In life sometimes we are given something and just as quickly it can be taken away. Friends in my neighborhood are hard to find. There are many older people and just as many little kids on my street. A few years ago I had a guy move onto my street who was a little older than me. His name was Jahmal Jones and he became my friend.
Jahmal's mom and aunt moved into Pasadena from Virginia. He seemed to fit in around our neighborhood except for the fact he was the only black teenager around. My sister and I never cared what color anyone was as long as they treated us nice. Jahmal was cool and he became like a big brother to me. He showed me how to play basketball and we rode our bikes during the summer. When school started that August, Jahmal went to high school and I went to middle school.
I didn't see much of Jahmal during school days. He seemed to have a new set of friends who were his age. His friends were mostly boys and girls who he went to school with. Jahmal started hanging out on our street more and he always had a group of boys around. They were louder and they cussed more. My parents told us to stay away from them because they were bad news.
During the whole school year Jahmal's friends were always hanging out late on the street. He had a lot of people who drove their cars up and down our street yelling at his friends. I asked Jahmal one time about those cars and he told me the people were arguing with him over girls. There were many white girls who visited Jahmal and his friends. The problem seemed to be the white boys liked these girls too. Jahmal's friends talked about fighting the boys. I think all of them got suspended from school for fighting once.
That summer things seemed to be a lot worse for Jahmal and his friends. There were always fights and cars going up and down our street. Jahmal used to tell me that he was always being picked on. I guess looking back now, this was the summer of hate. Jahmal and his friends were in many arguments but Jahmal seemed to be the peacemaker in the group. He knew when to walk away or at least I thought he did.
On Saturday night, July 24, I saw Jahmal and his friend shooting hoops outside. They let me shoot too. I went inside about eight oclock. I guess later that night Jahmal and his friend got a phone call from their friend at a party down the street. His friend told him these boys locked him in a room and threatened to beat him up. Jahmal and his friend went down the street to help their friend only to find four boys waiting for them.
Jahmal's friend had a gun and pulled it out. The fighting got really bad and Jahmal fell backward and he hit his head on the road. The neighbors heard the fight and called the police. Everyone involved ran. Jahmal was taken to the hospital and later he died from the fall.
The next morning I got a phone call from my friend telling me what happened. I couldn't believe it. He just went to help his friend. I don't think he even knew his friend had a gun. Those boys were the same ones who picked on him before. Jahmal was in the wrong place with the wrong people that night.
At Jahmal's funeral I was sad for my friend. He made a bad choice to be there that night. He should have known violence doesn't make things right. I know Jahmal didn't think anything would happen to him but he lost his life over stupid fighting.
Now I see the cross where Jahmal's body was beaten and I remember. Those people who were fighting are still alive except one. The things we do have consequences. I learned by losing my friend that I have choices. I choose to try and make good choices, I choose my friends and whom I hang out with carefully, and I choose to be a leader not a follower. If I have learned anything from this tragedy it is that the actions we take can change our lives in a second. Jahmal would want me to tell everyone what happened so they would learn from him.
