The Life of Ryan

I had taken Karate for one year, a few years earlier, so I felt like I knew enough to protect myself. So, I looked Fred in his face and said, “Shut up, you just mad because my shoes are new, and yours aren’t!” Fred walked over to me and said, “I’ll bust you in your face!” Then, pushed me on my forehead. Well, I wasn’t used to anybody doing that so I really didn’t know what to think, so I didn’t do or say anything. But because I didn’t do anything, or say anything, that was the beginning of the next two years of me being bullied by Fred. I remember sitting in the cafeteria one day, and Fred threw an open ketchup packet, and hit me in the face. All I could do was ask a guy I knew, sitting at the next table, if I had ketchup on my face. Fred thought it was funny, and anybody watching knew I was being bullied. But, nobody said, or did, anything to help me. Eventually, I went to see the principal, but my story was a little different than what was actually happening at the time. I went in and told the principal, “Fred keeps messing with me. I almost got into a fight with him, but I do not want to get suspended from school. My mom wouldn’t like that, and I ain’t trying to get in no trouble. He’s been messing with me for a while, so I need somebody to talk to him.” The principal had his secretary to call Fred up to his office. Fred was walking in, as I was walking out. The last thing I heard, before the door closed, was the principal asking him, “What’s going on with you and Ryan Winfrey?” Not sure what his response was, or what was said after that, but the bullying stopped immediately. One day, I was walking down the hall, and I overheard Fred telling one of his friends, “Man, I am not messing with Ryan no more, my mom would kick my butt if I got suspended.” An Unlikely Mentor After my Sophomore year, I went and stayed the Summer with my grandmother, out in the country. I really loved the country life. My uncle and my uncle’s girlfriend had just moved back to the South from California. My uncle’s girlfriend had a grandson named Mark. I had heard that Mark was the same age as me, and he was coming to live in the South because of some trouble he had gotten into. I didn’t care about that. I was just excited to be getting some family close by, that was my age. Mark finally made his arrival to the South. He was sixteen like me, of course, but Mark was six feet five, and looked like he had been sleeping on a weight bench his whole life. Mark walked really slow, glided really, and drug his feet on every step. It was Summer, but he had on a plaid, long sleeved, shirt that was buttoned up under his neck. It was opened up from the middle down, showing his white undershirt. He also had on some very baggy khakis that were pulled up over his stomach, and some very dark sunglasses. That was the first time I learned about gangs. As it turned out, Mark had been heavily involved in gang activity since he was nine years old. I spent most of that Summer hanging out with Mark, which really had my mom concerned, but Mark was my age and I was learning a lot. For the first time ever, I picked out my own clothes for the upcoming school year. Of course everything was oversized, and I had a different walk. But back to the story, my life was about to change. Mark told me how he had gotten jumped into the gang at the age of nine, by three older gang members, and how he lost his two front teeth during the jump in. He told me story after story of things they did together, and that they had girl gang members, too. He told me that the girls had the option of getting jumped in the same way he did, or they could get sexed in. I asked him if most of them got sexed in, and he laughed. Mark said, “I ain’t talking about one or two guys, I’m talking about like seventy-five dudes, waiting in line.” Mark was really proud of the fact that he had moved up to be the eighth or ninth dude in line. He told me a story about the time they caught a rival gang member that liked a girl in his neighborhood. He said the dude was about 25 years old, and built like a body builder. He and some of his friends caught him. They handcuffed his hands together, over an overhead bar, that kept his hands stretched above his head. He said they took turns, jabbing a little screwdriver into him. Then, he told me several of the girl gang members took turns, squeezing his genitals with pliers. He seemed pumped as he told me how strong the rival gang member was. He said, “Cuz was hard because we hit him so many times with the screwdriver, he just wouldn’t die.” One day, Mark and I was walking down the street talking, and a car passed us. It went a little further up the street, then stopped. The car began to back up towards us. Mark, without saying a word, took off running full speed between houses, until he was out of sight. Driving the car was one of my cousins. He told me he recognized me after he passed, and just came back to speak. He said “I thought it was somebody walking with you.” I told him it was, and I wasn’t sure what happened, he just took off running. We talked for a minute and he took off. I went back to my grandma’s house. Mark showed up a little while later. When I asked him what happened, he said, “LA, Cuz, LA.”