Chereads / The Art of A Deadman / Chapter 2 - Chapter 1.5

Chapter 2 - Chapter 1.5

After he did that, unfortunately, he did come back. It was only a matter of time before he did it again though. This would be years later but seeing my mother helpless as a child and watching her struggle pained me at the time. It changed my soul infecting me with unnatural anger towards my stepfather. I never liked him after that and after that life began to get worst. Financially things started to go downhill quickly. My mother had some ins with the FBI and she'll be taking federal charges later in life but spoilers. At this time we had to earn actual income because the income we had was now in federal hands. So to sum everything up. My mother started her own business doing taxes. This business had family members from all across the country to assist in making it look spiffy and perfect. This company had my mother as the head and one of her old-time friends as the right hand. This business continued for year's and the taxes they did for everyone was legit up till the point it wasn't. So my mother caught on that she could stress the truth to make the applicant receive more money than they were supposed to. Then she'd take a little of the top and call it a day. Her "right hand" was the fuck up. The single most stupid person I've ever met and she got a slap on the wrist for this job. So she instead of how my mother was doing it decided to take money from the applicants after giving them their bonus. As time went on she did this to more and more people. So obviously word got around and the FBI caught wind. And once she was caught she brought the whole business down blaming everything on my mother and walked away Scott free. Because my mother was the head, her blaming it on my mother fed the FBI, giving them what they wanted. The head of the business and even though my mother was doing right by the people she was doing wrong by the government and she got time because of that. But back when I was 14 or whatever I never understood that and I only saw us having to give up all our things. I remember my first car. I got it when I was 16 years old and never once got to drive it. Back then I didn't care for things like that even today I still don't. I just wish I never got things like that because nothing hurts more than being at the top only to fall. After this marked a turning point in my life, we moved from California which was a shame. I wish we stayed but I knew my stepfather would be there waiting. Oh yea they broke up obviously and he stay there and we move here dish to Alabama. Before we even git here I knew I'd hate it being there only made me hate it more and for the first time in my life. I realized what being African American meant. You see back in California I experienced light racist nothing like in the south. You see, I was surrounded by the middle to upper class I have no mentality of what being a lower classed citizen is like. I hate to say it but nothing could prepare me for what was and will be the worst years of my life. I hate even thinking about it but we have to start somewhere. It was my birthday, January 14 and we just moved from the perfect world into the center of the ghetto, the center of hate city. I'd never thought that me being the same as everyone else would alienate me to the point where I was attacked for my differences. A city boy coming in the ghetto I would've been better off dead. Before we go to the next chapter let me paint you a picture. I am light skin I don't stand very tall, I don't look that good and I'm very skinny. In California, I was a rarity a commodity never been seen or done before but in the city of Montgomery Alabama, I was a nobody. I was used to shorts with long socks for the call heat. Now I need all types of clothing. I was used to pronouncing my words fullest never missing a syllable. Now I was surrounded by people who couldn't speak right. I was a kinder person I wanted to help and show my peers that we could be more. Not to say I was Jesus but I only wanted to help. They hated me for it and resented me for even speaking. And to this day they still do. That birthday my 15th was the last day I ever experienced happiness and even that day was sad because no one had anything to give and no one had anything to say. That birthday would be the last one I ever celebrate.