leaning against me with her head on my chest and I had my right arm around her. I had been thinking that this relationship was over, and I wanted out. I knew that even though we got along fine, and we had a lot of fun together things would eventually end bad, one way or another. I mean it wasn't as if we had regular 9 to 5 jobs. Plus, I felt it wasn't too late for me to change my life and lead a good one despite my past digressions. I am catholic and knew I would eventually pay for my wrong deeds not only in this life but the next. So, I had made up my mind to leave her the next day and start a new life. I loved cars, especially the low-riders. I had homies who I could work-for and it still wasn’t too late for me. I prayed that night as she slept, something inside me wanted me to change. As I finished the prayer, I ended it with the sign of the cross, my right hand going over my body starting at my head forming a cross as I said in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit Amen. I had to reposition her, moving her head off me before doing the sign of the cross. Afterwards, because I wanted Jane to be OK, I thought stupidly I also prayed for God to change her and come into her life. I finished the prayer, and I gently moved her over a little more. Positioned her on the couch to perform the sign of the cross over her body. As I was performing this and was about to say the Holy Spirit Amen. Her hand quickly reached-out, grabbed my wrist fast and tight. I tried to pull away in a normal reflex, but my arm did not budge and neither did hers. She still had her eyes closed and positioned in the same manner except for her arm; it was gripping mine. I tried again pulling a lot harder and neither of our arms budged. I was in shock and in total disbelief. Chills ran up and down my body while I was trying to wrap my mind around what was happening. Before I had the chance to try again even harder, her grip intensified. It hurt and felt as if my wrist was about to break. She was still in the same position. I was thinking that this was not possible. How I wished she would have stayed that way, with her eyes closed; asleep. Before I attempted to free myself again, faster than humanly possible she was standing in front of me, head slightly bent down sort of twisted to the left. She had an evil grin cutting her face. Soft growling noises, vibrated from her throat. Her eyes were open now, they were all black (no iris). She was staring up at me. Impossible, how? She had dark green eyes, not black. Yes, she was staring up at me with black eyes. Why up at me? Well, I was taller than her; at about five feet nine inches tall and I weighed around 185 pounds. However, she was looking up at me because my feet were about an inch or two off the ground. I swear all that gangbanger, being hard bullshit flew out the window. I had never experienced that type of fear in my life. This fear was like no other I have ever felt before or since. I nearly pissed my pants. I was in shock that I could not talk, my eyes must have been wider than the cartoon wolf that sees that beautiful red haired girl for the first time. Mine were stretched wide open in paralyzing fear! She was looking up at me with black eyes, she twisted her head perfectly sideways. Then in a deep growly voice that obviously was not hers she said, or it said, “SHE BELONGS TO ME!” “SHE'S NOT YOURS!” It or she then swung me like a ragdoll and threw me across the living room. Luckily, I landed flat on my a*s! I was shaking in fear. It/she then sat back on the couch, looked at me one more time with a grin that penetrated my soul and is now permanently engraved in my mind like a tattoo. It or she closed its black soulless dead eyes and the heavy thick atmosphere that was now present suddenly vanished. I got up and ran for the door. I struggled to open it; the door was bolted shut. Once I opened it and was about to run out, I heard Jane say “Babe! Where the f**k are you going!?” I did not answer and booked it out of there. I ran to the car put my hands in my pocket when I suddenly realized they were in the apartment. f**k it. I needed to go back, but as I turned towards the apartment, she was walking towards me yelling something I did not hear and just ran until I arrived at a friend's house. My phone kept ringing that night, but I did not answer. She kept sending me messages, so I broke my cell phone and threw it away. Carlos saw the look on my face and just kept asking – “Are you o.k., homie?” I could not answer. I was in shock. I had never experienced shock or that kind of fear. I mean I had been scared before but not paralyzed by it. This was different, this was pure evil. Four years later those black eyes continue to haunt me today. If you ever see a pair run, run faraway and do it quickly. Black eyes are pure evil. I am so grateful I was able to escape and wake-up from her spell. And change the type of life I was leading. I had stared evil incarnated right in the face and knew my life had to change. Jane wanted to know why I was leaving her or who was the b***h I was cheating on her with. I never confronted her or told her what had happened that night. She sent people after me, convincing them I was a snitch. I was hunted for a while, until I went to go see my older brother in San Quintin about a year ago. He had made it up the ranks and had juice. He didn’t believe me but knew I was not a snitch. He told me if I was going to change my life and stay out of the game, he would put the word out that I was not to be touched. I always tell my mom she was right, that God is protecting me. I have been clean and not gotten into trouble for almost four years now. Been working as a mechanic with white boy Kevin and installing hydraulics on low-riders. Jane had moved on too, doing crazy s**t with her third new boyfriend. Cuate from East Los Angeles. Her last two boyfriends were killed or died under mysterious circumstances. They were now calling her La Viuda Negra.