Hi guys, I'm new to the forum. I have just joined my first college-level writing class and am working on my first draft of a narrative essay. The essay is supposed to be about an experience that has shaped me in some way. Please let me know what you think - I don't know if I am doing this right and I am extremely nervous. I haven't been to school in a while. It is suppose to be 5 pages, double spaced. Any comments or suggestions would be greatly appreciated.
As I was walking to my apartment building, I had one question in my head: How do I approach him? I knew that I wanted him out my apartment - but at what cost. As I got closer, I took my keys out my bag in fury. My anger was getting the best of me, because all I wanted was to beat the shit out of him. I opened the front door with such rage that I could have sworn I broke the tile behind the door. I was standing at the elevator for twenty seconds and I got impatient, so I started to run up five flights of stairs. I had to calm down, so I just stood in the hallway: staring at the front door of my apartment. It took me a couple of minutes to gather my composure. I approached the door with hesitation, took out my keys, and opened the door - darkness was all I saw. I turned around, locked the door, and called out his name - no response. Yes! I had more time to gather my thoughts. I would have never predicated what soon followed.
As any normal night, I started to walk down the hallway into the living room. I turned on the lights - everything was gone: television, DVD's and sofas. Holy shit! I was robbed. I blanked out and dropped my bag and jacket to the floor. I just stood there with my heart beating rapidly. I ran into the kitchen - empty. Slowly, I started to walk back to the living room. I had to call the police, so I bent down for my bag looking for my cell phone - then it hit me, check my room. Holding my cell phone, I ran to my room. My bedroom set was still there, but my computer and TV were gone. I turned on my cell and pressed nine and it occurred to check his room. I walked in and everything was gone - wiped clean. I just stood there and stared out the window; lost in the moment. I looked around again and noticed a post-it on the door. I slowly walked to the door, as my heart was still beat rapidly. The post-it read: "No one can help me. I did it. I am sorry Bro". In that moment tears were streaming down my face. I don't know why I started crying. Why wasn't I angry? Five minutes ago, I was about to beat the shit out of him, and here I was sitting on my floor crying my eyes out. I was holding back a deeper emotion: hope. Hope that I would ever have my real brother back.
This all started about one year earlier. At the time, I had not spoken to my brother in five years. I was sixteen when he disappeared. He fled the family to escape his problems. The problems ranged from his poor choices in friends, to his nearly dead academic career. I was at work when I received a phone call that changed everything.
I was sitting at my desk on a conference call, as my cell phone started to ring. I always look at the caller ID on my phone and if it reads BLOCKED - I never answer. That was the case with his first call. It rang again so I decided to pick it up. A guy in a raspy voice asked for me and I knew it was my brother. I was ecstatic to hear from him but that all changed in an instant: he was in jail being charged with a felony. I sat at my desk in disbelief. I took down all his information and called my mother. When she got over the initial shock, all she could say was leave him in jail - "don't help him". I couldn't do it - I needed to see him first. I left work right after I spoke with my mom and went to visit him.
After a fifty-five dollar cab ride, I arrived at the jail. I had to wait an hour for someone to let me see him, and then I was put into a room. The room was small and had a table and a light. I was nervous - at any moment my brother was going to walk into the room. Would I recognize him? How much did he change? What would he be thinking of me? I was waiting in the room for five minutes when the door opened, and he was escorted into the room in handcuffs. This changed me in ways I can't explain. I didn't see him as a man, but as my brother: the one I grew up with, the one I played ball with, and on occasion the one I beat up. The more I spoke with him, the more I was convinced that he was innocent. I posted the bond to get him out of jail. Everyone said, "Don't do it", but how could they possibly understand? They have never been in my situation, aside from what they saw on lifetime television. He had nothing to his name: no place to live, no bank accounts, no credit cards, no identification, and no clothes. I had to help him get his life in order, and to get the court cased dismissed. I had hope that with time and the proper resources - I would have my twin brother back.
After I posted his bond, I took him back to my apartment. Immediately I called my job and took off a couple of days. We were sitting in the living room in dead silence; I didn't know what to say or how to approach him. I finally broke the ice and asked if he ever received his GED - he said no. The first objective was to obtain his GED. I started calling schools to find a program that suited his needs. The second objective was to find a job, but I expressed that I was not charging him to stay in my house - yet. My objective was to get his life in order and reintroduce him to the family. My hope was to eventually have my twin brother again.
For the first couple of months, everything went smoothly. I believed he understood the severity of his situation, and wanted to change. Slowly we started to talk again, like brothers should, and he started to tell me about his struggles: the drugs, living in the subway and having his friend abandon him. I was unhappy to hear about his struggles, but I told him that he created that situation for himself - I was not going to sugarcoat it. I gave him money to buy a metro card for school. I hoped that he was doing the right thing: going to school and looking for a job. In an attempt to make him feel more independent and to reconnect with the family, I made a calamitous decision that altered everything.
I started to see changes in him: good changes. I told my family that he was truly turning his life around. I decided to get him a cell phone - for emergencies and to regain contact with the family. He had to regain the family's trust again, and this was a way to talk to the family - one step at a time. I enrolled him in my plan and purchased him a brand new phone. At first he barley used the phone. He didn't even call the family, but I understood why: it was a tough transition because he didn't know what to say. Then he started to call old friends. I was not happy that he reached out to them but I let it be; I thought he learned his lesson about his so-called "friends". At the end of the second month, I received a bill from the phone company for three hundred and fifty dollars.
I was frustrated and didn't know what to do. I asked my mom for guidance, and she told me to install a lock on my room door. She feared for my safety and possessions, and I thought she was exaggerating. I had to take the phone away from him but I didn't know how. Then I started to wonder if he was actually attending classes.
A couple of days had passed and I got curious of the GED testing date. I called the school to confirm, and was informed that he dropped out six weeks earlier. I have never been stabbed in the back, but at that moment it felt like I had. In the course of six weeks, I had given him two hundred dollars for traveling expenses - where did the money go? Week's earlier he supposedly had a job at Taco Bell, so I left work early to confirm - but deep down I knew my answer. I walked into the Taco Bell and asked the cashier for him, and she said they had no employee by that name. I was done with everything and the next step was to contact my attorney. Since I posted my brothers bond, I needed to know my options under state law. I went inside a local bakery waiting for the phone call to be returned. I didn't want to go home, not yet. My attorney called me back but not with the information I wanted to hear. I was stuck with him until the end of the trail, and the only alternative was to speak to the judge. I would forfeit the bond if I kicked him out and he fled. I went home to confront him but it just ended up in heartbreak. While I was discovering everything, he was robbing me. How did he know?
I should have reported everything to the cops. Everything I worked for was gone. Everyday I wonder why I never reported the robbery. Since he left abruptly, I lost my bond money and he was a warrant out for his arrest. This was bound to happen - with or without my help. I still have the post-it and at times I stare as it - it reminds me of the moment I lost hope.
