Remembering Jorge
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By Belia Mayeno-Choy
 Recently,
my sister told me our old friend Jorge had been shot and killed.
He was like a big tough cousin to us. He'd intimidate prospective
boyfriends and always tease me about something — calling me
a nerd for reading so much, or asking for reassurance that I was
really half Mexican when he saw my pale legs in the summertime.
Even my parents liked him, in spite of his jailhouse tattoos. He
was still goofy, sweet Jorge.
When I heard about his murder, the first thing I thought about
was food. Once I went to his house for dinner. They ordered a pizza,
but there wasn't enough for all of us, so Jorge gave me his.
We ended up going to the same community college. We'd eat lunch
together. I'd coax him to try my garden burger to convert him to
vegetarianism. He would try and get me to ditch class and go to
a Chicano Student Union meeting. I'd sometimes hear about his troubles
with the law, and his new plan to make sure that he tested clean
on his next probationary drug test.
It was because of Jorge that I started working as a writing mentor
with incarcerated youth. Sometimes, when I'm at the detention center
laughing and trash-talking, I'm reminded of hanging out with Jorge.
Some of the young men sort of resemble him — they're young
and old at the same time. And just like Jorge, they have grown up
surrounded by dangers and circumstances I will never fully understand.
After I found out Jorge was gone, I cried for a long time —
and not just because he died in such a violent way. I know that
he didn't get to have the life he hoped for. But more than anything
else I know many people will not mourn a Mexican immigrant with
a criminal history.
I cried because there were so many good things inside of him that
some chose not to see.
With a perspective, I'm Belia Mayeno-Choy.
Back Announce: Belia Mayeno-Choy comes to us from Youth Radio, an
award-winning, multi-media training program.
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