Personal Narrative: Lawrence Road

On 1/16/17 at 0225 hours my partner, Officer Thebeau #8402, and I were working patrol assigned to unit 3A11. We responded to a radio call of “shots fired” in the area of 814 N. Garfield Ave. The comments of the call stated, a 19 year old female was shot in the hand.

On April 1, 2000, I was placed into a group home because of my behavior at the home. My dad and I didn’t get along. So he sent me to a placed called Bowman House. When I arrived there the first person I met was a lady name Alexander, she begin showing me around the units. Alexander was called the granny of the units. It was two units for the boys and girls. She took me to the boys unit first to look at the units. After I looked at the boys unit she took me to the girls unit. Where I would be staying. I had the chance to bond with Alexander, it wasn’t something I was trying to do it just happen. I had to stay with Alexander until the staff came back from picking the other peers up from school. An hour pass and the peers came back I had to go

I believe that women are just as competent as men and should be treated equally.

I didn't always live in California. Before California I lived in Denver, Colorado. Before Denver I lived in Aurora, Colorado. When we moved to california we had a family of five. We moved to California, when I was six, Then we lived at my grandma’s house in Riverside for a year. We found a place on Ferree Street and that became our home.

Today, we reached The Dalles. Nate told us we have two choices. Either we can float down the river, or we can go around Mt. Hood. We talked it over, and almost everyone agrees we should go around. I'm certain everybody remembers Ezekiel and the river, and none of us want to go through that again. So we start on Barlow Road, which will take us around the mountain, tomorrow. Things aren't getting much better here. We are all so tired. I think that once we get to Oregon, I will just sleep through winter.

Shattering snowfall of glass surrounded my form with the offending rush of cold air resembled a blizzard; the scent of alcohol now strangled my nose and throat. Blinding lights of neon signs complimented the dark night of the cold fall nights of Telegraph Rd.. However, the chilled air was not able to breach the inside of the warm car that held us; my sister, father, and myself, with the soft music of gospel quietly played. Inevitably, our peaceful serenity was interrupted by the commotion of a semi-truck swerving behind us. Right lane. Left lane. Right lane. Left lane. This behavior became the focus of my father as he was trying to drive us home safely that night. Cautious steering became useless in a single damning moment; our car swerved, my sister wailing, father’s muffled exclamations, and the protruding smell of beer. Thankfully, my body was unscathed; however, the way I envisioned the world changed drastically.

As a child, every weekday I would stand on the corner of my street, and wait for the bus. On this corner was a largely unused parking lot, only containing cars during Sunday mass at the church across the street. It was a a blemish on a street that otherwise held a picturesque depiction of American suburbia. A few years ago, my mother took it upon herself to organize a movement to rid our neighborhood of the lot. From this inspiration emerged Linwood Park, the brainchild of my environmentalist mother. As the project gained legs, it became a constant source of work and frustration for my mom. She frequently recounted the various distresses of dealing with government bureaucracy, obtaining the funding, or getting the necessary supplies,

Sometimes do you ever just feel like there is someone out there waiting for you, to change your life, but you just haven't met them yet? In a world with over 7 billion people that is often the case. Out of those 7 billion people about 10,000 of them live in a small suburb of Michigan called the East Bend. Sounds fancy huh? Well you could say that. About one half of our town is full of nice well kept homes owned by businessmen or doctors. Then one fourth is owned by those regular everyday cookie cutter type families. Then the remaining fourth are well the others. The weirdo rednecks who love four wheelin and cow kicking, or just that one family the whole neighborhood just stays as far away as possible from. I’m one of those well normal families.

On a Sunday afternoon, I hang out with my friend to a local event hold by LA Times, which located at University of Southern California. When I got there, the first thing that got my attention was the books booth. I think the booth was too small because there was really crowded. However, I realized that a massive amount of people actually enjoy reading. I am not a good reader, but this kind of spirit influenced me that I ending up purchased a book. I think the best thing was that the books were so cheap, and be honest, I can spend a whole day finding books that I might interested in. After I left the books booth, I saw a conversation going on. I am not really into in, but I thought that this is a good opportunity

Growing up in a small town, Community is everything. Everyone rallies together for the same cause and belief. Knowing that, my hometown of Maple Lake has a small population of about 2,000 residents, many people see our town as a “Drive-By town”. Every town has a story to tell, I believe Maple Lake needs a new design to our downtown area, to encourage growth and thriving business, which in turn helps boost the town's economy.

Strolling down Oxford Street in all its beautiful eclectic grottiness, I paused past the liquor store’s sign “Lick Her here.” A mischievous smile overtook my face as distant memories came effervescing to the surface.

The gps says “ arrived “ and we are ready for the turn up. As we are looking for a place to park we come to conclusion that there are not any because there were so many cars. There are cars that are beaten up badly. Some cars have no hoods , some cars rear-view mirror are hanging as if someone just drove by and took it off. Finally I spot the perfect place to park and I hear a deep voice yell at me and say “ You might want to park on up the curbs some more because these people around here can’t drive .” I look up and see it was tall lady directing me and thought it was hilarious but I still took her advice. My girls and I hop out the car and head walking down to the event. There was extremly loud music that you could hear even if you were

If she had been walking at her usual pace, the small movement at the side of the road would not have caught her eye. She looked up at me hiding in the top flour of the motel and I saw her run I knew what she was capable of doing and I wasn't going to let her do that to me I ran to the elevator and hopped on it and clicked the ground floor button

I get up, and yawn I knew I had school today so I stumble to my feet. I knew my mother would be really mad at me. I run down the stairs as Nathan yells food is done. i beat my brother and my sister down the stairs because i knew they wouldn't save any food for me. as i ran down the steps i yelled through the door what we having…… i looked it was oatmeal with ham i stopped dead in my tracks i knew this was going to be nasty. i told Nathan i didn't want any he said oh you have to have some. i pout and say no thanks i hate oatmeal it's horse food. she picked me up and sat me on the chair. Nathan said you will not leave until all the food is gone off your plate my face gets red i always would like to think i was Tinkerbell off of peter pan cause

The cars continue to zoom by me as I begin to cry. The acrid smell of burning tires and exhaust fumes fill my nose. A horn honks, prodding me to cross, but my own indecision forbids me. My tears only make seeing harder, and now I’m crying both at that fact that I’m immobilized by fear, and at my own futility. I’m a chubby, little eight-year-old girl standing at the edge of the curb, trying cross the street. I am at the final intersection before my school, but all the crosswalk guards are gone. Earlier that morning I woke up late, so I had to ride my bike to school. The cars seem to be going at an impossible speed and veering toward me. I stand there for five minutes, contemplating whether I can cross, before I finally give up and walk back home in shame.