It was about 4:00 in the afternoon on a busy weekday. Cars flooded the streets — teenagers boisterously crossed the crowded street, old ladies drove their grandchildren home from school, and destitute men on every corner started at everyone ominously. There was an uneasy, edgy feeling in the air. Seven cars were slowly coming to a stop in the middle of the busy Florin Road on what seemed to be an ordinary fall day. The fourteen brake lights in front of us gradually turned a bloody red color. The traffic light turned green, but still, not one car proceeded. Then people started opening their car doors.
Sacramento citizens surrounded him, not knowing what to do, yet doing anything they could do. His body turbulently twitched constantly. Not being able to shift off of his immobile torso, he desperately jerked in impulsive movements, grasping at any air he could inhale.
Sirens screeched while low muttering and chatter swept the immediate area. A deafening silence filled the air. The boy’s natural desire to survive was getting the best of him. Would it be better to simply let the blood from the gun-shot wound permeate to the floor until the ambulance and police force arrived, or to hopelessly attempt to find a way to live again, to simply breathe?
By the time the ambulance and police reached the scene, the boy had stopped twitching. Sitting in the Barcelona Red Suzuki Grand Vitara that day on Florin Road changed me forever. That innocent boy, who was a victim of senseless and tragic gang violence, taught me a lot in his last few minutes on Earth. Even though I still don’t know his name, what his face looked like, who he was, or who shot him, this scene has played out in my head over and over in the past four years. I remember the scene in detail until this day. When I witnessed someone desperate for life, I realized the luxury of taking this breath. I feel guilty how in just describing this event, I was able to inhale air over 1,000 times, while someone took away his right to inhale even one time. Even though this is the first time you’ve heard about this boy, let him teach all of us a lesson. You never realize what you have until it’s gone.
(sorry for the cliché :/)
