I look at my two older brothers, who are more like Eric than I am, and I'm reminded: it more easily could have been them. I think about these men and Eric, and I'm reminded: it could have been me. I see him in all the young, hooded men walking down the street wearing bandanas of a certain color. My GPA is still a bit wounded from freshman year, but a weighted average of 3.8 isn't so bad. My English teacher even entered a few of my poems into some writing competitions. I also joined orchestra, took woodshop, and I found out I have an artistic side. I transferred to GATE as soon as I could, which qualified me for Honors and AP classes the following year. Was I going to be another dumb kid who didn't care? Or was I going to get my act together and stay as far away from that lifestyle as possible? The day I found out about Eric was the day I started thinking seriously about my future. The temptation must have been too great for them. My friends were pretty much the same, yet one by one, my circle of friends was getting smaller. I had an average of high C's and low B's, but that's only because I didn't really care. I rode my mountain bike to school and let my mom give me haircuts. At fifteen, I played Super Mario and wore the same sweatshirt every day. I don't know the details, and I assume they won't cover it in the news. Eric's friend ran in the other direction, but Eric wasn't so lucky. Without a word, one of them took out a knife. Eric was walking with his friend down the street when two girls of a rival gang approached them. They didn't offer school-wide counseling this time either. The principal didn't say anything about Eric in the morning announcements like the time those girls died in a car crash. I eventually found out that they said "Remember Eric." At first, nothing was unusual about that day, but I did notice a group of girls wearing matching airbrushed t-shirts I couldn't quite make out the lettering at the time.
My peers and I filed past the security guards and barbed wire fence on a regular Tuesday morning. I remember when I found out about Eric's death. I used to think it just made people sad, but it's actually just a huge reality check. As cliché as it sounds, whoever said death changes people must have known what they were talking about. I didn't know him enough to mourn, or even go to his funeral. We were partners one time in health class. To many, Eric Ramirez is just another statistic, a footnote in the bloody gang history of this place. Most fifteen-year-old boys worry about chasing girls and wearing the right clothes Eric Ramirez, along with so many young boys in Violencia, California, worried about surviving high school. His name was Eric Ramirez: fifteen years old with an unblemished, peach-fuzz face of innocence. Discuss an accomplishment, event, or realization that sparked a period of personal growth and a new understanding of yourself or others.
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