Something is wrong, terribly wrong, although, I can’t exactly put my finger on it. I do not have the flu nor am I physically sick. It is like an emotional pain. It just sits inside me like a rotting fruit. To make matters worse, there is not much I can do about it.

It’s a feeling that comes and goes as it pleases and even has a negative effect. It makes me grumpy and puts me in a bad mood. It is like one of those pains that makes a person hunch over slightly to protect their stomach and frown their eyebrows, I guess the eyebrow thing serves no purpose. This is not the first time I have had this feeling. Umm, I…I think it happened twice last week.

Yeah, it was twice! Tuesday I was in a grumpy mood for no particular reason. I arrived home from school, and I just felt like being left alone. I even told my mom and my little brother to stay away from me the moment I got in the door. I had to let them know right away when I entered home to just let me be, or their could be trouble. I had this same pain; I swear I ate a cylinder block or something. You know the big gray one with the three square holes that as kids we used, along with a big piece of flat board, to make a ramp to fly over with on our bicycles. Anyway, it felt like I ate one. Tuesday I had that annoying student government meeting also. I have been class representative for my three years in high school. We are currently trying to raise money for a school dance. We have been kicking around the idea for a couple of weeks, but recently it has become a big issue. Being in a all boys catholic school has something to do with it I think. We either see guys and teachers all the long day. The student body I think is ready to glance at something more appealing to our puberty stricken eyes. We are having difficulties with financial issues and the administration is not exactly the most cooperative. Stiff teen boys and stiff administration can make pretty stressful and stiff situation.

Last Thursday was pretty similar to Tuesday, well emotionally anyway. I had that same horrendous feeling I’m having now. On Thursday I had a tough basketball practice. I’m the starting point guard on the varsity team. To be honest we are not that good. In fact, compared to the other catholic schools in Westchester, New York, we frankly suck. I will stop lying now. Compared to just about any high school team we suck. I messed up on a couple of plays, and coach really came down hard on me. He was three inches away from my face, spiting and blowing hot snaken’ air. His gargantuan mouth was a shotgun of insults and bad language. I was extremely frightened. The whole team was staring at me, some even laughed. Most of them did not say anything. Most of the guys on the team are my friends and some even gave words on encouragement. My boy mike said, "come on Xavior! Keep your head in the game!" Just the fact of having all that negative attention directed towards me is embarrassing. All those eyes were grabbing me, and slowly getting whiter as my face showed more fright. I think if I showed enough fright their eyes may just pop out their heads and roll around on the court. I know they meant no harm and it is nice that they were supportive. In actuality these words of theirs did not affect my poor play that day. Although sometimes it nice to realize that you have someone in your corner. Even though I know my teammates were not so thrilled that I was totally bombing on the court, no matter how much support they showed. I am sure what they were saying and what they were thinking were directly back to back in contrast with each other. Back to back and walking their ten steps in their own direction ready to turn around and blast each other, like in a bad Clint Eastwood wild west movie. Coach got really furious. He started cursing, "What the fuck are you guys doing! Our starting point guard can’t make a fucken pass! Go home and come back tomorrow ready to do a shit load of wind sprints!" His hard voice is capable of making a deaf person hear. But the power of his vocal cords could blow out their ear drum, making that person deaf again, especially with the echo in that gym. It was like being splashed with a bucket of pebbles in the face. Now that I think about it, Thursday was not such a good day. After that practice I was not hungry for the rest of the day. Besides I was full from the block. I did not even sleep.

While on the subject of sleep, what time is it? I can hardly see the red numbers on my alarm clock. Squinting very tightly, I can make out 3:14. 3:14! I swear about ten minutes ago it was 11:00. I count on my fingers to realize that in about three hours I have to get up. This dam pain is gonna keep me up all night. It is leaving me stranded. I’m having no choice but to lay in my bed with the sheets half off, or half on it depends on how you look at the glass, just staring at my jagged ceiling. The window is open and the heat is on, it is both cold and hot, therefore having the sheets on half way is a good solution to the temperature crisis. To keep myself busy, I utilize my jagged ceiling. The groves and the shadows in my room create the illusion of faces on my ceiling. I have been doing this for about three hours, and I strongly believe that I have found every possible face in my ceiling. Sometimes I can make out a whole body. Most of the time it is faces. It looks like a Yankee game or somthin’ or maybe a Garth concert. He does have a lot of fans you know? What do I know about Garth Brooks, here is a better example, it looked like a Jay-Z concert. Garth Brooks… Wow, It must be late.

It is obvious that will not fall asleep anytime soon, so I might as well get up completely. Maybe if I get something to drink I can fall asleep easier. This is highly unlikely but at this point I’ll try anything. It is also is unlikely because I will drink something and then have too use the porcelain throne soon after. I really hope I can get some sleep I have a physics test and basketball practice tomorrow. I should get ready to hear the opera singer tell us to run like we stole something. Anyway, on my way to the kitchen to get refreshment, I stop off at the bathroom. I do not think I have to elaborate on that. Maybe I will elaborate, after I drink something I will go back in there. It may very well be possible that I have the smallest bladder on the East Coast. As I open the refrigerator I squint my eyes due to the light. Let’s see-we have, using my freshly washed hand (I did come the bathroom) to block out the refrigerators bulb as if it were the sun on a clear day. Anyway the fridge contains orange juice, milk, soda and my favorite, water. I’m being sarcastic, water is not the best liquid to drink for taste but anything else will bother my stomach more this late at night. Whatever else I drink will just smack the block in my stomach and just enrage it. The caffeine in soda will prepare me for mountain climbing, at this early hour, which I’m not planing on. Milk is just bad; also I get that nasty spit thing. Orange juice gives me a sore throat at this hour. The point of my refreshment evaluation just proves that I have trouble sleeping often. I have had trials and eras with all of these drinks.

After taking in a small glass of water, I begin to travel back to my room. I stop to look at the pictures on the hall way wall. I gaze at the picture as if I have never seen it before. For some reason on my restless nights I always stop to look at this one particular picture. It’s a delightful portrait of my nuclear family. I am on the far left, my little brother is in the center and my mom is on the right. There is like a jungle background that is noticeable not habitation but a massive canvas. It’s a cute picture, a bit outdated but it is nice. My little brother is noticeable saying cheese, my eyes are towards the left, and on the other hand my mom looks great. Her long blond hair is streaming behind her. Her huge brown eyes gleam like December icicles on a window sill. Almost as white as typing paper her teeth are, very white in fact especially for a smoker. As I stare at my mother in the picture I can not help to realize how old this picture is. My brother had to be barley 5. I was about 12. While looking extremely close, with my nose basically touching the glass, I notice I had not developed facial hair yet. My hypothesis is that the photograph is about six years old. I have came to this conclusion due to our young features and the dust that is collecting on the glass. I would say that the dust has not seen a wet rag in 3 or 4 years. We keep a clean apartment, but I guess the picture has been over looked for a long time. It very well may have not been cleaned at all.

Out of the three of us in the picture, I think my mom has changed the most. Her hair is very short now. Its fashionable although. She colored it red also. Not a tacky apple red but a dark red almost like a purple. She says it’s a new look, but I know it’s her disease and gray was settling in. She does not look as stressed in the picture as she does now. I guess I can say it is the cancer. Her intestines do not function correctly due to passing kidney stones. I can be wrong and probably am, but what is important is that it comes and goes and she has been dealing with it for years. It can be serious at times but for now is not life threatening, but is debilitating. That does not mean it is not serious although. Her health constantly sways back and forth like a rowboat in the ocean dealing with a hurricane.

Her illness makes it harder on me. Due to the ornate number of surgeries, she can not engage in strenuous activity, such as lifting groceries, extreme stretching, and even shouting. Chances are she can’t pull this block out my insides also. Due to this fact, I assume a commanding role at home. I have to watch over my brother and do a substantial part of the housekeeping. I think the role that I must assume is beneficial to me. I cook, clean; I do the grocery shopping, and basically raise my brother. My mom helps as well but I am just stating that I help out more than most teen sons do. I say it forces me to be older than I actually am. It is said often, but in this case literally, I am the man of the house. Due to this it will help me when I am on my own.

Anyway, it’s best that I get some sleep, I’m finally feeling fatigue. I make another short stop to the royal thrown. To make matters better my pain is gone. It is a double relief, no full bladder, no pain. While pacing towards my room I notice another portrait of my more immediate family. There are a large number of pictures in my hallway. Hispanic people usually have many pictures in the hallway, or at least all the Hispanic people I know. Now that I think about it, many families have many pictures on their walls, I should not make it a race thing. In his particular one my nuclear family is present as well as my older sister, my brother in law and their newly born daughter. I love them. I think it’s a real success story how my sister turned out. She got married to an interesting man and had a baby. In this day and age to have a child and be married is rare. Also, she gave birth at the age of 24 not 16 like a large number babes born today. Wow, if I do not stop sight seeing in my hallway I will never get some sleep. As I walk into my room on the left my brother is in a coma on his bunk and on the right my alarm clock reads 4:30.

After tripping in the dark over some sort of textbook, I climb into my bed. I then check my small toe to see if I broke it on the hazardous textbook. I did not. I place the covers over my entire body up to my neck. It seems as if the cold temperature has won over the heat. It is usually better to sleep in cool temperature but not in the cold. My mom always says "its good to sleep in the cold but its hard to wake in it". My room has become colder than the dark side of the moon, and because of that I’m going to get up out of my comfortable position to close the window. After strenuously pushing the window close, I take a peak outside. My apartment is 19 stories high; therefore, the view stretches over miles.

I guess the most interesting sight is the highway that is less than a half a mile way. It is a very active high way; there are always cars on the Cross-Bronx Express Way. The city hardly maintains the highway so there are accidents often, plenty of traffic and numerous potholes. Not just any potholes, these crevices compare with the Grand Canyon. As I look out my window images are blurry due to fog that is suffocating my window. After going threw all that trouble closing the window I open it some, in order to take a quick view of my habitat. The window is open and smoke pours into the room. I thought I was in a bad music video. What I thought was fog is actually some kind of horrible smelling smoke.

Waving my arms, violently in hopes to see what is causing the smoke, serves no purpose. After halting my arm waving due to arm fatigue, Mother Nature give me help with a breeze. The current forces the smoke away from me providing me with a clearer picture. I fix my eyes to witness a harrowing automobile accident. The cars resemble two crumbled up pieces of colored paper, one navy the other black. Usually at this hour either drunk drivers or speed racers, or a mixture of both causes accidents. I think two Nascar drivers caused this accident. I bet one or both drivers hit a tremendous pothole and lost control.

Both cars are in terrible condition. The navy car is on its back, even though it is really difficult to tell with the large amount of damage. I see the wheels of the automobile facing north; therefore the car is on its roof. The black car is totaled. From what I can tell it has flipped over a number of times. The hood is crunched tightly against the windshield. The so-called hood of the car is exhaling also thick foul smoke.

I fix my eyes very firm to see if there are people inside the wrecked cars. While I inspect the interior of the cars I fail to realize the two drivers standing out on the street. The two young men are both staring at the wreck in amazement. Due to assholes like these two when I finally get to drive my insurance will be higher than what professional athletes get fined for uncharitable behavior. Young male drivers get the worst insurance ever. I think an infant can get better rates. I can honestly say that this is a true miracle; both men are actually able to walk away from such a disaster. Jumping to a conclusion from the wreck I would easily say six people died. Instead both men are actually standing up and from what I can tell with minor injuries. That is a wonderful thing but on the other hand it is terrible. Two grown men can race on a highway, get into a serious accident, and can leave the situation with just scraps. On the other hand how many times do I hear about children bystanders killed by mad drivers? Too often, sometimes I ponder if certain people disserve to live. Yet again who am I to judge? Maybe this accident turns one the drivers into car safety activist. My mom always says, "God works in mysterious ways." I’m sure the parents of the murdered children would believe otherwise. Opinions change when it affects people directly. For example I’m against the death penalty but if a person was to slay my family, I think my ideas of death penalty would change to the total opposite. Or would it? That is just a question about how strong beliefs are on certain topics. I guess it would have to be put to the test. God willing that will never happen.

Anyway, I am doing all this evaluating in my head and missing out in helping the situation. I try to base my life on helping others. While contemplating if I should call 911, an ambulance and a squad car rush to the seen. I was shocked the N.Y.P.D. arrived to the seen quickly. They have a reputation of being fashionably late to emergencies. I guess maneuvering the Cross Bronx Expressway at four in the morning is not very difficult. I look over my shoulder to check the time and find out it is 5:05AM. While I was already turned around I turn a bit more to see my brother resting peacefully. I reach over to him a cover him tightly with the blanket. This being a good idea being that I have the window wide open in late November. Finally, I turn back around to see the action. But there is not too much action to see. The totaled cars are being lifted away and the ambulance took the two drives, probably as a necessary procedure. The over weight, out of shape, police are cleaning up the scene and I guess scanning for evidence. Almost like magic the accident wreck vanished.

Before I go back to bed, I peak out my window just to see the sights. Clear skies and high rises cover my vision. Along with sidewalks, corner stores, and magnificent street lights. Above all there is a dark film that covers the Bronx. This covering is despair suffering and laziness. Through it all an arm of hope reaches out of the ground. Most of those wealthy kids at school always talk negative about the Bronx. My school has a lot of different types of kids, all different areas, financial classes and mental mentalities. A classic case of fearing the unknown. I’m proud of where I come from and who I am. The Bronx is a land of hope. I am glad that I come from a lower middle class area and family. It makes me stronger. When I am to spread my wings and fly away from home, if I fall, I know what it is like and how to thrive. I am not pampered and spoon-fed like some at my school.

Ouch! Its 5:20 in about an hour I have to get ready for school. I am going to bed, and seriously this time. I think I have a test or somthen’. I know I have practice. I really do not want to be dragging around tomorrow. I violently close the window, jump into my ice cold bed and ball myself in the covers. I turn to the wall the bed rest against, close my eyes and adjust my fluffy pillow and check my toe yet again. Finally… I fall asleep.

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