Farewell Food Stamps

Critical Status:

"My name's Ace and I'm homeless/ I spit raps 'cuz I'm so sick/ I'm iller than shit, more badass than Jesus, yo/ I flirted with death, told Satan to quit/ Took candy from your baby then gave it to a babe, baby/ Like a drug dealer I make deals go crazy/ Eating scraps in the back I get stacks of cash..."

Everyone, as far as I could tell, hated Ace. He loitered like a cockroach by the cities best coffee bar, The Breeze. It was Ace's personal vendetta to get into the face of the customers- to force them to smell his grimy stench and gasp at his disintegrating yellow teeth. Ace would stand near the entrance to The Breeze and attempt to start freestyle battles with the male passersby, or creepily eye the figures of the females. Spontaneity and flamboyant attitude were in excess to the point of normality- Ace was so ignored he would attempt anything for attention- but no matter what he did, he dwelled in bitter solitude. Ironic to the fact that he slept on the streets of a populated metropolis.

But few people knew he had a golden heart.

It was early morning and I was sitting in The Breeze. I didn't want to go to work- I wanted to pause the sun and live forever in my taste-buds, as they inhaled the handsome aroma of coffee beans. Time, though, waits for no man. Looking through the tall, pristine windows at the bustling street, I could see Ace. He was dancing in front of an elderly couple- his baggy, stained jackets flailing around his body like a second shadow. Laughing to myself, I returned to my mug, taking a long sip as I stared at the endless blue ocean of a wall in front of me.

I was late, but could care less. Peace was in my veins, and I was trying to extend its duration. I ordered an exciting breakfast sandwich, and drool was lurking in the anticipation. A woman, very beautiful, just paid her bill. I thought about waltzing through the tables and introducing myself (in a charming way, of course). But my stomach won the battle over my hormones, as a plate of toasted bread, fried eggs, and honey ham appeared by my side.

The woman brushed her auburn hair behind her gentle shoulders, and pressed her leather purse against the smooth fabric of her dress. Her eyes sparkled in the dim light of the coffee shop, and the not-so-innocent smirk on her face perked me up in my seat. If she would've winked at me as she walked out the door, I (without a doubt) would've collapsed out of my chair.

Halfway across the giant glass windows in front of The Breeze,
the woman was accosted by Ace. Her body language switched from confident to defensive, and she took a step back, probably because of his breath. I guess Ace was more motivated than me, because he was turning on his moves. Popping, dancing, rapping- if I didn't see Ace sleeping on the streets at night I would've thought he was a professional performer.

In the distance, I noticed a truck screaming down the asphalt. It ran a red light, and was still accelerating. Its coal black malevolence struck a chord in me- and I realized the vehicle didn't plan to stop- let alone slow down. It was locked on. Throwing down my fork, I realized it was time to move. I ordered everyone in The Breeze behind the counter-top. From the cover, I watched the scene play out in front of me as the truck came crashing toward the shop.

Ace was deeply into his failing courtship when he stole a glance to his right. The truck was close, near maximum speed. The woman looked too- and froze, terrified. But some feral instinct switched on inside of Ace. As the truck prepared to mount the curb and launch into the glass, Ace became super human. The hulking mass of his clothes blasted into the woman next to him as he shoved her with brute strength. Surprise appeared on her face, as she stumbled backward, flat on the concrete a good distance away.

I couldn't peel my eyes away. I couldn't believe it. Ace was relaxed, standing straight ahead. The woman was on the ground. The dark truck at full throttle. With one final roar, it thundered through the obstructions.

The sound resembled nothing I had ever heard. It was as if lighting punched a gaping hole into the glass, providing an opening for a flood of raining shrapnel. The engine of the truck pounded ferociously with evil, crushing wooden tables and busting ceramic tiles. The force of the impact threw me, as well as the other customers, back against the wall and into delirium. Seconds, minutes, hours passed- I don't know. I took a chance, and peered over the counter-top. The driver was out of his vehicle, white dust from his airbag covering his shirt, cuts across his arms. He wasn't real, he was a ghost, a shred of my imagination. A revolver was in his hand. My eyes slammed shut as he brought it to his head.

Bang.

Sirens blared in the distance. I walked out from behind the shelter, glass crumbling beneath my boots. Through the broken window, I noticed the woman. She was standing, obviously in shock. Our eyes met with understanding, and our lives changed. We had met and survived catastrophe. We had met, known, and witnessed a hero.

Everyone, as far as I could tell, knew Ace. But no one (not anymore at least), hated him. Ace's body was never found. Some speculated that he was an angel in disguise, a messenger of the gods, a saint in human form. Others stretched the boundaries claiming he was a mirage of protection. In honor of his bravery, The Breeze designed and mounted a memorial plaque above their front door. It read, "In memory of Ace's supreme kindness and solid spirit: ? - April 26th, 2010."

Ace, in his last moments really did flirt with death. But he was a true hero- sacrificing his life for a woman he never knew. When I sit at that counter, sipping coffee, I remember Ace. May his brief memory extend towards forever.

"My name's Ace, dog and my game is the pace/ of these bars, lyrics, licks and grace, yo/ I'm like a T-Rex man/ so ferocious/ I rip you to shreds with these lines,/ You know it!/ Don't mess with Ace, 'cuz/ My blows are infinite/ like space- blow sand in ya face/ You might be blind 'cuz you ain't one of a kind/ Only Ace got control of his mind!"

What I'm Doing: Just sitting here… watching the wheels go round and round. I really love to watch them roll.

212:

Each day around 1:00pm I receive an email called the Daily Ray of Hope. It's like an inspirational quote- sometimes great, sometimes bland. Today, it hit me spot on about how I picture many aspects of life. Therefore, I'm replicating it.

"If the world were merely seductive, that would be easy. If it were merely challenging, that would be no problem. But I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve (or save) the world and a desire to enjoy (or savor) the world. This makes it hard to plan the day." ~ E.B White

E.B White hits it perfectly. I want to help the world, improve it, cure it of its imperfections… yet at the same time, I want to relax on a beach, and savor the earth in the sunlight. I believe it is the balance of these two ideals that makes for a fitting life.

This past week has been hectic. It's the close of April- and everyone knows the end of the fourth month signals wild insanity. In my case, it signifies preparation for a fashion show that has become one of grand scale- which will be performed tomorrow, April 29^th. It should be nothing less than perfection, thanks to my team leader Nadirah and teammate Misty.

Monday and Tuesday of this week signified the Baby Oil Debacle. Students thought it was a great idea to run down to the second floor of the school with giant bottles of baby oil, and spray them all over the slick, tiled floors of the hallways. This (as you would expect) made them more slippery than an ice cube drenched in butter. Personally, I thought it was fantastic, and quite clever. No kids would dare run in the halls with that slick oil on the floor!

Sleep is incredible. Each minuscule second of dreamland is a valuable to me, and I make sure as to sleep in as much as possible in the mornings. This means that I get ready like a hurricane on speed. I give myself fifteen minutes to get ready, and then bolt out of the house. And I bolt. I slam the door shut behind me and sprint a side street towards the closest bus stop. I know that if I don't sprint, I'll miss the bus- causing me to walk an extra four blocks and risk being late. A couple days ago I was really pushing my time. I'm booking it down the side street staring directly at my watch, and the bus zips by as I cut the corner. Shit. I slowed out of warp speed and into a slightly depressed walk, watching the bus accelerate out of the stop sign… only to stop in the middle of the intersection! Stunned, I shake off my feelings of utmost gratitude and heave my tired legs into lightning action. Out of breath, I crawl inside, and thank my bus driver a million times. He's the same one every day, and I love him. He's the best bus driver in this entire world.

Ever wondering who the LeBron James of mascots is? You guessed it: Banjo the Man-Deer. [Banjo]

Speaking of the NBA… let's talk nicknames. The Durantuala. Hands down, #1.

Something many of my students say is, "It's not my problem, why should I deal with it?" This usually occurs over trash issues. Even if the trash belongs to the student, they'll still decline to pick it up.

The last item I would like to mention would be the situation of the truancy misfire. To enter my school, students have to get through a metal detector and then swipe their ID. When the machine reads the code on a student's ID, it registers that student as present for the day. There are two of these machines, one on each side of the school. Each student's record is sent to the truancy for review of their attendance. Now, here's the problem.

A machine has been malfunctioning.

On one side of the school the machine has been marking every student absent. When their records are sent to truancy, they are reviewed, and then marked as truant (for too many absences). Because of that, these students (most of which are the first to arrive in their first period classes) are given a court session to meet with a judge. I talked with a student in my first period class. He was marked absent by the machine the day I was talking to him, and showed me a printed out form of his attendance (from the machine). It said he had 18 absences recently. As far as I can remember, he has been in first period every one of those days. The hardest part for him is, the judge doesn't believe him. The judge has so many truancy cases that I'm sure he's heard it all. He thinks my student's story is just another lie- not a needle in a haystack.

Next week, I plan to kick off my first post of May (also known as Pre-June) with a review of my stay in Mr. P's math class. For the moment, review the quote by E.B White. Find that balance between saving the world and cherishing the seconds of your life. That's all I've got for tonight.

-TWO-12