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Every story has a beginning.

 

Obviously.

 

Stories all contain a beginning, middle, and end. But the thing is, my story can start anywhere, in the middle of the crises, or at the end, which, in reality, hasn’t happened yet, so it can be said there is no end.

 

In any matter concerning finding the beginning, the “start” can be defined in many ways: the start of life, the start of birth, the start or realization, all the way to the start of the end.

 

I can clearly picture my beginning, or at least the start of my life, how it was shown it was going to be lived. At the age of innocence, back when conflict was unknown, conflict began.

 

Back in my childhood, the family was always checking up my grandparents upon, as they were constantly in a state of illness. To cope, my entire spread out family would spend different nights with my grandparents, for if they should ever need someone, or if an accident occurred, there would always be someone to be there. And being a fully Mexican-style family, there was far enough family to cover the weeks.

 

My mom was “scheduled” to stay the nights on Fridays, and in turn, so was I. I would ask my mother why I would always have to go, being that I’m not exactly in a state of being able to help elderly people at the hyperactive age of eight.

 

“You being there makes them smile,” was all she would ever say. With my unsatisfied answer, I would go along half-heartedly with my mother and older sister, of which only came whenever she felt, so the ordeal wasn’t as seemingly unfair to her.

 

The days spent there were less than exciting, as an elderly couple has no need except the basic, which are way to insufficient to entertain a child. My sister being three years older than me and at the point of her life where she was desperately trying to act sophisticated, kept her attention on talk shows and news reports that came from the small TV with no cable.

 

I could never stand the boring images on the screen, and the small house always got to me, so I would usually spend my days outside, where the cool L.A air always blew around me.

 

The backyard would be seen as a small yard to adults; a drive way, patio, open garage, and a patch of dirt in the back that served as the garden.

 

But to a child, it was so much more. I could spend an entire day exploring what there was, as there seemed to always be an undiscovered corner or new play area. My main focus was, though, the garden. It was a small area, but contained many things a child finds interesting. A climbable tree, patches of vines, vegetables squared off with wires, ladders lying around, and many small things that caught my attention. Only half of the garden was viewable by the house, as the garage blocked the other half, so naturally, I sent most of my time in the unseen side.

 

Playing unseen, though, would be on of the worst mistakes of my life.

 

Being in the L.A community, houses were packed together in a way that the neighbor’s wall was almost able to reach by hand. The lot on the left held a large house where a lonely old lady lived. The other lot held two houses, one in front and one in the back. The back house was right in view of the garden, and being that the fence was only a gate fence, both lots could see right into one another.

 

In the house facing the garden lived a man, of which I thought was lonely. He seemed as old as my parents, if not older, but was very polite. Of course I had always been told never to talk to strangers, but the gate fence was there, so I figured as long as it was there =, there was really o danger.

 

Before long it came to be that I would go to the garden only just to talk to the man, Felipe, his name I would learn.

 

He wasn’t as an adult would be seen from a child’s eyes, he would actually talk at my level, not above, and seemed to care like a parent would. It wasn’t long before I began to some what trust him. He began to give me small things, like candy through the fence, an obvious way to get a child to like you, and I fell for it.

 

Candy was candy to me, not danger, so I had no reason to fear it.

 

Right?

 

I found out my answer on October’s afternoon.

 

It was a windy day, the air brisk and cool. As usual, it was stuffy inside, even without my sister, the house seemed crowded, so I made my way to the garden where Felipe would be found.

 

“It’s little Chris, how ya doing buddy?”

 

The greeting was almost routine, as I said “fine” back, and he would respond with a question that would in some way mean, “How are you?”

 

“How’s little Chris doing on this cold day?”

 

“Cold,” I replied with a smile.

 

“It is getting cold, tell you what, how about we go inside where it’s warmer, I think I have something sweet inside for you.”

 

My head instantly registered “inside” as inside the house of my grandparents, but as I saw him motion to his house, I began to feel nervous. Sensing my emotions, he held out a “don’t you trust me?” to persuade me. In a way it did, being that I should trust him after this long, and so, I took up the offer.

 

In order to get through the gate, I had to slip between a gap where the gate met perpendicularly at another, enough of a gap for me to squeeze through. As I passed through, I felt something drop in my stomach, I didn’t know what it was, maybe fear, excitement, I didn’t know, but something bothered me.

 

When I was on the other side, everything seemed the same; same wind, same view, same sounds, but there was something different that I could not pin point.

 

When I crossed through the door and looked inside his house for the first time, it confused me.

 

Seeing an un-kept living for an adult was something new to me. Clothes lying on the couch, unwashed dishes in the sink, and an undeniable odor in the air.

 

Showing how much of a child I was, I opened my mouth to ask, “where’s my surprise?”

 

He laughed silently, and went to the kitchen to find something sweet for me to entertain myself with.

 

As I ate what I was given, he began to mumble things like “it’s so cold outside, yet too warm inside,” and began to take off his coat, and followed with his shirt. I had absolutely no insight into acting sexually, as no child should, so I disregarded anything he tried to do.

 

He began to take off the coat I was wearing, and I didn’t persist, as I had no idea what he was doing. Then it came to the point where he tried to take off my shirt, I knew enough that such an action was wrong, so I tried to stop.

 

He continued to try, but I continued to protest. It was then that he practically ripped off my shirt, at which point, I panicked and started to leave, bolting for the door.

 

He was faster, and got there, holding it closed.

 

“What’s the matter with you?!”

 

“I really want to go, please, I just want to go…”

 

“Your grandparents are sick, you know? I do nearly nothing all day, I can take care of them if needed.”

 

In my confusions, the thought of my grandparents being helped intrigued me, as I did care for them much, and I wanted them to be as healthy as possible. So forgetting the situation I was in, I asked, “How will you do that?”

 

“What matters is that I can, but you need to do something for me first.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“You’ll see.”

 

With that, I was led to the backroom, the bedroom, and, in a matter of speaking, lost my innocence as a child that day.