My hands go to my neck *Gasp* " I can't breathe" I yell, while my throat feels like a giant is crushing it. " I will ***ing kill you" he yells. I start swinging my under develop fist, praying to Jehovah one of my premature blows will loosen his grip. I swarm around kicking and screaming trying to hold on to life. As I started to feel a sense of giving up. I finally wrestle out the chokehold my uncle had me in. As he lets go, I try to remember how I got here. the noise of my brother yelling "let her go faggot" . my stroke ridden grandmother yelling "Stop" her fragile body trying to get in between a freight train and a Geo Metro. The sound of my sister running to the kitchen for a knife to stab Red. Which always seemed to be the ritual around the house. I try to visualize life without the noise, without the craziness.
It's Summer of 1993 and me and my siblings are packed in my mother's wood panel station wagon, I'm in the back staring out the window watching the world pass me by. I carefully scan each tree trying to remember each one, because my life will forever be different.
