The Bros

The Bros - Chapter 1 (Meet Nate)

Damn, as a bullet whisks past my head I turn another corner running for my life. Everything I have done in my life passes before my eyes as I hurdle trash cans, jumping fences, running for dear life. I feel like I have been running for an hour, yet I am no ways tired. It is a matter of keep running and living, or stop and die. Easy decision, I'm running.

This is where I think my life changed. This is a situation in which if somebody survives, they will never be the same. People have all kinds of life-changing, life-altering experiences, but not all people have someone attempt murder on their life as one of those experiences.

Being in the middle of such a traumatic and terrifying experience, how could anybody remain the same? And I am definitely no different than anybody else. Back to that day and I am still running, but...

DAMMIT.

I've turned down the wrong alley. There are no doors here. No windows, no way out and I can't turn around, they are already there. So now I am standing face to face with all my dreams, while living my worst nightmare. My dream of getting out of the ghetto alive. my dream of getting a college education, being a famous architect and author. My dream of watching my mom and grandmom relax every day with her bills paid, instead of slaving every day trying to pay them.

But instead, we are here, backed into a corner in a lonely alley. Ten-foot-tall brick walls surrounding me on three sides, and the lone way out is blocked by Ant, Pee Wee and De, each pointing their loaded hand guns in my direction. You know, my grandma used to always tell me, that a black man ain't got nothing but his name, his word and his pride. Don't let anybody take those things from you. So, if this is how it's going down, I am not going to let them take my pride.

So, as I can feel the jagged, cold edges of the brick wall against my back, my heart is racing like nothing I have ever felt before. At this very moment I realized that I have lived my last days on earth. I realize that the only way out of this alley is going to be in a body bag.

At this moment, I decide that I am going to accept my fate, stand tall, and die on my feet with my honor, respect and my pride. At that moment, my heart stops racing. The fear is gone. I feel at peace with my decision. I feel at peace with my destiny. So, I take a step off that cold, jagged wall. I look Ant in his eyes as he and the others continue to approach me. I stand tall, I smile. I say to him with all the pride any man could muster, "I have lived all the days of my life as a boy, but today I will die standing tall and as a proud man."

Then I see a flash. I hear two or three loud bangs. I feel a sharp pain in my stomach, then in my arm and then my head. The last thing I feel is my head bouncing off the cold, damp asphalt in a lonely alley.

How did I get here? How did I get to the point that at the age of 17, my life was facing such a tragic ending? How did I become just another statistic in the ghetto? You know I wrote a poem once that said, "Your circumstances don't make you, you make your circumstances." So, I made this life.

May 1, 1970 Angela Anderson gave birth to a bouncing baby boy. Nathaniel Anderson was born into this world with the cards stacked against him. Born to a teenage mother without an education. Born to a life where his daddy was serving life in jail for murder, conspiracy, pimping, statutory rape, kidnapping, and the list goes on. Yes, the statutory rape, kidnapping and pimping were all charges my dad faced when he convinced my 15-year-old runaway mom to get in a car with him.

How did my mom get to that point? The desire to get out of the ghetto, to have finer things in life, to have unconditional love are often a stronger desire than many have the will to refrain from and an any-means-necessary attitude. My mom did not have that will to refrain. She didn't like being raised by a strict mom in the ghetto with no money.