From Pride-The Book I'm Writing.

From "Pride" The Book - To Be The Last Chapter
“I have Pride in myself. I live my life for me.”
June 2009

I wasn’t wondering if it was a Fag bashing, or a robbery. I was aware only of the rhythm of punches to my face. He said “Give me the camera!” over and over and over again. He grabbed the camera. I wouldn’t let go. I started to kick him in the knee. He said, “Don’t get up! Don’t get up! Don’t get up!” A punch between each time he said it. I do remember starting to get up off the ground. It didn’t improve his mood.

There’s no way for me to know how long this went on for. Time passes differently in this situation. But it did go on for too long. Something like a full minuet instead of the standard 4 seconds for most folks. I think it’s because of this that some guy came over to split us up. Turns out the jerk that attacked me thought I’d taken his picture. I said I’d give him the film. So he started screaming “Give me the film! Give me the film.” Then “Give me the film! Give me the camera! Give me the film! Give me the camera!”

After he tore up the film he said something to the effect that I wasn’t allowed to walk down that street. I thought “Not allowed on this street? This guy is not going to be very happy.” So just to be a wise ass I followed them to the corner bar where they were standing. I was told by the guy who got between me and my attacker to not go this way. I said, “I’m going home. This is the way I’m going.”

I have a mind like a steel sieve, but in situations like this my memory tends to get better.
I’m 6’1’ he was about a head shorter then me. Round face, a bit round in general actually. Bright yellow colored shirt. Very fashionable summer wear in fact a short gold chain that didn’t go past the top of his chest, and a shaved head. Oh, and he was an asshole. Yea, I remember that too. Can’t say the guys he was hanging out with in front of the bar on French street New Brunswick, NJ across from a liquor store/bar called The Hub, were of the same disposition. I try to keep an open mind.

On the way home I called a friend with a fine collection of cameras. I left a voice message saying that I got jumped and wanted some portraits taken. He called back later asking me “What happened?” I gave him a short recap. He said he’d be free to take some photos the next day around 9:30 am.

I get home, take off my bloody shirt, pour salt into a steel bowl, fill it with warm water, and rinse my mouth. What I spat out went from red to clear in no time. I look in the fridge for some ice. I was looking for ice trays so didn’t notice the bag of gourmet ice in the plastic bag. So I opened a box of frozen potato and cheese pierogies and put one on my swollen right eye. It worked well. The healing pierogie shape fit over my eye perfectly. Shirtless, I head to a friends place for ice. From across the street I hear someone shout my name. It’s an old school hardcore guy named George I’d not seen in months. I love this guy. Not in a Gay way though. No, seriously! Hey! Just because we share naked brunches together doesn’t mean anything. But I digress.

Turns out this was a night of coincidences. Today was his day off from his fight club. He just happened to step out of his place as I was walking past, and he had ice!
We meet in the middle of the street, his eyes grow wide and George asks, “What the fuck happened?” I say that I’d been jumped. He asked if I wanted, right then, to head back to deal with them. I could hear in his voice George was ready then and there. I said “Not now. I just need to pull myself together first.” So we head in, he wraps some ice in paper towels and we sit and watch a DVD of Heroes. We sit around and we start to crack jokes about the show and things in general. Then George and I go all philosophical about life, god, and why the immortal chick on Heroes in one season suddenly got bigger breasts. I said “It was probably the slipping ratings.”

After an hour I get up and say I’m off. George gets up and says he was going to the Hub for some beer. I say “I was thinking the same thing.” Before I get to ask if we could swing by my place for a shirt he asks if I wanted one. So with a DEGENRICS t-shirt on we head off to The Hub.

Turns out the guy wasn’t hanging outside any more. George had come ready for a face to face but said for now, it was for the best.
We get some liquid carbs and hang on his porch talking about getting into the scene. I told him what song kept me in the scene in a time of my life when was thinking, “What are all these kids doing here?” We shared the meanings of our tattoos, and mages for new ones we’ll be getting at an upcoming tattoo convention. He told me how hard it was dealing with people who didn’t understand his being in the scene. I said, “You never had to deal with Gay guys who weep openly when they hear the Village People sing “Go West.” He told me of the new female neighbors who tend to hang outside in there sports bras and short shorts. I say “They’re probably soccer fans.”It turned out that rumors I’d heard of a show were true. So we head over to America. Good hardcore bands that had traveled as far as California to play in a small hot sweaty venue had arrived. A good time was had by all. “Fight Club” George, (That’s not his nickname, just making a distinction between him and another George.) Anyway George moshes hard and I wasn’t up to joining him, what with one eye nearly swollen shut. George buys a T-shirt from a band. I buy a 7” from a band called “Guilty Faces.” I go for music over cloths. The needle skips over the fabric. Before we leave the bands merch table George offers his place for them to crash if they need one. As folks start to leave I give George my e-mail so we can hang, brainstorm on a zine idea, and plan a naked brunch. I head home with a smile on my face I think of how a good day this was. Not great day, but still a good one.

FRI

The next morning I arrive at Tony’s place. Our friend/his room mate George, (this is the other George. He’s in a band called “Shit Fit.” They’re Greater then “Frosted Flakes”!) Anyway, George didn’t know about what happened. I was still looking really fucked up. His mouth hung open while he took in the sight of my face. I wasn’t up for giving another full explanation. I share the major points and Tony fills in some blanks. Tony and me step outside. He takes a lot of shots taking his time to compose them nicely. I was looking forward to seeing them. When we get back inside plans are hatched as to what to do. I try to let things rest after seven days. Tony and George thought this had to be addressed no matter what. I agreed. Tony suggested he some friends loiter on French St. with cameras. I liked the style of it. Like a bug zappers to a mosquito. Tony also said “He owes Pedro a replacement roll of film and an apology.” Sounded fare to us.
After Tony leaves I hang out with George as he gets ready for work. He expresses how fucked up my situation was especially with a person like me. He says I‘m the most positive person he knows, what with the way I was just going with it all. He heads to his car saying how fucked up it was for anyone to do such a thing to someone with “a gentle soul” as mine.

I had paper work to drop off to my case worker at the clinic. She was stunned by how I looked and said I should go to the hospital and report the incident to the police. Going to the emergency room was a good idea. Turns out I have a Subconjunctival Hemorrhage. It sounds worse then it is.
There’s a bright red patch of blood in the white of my left eye. It should clear up in a couple of weeks. Looks a bit scary but I think balances off the shiner under my left eye. I also have some fractured facial bones. There not like arm bones. There very tiny and are described as spicules. It’s why my face got so swollen. Liquid filled up the cavities in my face. It’s what made me look so fucked up. The right side of my upper lip is numb though. Hopefully it’s not a sign but hopefully I won’t need surgery.

The next day I went to fill a prescription for amoxicillin to prevent infection inside my skull. By the way, when filling a prescription don’t be afraid to ask the pharmacist questions or advice about your meds. They know a lot! I go to a small Mom and Pop operation. Zajac’s Pharmacy on 223-225 George street New Brunswick N.J. Give them the business if you have one around. Forget about Rite Aid, they don’t need your business. When I get home I take my meds, and take He Man for a walk. After his walk I head to the farmers market on the now forbidden street. On the way a women I know tells me there’s a party with food, music and a pool. She had me at “food.” I say I’m heading for the market and will be back soon. She says “Just walk right in.” when I get back. The barbeque was in full cooking mode and a huge inflatable pool stood in the back yard. No one had gone in yet. I said I’m sorry I didn’t bring my leopard skin print bikini underwear. Those who know me asked why that should matter. I did my best Naked Ninja dive. Once again I’m asked about my face and what happened. I gave the shortest answers I could. I’m a story teller at heart but being asked so many times was wearing me out. Terror arrives and gives me a long hug. “I like holding you close,” he says. “You can’t have me I’m taken.” He then introduces me to his girl friend. Not long after meeting Terror I said that he smelled good. Now every time we meet I have to tell Terror that he smells good. He asks me to take a whiff of his cologne, “Very nice.” I say. He of course asks me about the black eye. I give the short answer, “I got jumped on French street.” He wanted to know more but could see I wasn’t up for a recap of all the details.

Later a young man named Nate says he wants to play beer pong with me. I say I can’t because I’m on medication. He says we have to do it soon. I say, “In ten days. Promise.” He points his finger and says deal. Later Nate waves me over and asks me for the whole story. “I have to know what happened.” So we sit and I tell the tale. He puts out his hand and says that there isn’t any one who knows me that won’t back me up. It’s a reminder I seem to need. Hanging in the kitchen Terror and I have some small talk. He takes a potato chip from a bowl and brings it to my mouth. I eat it and Terror heads to the door with his girl friend. Just before he goes through he says loud enough for all to hear, “Who loves you old man?” I answer, “You do.” He says “That’s right.”
As I walk home with a smile on my face I think how great a day this was. Not outstanding. A great day though.

I went to the radio station early to get some on-line time. A friend who’s a DJ there walks in to ask me a question, stops short and says, “Whoa. What happened?”
I gave a short explanation. I say “I’m fine.” I had to repeat it two more times.

I tell him I had a friend take pictures, Half joking I tell him “I want to update my Face Book profile.” He asks “Are you proud?” He really wanted to know why I wanted to put up scary photos of my banged up face for all to see. I thought for a second and off the top of my head say, “I’m proud that I didn’t get knocked out. I’m proud I fought back. I’m proud I didn’t loose my friends’ camera. I’m proud that he said ‘Don’t get up’, because it meant that I was getting up.”

Today is Gay Pride in New York. I wouldn’t have gone if I did remember. I haven’t gone in years. Over the last three days I got some broken bones in my head, found out a brother I don’t see enough of moved near me, saw a good hard core show, was invited to a party with good food and a pool where I got to practice my Naked Ninja skills, was shown support from friends, and found the last chapter of my book. Am I proud?

Crossing borders is a part of who I am. It’s made it possible for me to learn a lot. I’ve also used it to keep a distance between me and others. You see, I believed it was only a matter of time before folks found out who “the real Pedro” was. Only a matter of time before the love turned to disappointment. So I’d jump over another border. I’d learn new things but I’d lost touch with those I’d want to share it with.

Crossing into the punk scene didn’t make the escapes easy. There are built in borders to cross. From a Crass punk, to a straight edge, to a skinhead, to the sensitive younger brother who always gets picked on: the emo kids. But no matter where you’d “go”, you’re known. I’d move on but only to a new place inside myself. So I got stuck. Despite my best efforts I’ve become known. It seems I’m not as bad as I thought.

I’ve learned a lot over the last three decades or so, even a few things about myself, but am I proud? Maybe just a tiny bit more proud then I was three days ago. A tiny bit more with every challenge, act of friendship or accomplishment. But for the most part, right now, I’m feeling very grateful.

Other chapters at

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