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Fucked Up College Kids File 505
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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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Something Original
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He always wanted to make a mark on the world. To affect people. Somehow
he always managed to cheer me up when I was feeling blue. In the end, that
wasn't enough.
My brother and I grew up in the barrio, behind the train station. I
remember when we used to put quarters on the tracks and watch the iron
horses chasing each other over the tracks, pounding the coins into flattened
disks of metal. A fortune in silver. He poked a hole in one and made an
amulet once.
Miguel kept me out of trouble in those days. Our mother put the fear of God
into him in that respect. I was to go nowhere without his watchful eye until
I was old enough to lift the groceries by myself, at which time I was deemed
"old enough" to watch out for myself. But he kept watching over me anyway,
my guardian angel. We got along better than most brothers, though we did
have our share of fights. Little things. Insignificant. Pointless.
Our mother was so proud. She moved here from Mexico, working hard to support
us. She would never let anyone make her feel small, even though she had no
schooling. She could speak little English, but she was an intelligent woman.
When we did poorly in school she would scold us, and when we did well,
praise us. She always stressed the importance of learning English well so
that people would not look down on us or think we were stupid. Miguel and I
studied hard and learned.
I didn't know why, but Miguel became more and more quiet through the years.
He studied harder and kept up with all of his work outside of school, but he
became more serious about things. He became more critical of himself. It was
a stressful time for us all because of it, but he pulled through. He seemed
happier and more lighthearted as his high school graduation approached.
On the morning of his graduation, our mother kissed Miguel and told him how
very proud of him she was. She bundled us into the car to go to the
ceremony, and he surprised me by letting me sit in the front. He sat stiffly
in the back seat but grinned as if he had a secret.
At the concert hall where the ceremony was to occur, we parted: Miguel with
the rest of his graduating class, and we in the rows behind. I heard the
students joking, laughing, asking each other, "What are YOU going to do on
stage?" The school filmed every graduation and every year someone had to do
something completely crazy on tape. It was a contest.
They still talk about it to this day.
He stood and walked forward in the line of graduates. When he was almost due
to step up on the stage, he looked back at us and I was surprised to see
tears standing in his eyes, where before he had seemed so carefree. When
they called his name he stepped up, turned to the camera, and reached into
his black graduate's gown.
I think everyone was too shocked to move or to try to stop him when he
pulled out the sawed-off shotgun and put the barrel under his chin. I was.
I couldn't move, though every cell in my body was screaming at me to run to
him, to hug him to me and tell him it would be OK, that he didn't have to
do this.
He looked at us and said he loved us.
And said goodbye.
-steve
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