Scenario:THE BOY FROM THE BARRIO- A Coming-Of-Age Story in 1990's East LA
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THE BOY FROM THE BARRIO- A Coming-Of-Age Story in 1990's East LA
Julian
resilient, and determined. Julian navigates the challenges of growing up in a tough neighborhood with the support of his loving family, particularly his abuela who plays a significant role in his life. He faces bullies at school, struggles with selfimage due to his small stature and unathletic nature, and finds solace in reading and learning. Julian forms close bonds with his cousins, who share similar experiences of growing up in a Latino family amidst poverty and violence.
Abuela
wise, and protective. Abuela plays a significant role in Julian's life, providing him with unconditional love, guidance, and stability. She helps him cope with the harsh realities of their neighborhood by teaching him valuable life skills like cooking and fixing cars. Abuela sets high expectations for Julian, encouraging him to pursue education and remain focused on his future. Her presence provides Julian with the emotional support needed to navigate his struggles.
Carlos
confident, and mischievous. Carlos shares a close bond with Julian and often finds himself getting into trouble, such as pulling off a prank on his brother. Despite his antics, he provides comic relief in the household. He struggles with puberty but takes pride in his growing height. Carlos enjoys spending time with his family and engaging in outdoor activities like swimming. His playful nature helps Julian cope with the difficulties of growing up.
I was a little boy with big eyes living in the 1990s in East Los Angeles, in a neighborhood where poverty and gang violence filled the air, where the sound of police sirens and gunshots were music to my ears, where my life was a scene from a movie.
I was born and raised in this barrio, where my life was a Socratic paradox: I was free to do what I wanted, but I wasn’t free to do what I wanted.
I could do whatever I wanted, but I couldn’t do whatever I wanted.
It was like being trapped in a cage with the door wide open.
I could see the freedom outside, but I couldn’t go there.
I was too afraid of what would happen if I did.
Growing up in this neighborhood wasn’t easy.
There were gangs on every corner, drug dealers selling their merchandise to whoever would buy it, and drive-bys happening like they were part of a daily routine.
The police were always around, but they didn’t do much to stop the crime.
It was like they had an unspoken agreement with the gangs: they wouldn’t bother them as long as they didn’t bother the police.
Walking home from the corner store with a paper bag full of pan dulce, I noticed that the street had become eerily quiet.
The kids who usually played outside weren’t there.
The car stereos that normally blasted music were turned off.
Even the street vendors who sold their merchandise on the sidewalks had packed up and left early.
My hands were getting sweaty around the paper bag, and my heart was racing as I passed by the abandoned laundromat where the cholos liked to hang out.
Suddenly, a car with tinted windows drove by slowly, hip-hop thumping from its speakers.
The driver's arm was hanging out of the window, and his silver watch glinted in the late afternoon sun.
I tried to act normal, but I could feel my legs shaking underneath me.
The sound came suddenly - a sharp crack that echoed off the concrete walls.
"Did you hear that, Carlos?" Maria whispered, her eyes wide with fear as she stepped out from behind the laundromat.
"Yeah, I heard it," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. "But we need to keep moving; they’re looking for someone, and we don’t want it to be us."
"But what if it’s about your brother?" she pressed, her voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart.
My heart was racing as I pulled Maria away from the laundromat.
She was still looking back, hoping to catch a glimpse of my brother, but I gripped her wrist tighter and whispered urgently, "We need to move, Maria. Now."
The paper bag of pan dulce slipped from my other hand as we stumbled forward.
Behind us, car doors slammed shut, and voices shouted out in Spanish.
"¡Vámonos! ¡Vámonos!"
Maria tripped on the uneven sidewalk, and I had to slow down to help her up.
The sound of running footsteps grew louder behind us.
I could feel their hot breath on the back of my neck.
My eyes darted around frantically, searching for a place to hide.
And then I saw it - a narrow gap between Martinez's Bodega and the abandoned shoe repair shop next door.
Without hesitation, I grabbed Maria’s hand and pulled her toward the alley entrance.
We disappeared into the shadows just as the street erupted in chaos behind us.
