这个故事是发生在我一个朋友的身上。 我最近访问了他，也得到了他的允许来发表这篇文章。文章里面的 “I”

是我的那个朋友。这篇文章是以第一人称写的.

Part I
City Prison











A
few
weeks
before
the
end
of
my
third
year
of
high
school,
I
witnessed
my
closest

friend
Aaron
got
arrested
and
sent
to
prison
for
robbing
a
jewelry
store
on
Canal
Street.
I
was

walking
past
the
prison
as
usual
to
take
the
6‐train
in
the
morning
to
school
when
I
saw
two

cops
with
three
people
in
handcuffs.
The
first
thing
I
noticed
was
that
one
of
the
three

convicts
was
Asian
and
the
other
two
were
not.
While
the
electronic
gate
of
the
prison
was

opening,
I
notice
that
one
of
the
faces
was
very
familiar.
Then,
I
recognized
it
was
my
best

friend
A’s
face.
He
was
the
one
who
hung
out
with
me
most
of
the
time.
I
stopped
walking
and

was
ready
to
ask
him
what
he
was
doing
there
in
Chinese;
however,
one
of
the
cops
instructed

me
to
leave.
At
that
time,
even
though
I
did
not
really
understand
what
the
cop
was
talking

about,
I
knew
he
told
me
to
leave
because
of
his
coarse
voice
and
his
gesture.



I failed to understand what the police officer was saying to me because of a lack of English
comprehension. I moved to the United States in June 2001 and started high school in September of
that year. I was placed in a bilingual program because I knew nothing about the English language
except the twenty-six letters of the alphabet and a few simple words like “hello”, “hi”, and “good.”
During my first three years of high school, I did not study to improve my English skills. I met all
my Chinese friends in the bilingual program, and Mandarin was our common language. Instead of
speaking English, our teachers also spoke Chinese to us all the time. I got nothing out of my first
three years of high school, but met four of my best friends. They were Aaron, Jaylen, Kim, and
Ramon.
My four friends and I got acquainted very fast with each other because we spoke the same
language, were from the southern part of China, and had been in the United States for less than a
year. We began to cut classes a few weeks after the first semester of high school started. We would
spend our entire day playing video games in Mott Street, one of the main streets of Chinatown in
downtown Manhattan. We liked to hang out on Mott Street among the bakery stores, restaurants,
Tea Houses, ice cream stores, gift shops, and eye-wear stores on it. I used to live on Bayard Street,
and it intersected with Mott Street. Bayard Street was also a great place to shop and eat Chinese
food. What made Bayard Street special were Columbus Park and a prison at end of it.

Six to seven blocks from Bayard Street was SoHo, another neighborhood in downtown
Manhattan. My four friends and I always went there and played pool. They had good pool tables
and offered discounts during certain times. We usually spent several hours playing pool until the
end of the day, and then we went to eat before we went home. I was not working at that time, and
my family gave me money for food, clothing, video games, pool, and other activities. That was our
basic routine for the first year of high school.
For the second year of high school, there was an important event that made our friendship
stronger. We had a fight with three guys. On that day, we went to play basketball after school in
Seward Park on the corner of Grand Street and Essex Street. We left all our book bags on the side
of the basketball court. While we were playing, my friend Jaylen suddenly yelled in Chinese, “What
are you doing with our bags?”
 The stranger ignored us. He grabbed three of our bags and walked. Jaylen ran to the guy and
tried to get our bags back; however, the stranger punched him right in his face. This stranger was
pretty big and was about two hundred pounds. My four friends and I ran towards the stranger and
jumped on him at the same time. However, two more strangers came from nowhere and started to
attack us. All of them were big dudes, and we were not big. The average of our weights was one
hundred to one hundred and twenty-five pounds. I got punched three times in the stomach and
smacked in the face. I could barely breath after the third punch. My other friends got punched in
different areas of their bodies, except my friend Kim. Kim was slim, but knew how to fight. He
kicked one of the strangers in the head.
“Let’s run. We can’t fight against them. Run!!!” Jaylen said. He grabbed two bags, and I
grabbed two. We all started running. We did not get the chance to take the basketball because we
were being chased. We ran down Essex Street towards East Broadway. They stopped chasing us
when we were out of the park.
 While we were on East Broadway, we cursed the three strangers. Then I asked Kim in
Mandarin, “How do you know all those kicks?”
Kim told us that he learned Korean martial arts, Taekwondo when he was young. His mom
wanted him to learn for self-defense. He also said that he received a black belt from Korea after
three times of rejection from the Black Belt Center.
Aaron, Ramon, Jaylen and I all asked him to teach us Taekwondo, and Kim said, “Of
course.”
After the day we got beaten, two things happened. First, we all swore that we would all look
after each other if we were in trouble. Second, we started to go the gym. The school gym was only
open two afternoons a week. Eventually, we decided to join the New York Sports Club. We worked
out at least four days a week. By the end of my second year in high school, I had gained twenty
pounds. However, one hundred forty-five pounds was not my aim. I wanted to weigh one hundred
seventy to one hundred eighty pounds, just like the guys that beat us up.
Since we had the fight with the three strangers, we did not hang around in Seward Park
anymore. Instead, we played in Columbus Park. The park was the heart of Chinatown, and it was at
the end of Bayard Street, near the 6-train station on Canal Street. Columbus Park was a new and
improved park undergoing a reconstruction project. New benches, picnic tables, drinking fountains,
and lights had been added. The old people bet dominoes and played mah jongg on the picnic tables.
They could also sit on the new iron chairs and chat. The most remarkable part of the reconstruction
was that three more basketball courts and a huge field, which was covered by artificial grass, had
been built.
My friends and I played basketball in these new courts and practiced Taekwondo in the
field. I learned self-defense techniques and basic strategies of kicking. My friend Kim told me the
weakest parts of the body were the temple, ribs, and the middle of the chest. Even a muscular guy
didn’t have muscles in the center of the chest, and it was easy to attack with either an elbow or fist.
My routine during my second year of high school was working out at NYSC, playing video games
and pool, playing basketball, and learning Taekwondo.
 Before my friend Aaron got arrested in our third year of high school, my daily routine was
pretty much the same as my second year. My parents did not have any clue about my life. They
always thought I was a good student because I gave them fake exam scores. I never told them about
the Parent Teacher Conferences. I would also destroy all my mailed report cards before they got to
my parents’ hands. My parents probably thought that I was just like my two older sisters and would
have a professional career in the future. My sisters came to the United States in 1993. My eldest
was a lawyer’s assistant, and my other sister was a nurse.

Part II
My parents found out the truth when the school contacted them about the fight I had with
another student during gym class. A few weeks before the semester was over and a few days before
Aaron was arrested, I had a fight. On that day, three of my best friends were absent, and my friend
Ramon and I were in the second period gym class. We played against two other Chinese students on
one court. While I was about to shoot my ball, my opponent was trying to block it. Suddenly, a
basketball from another court hit my face, right on my temple. Everything went black for five to ten
seconds. While the gym room was spinning, I heard laughing sounds from the other court. My
friend put his arm around me to keep me steady.

When
I
regained
consciousness,
my
friend
pointed
at
a
guy
and
said,
“
He
did
it.”
I

picked
up
the
ball
and
walked
to
the
guy.
He
was
about
three
to
four
inches
taller
than
me.

Ramon
stood
right
behind
me
while
I
asked
him
to
apologize.
“Sss..aay..
Sorry,”
I
said.
I
knew
I
was
probably
pronouncing
the
words
incorrectly;
however,
I
was
sure
that

he
knew
what
I
meant.
He
giggled.
“Say
sorry,”
I
said
again.
This
time,
he
looked
away
and
completely
ignored
me.
A
student
from
his
court
then

said
something
to
him,
which
I
could
not
understand.
Then,
he
began
to
walk
away.
At
that

moment,
my
heart
was
pounding
fast
and
rage
was
all
over
me.
I
took
a
couple
of
steps
back

and
threw
the
ball
with
all
my
strength
at
his
face.
The
ball
hit
his
right
cheek
and
bounced

back
to
me.
A
number
of
students
stood
next
to
us
and
yelled,
“Fight…
fight…
fight…”
He
turned
towards
me
and
ran
in
my
direction.
He
was
about
to
punch
me
with
his

fist.
Then,
I
heard
Ramon
say,
“Lookout.”
Then,
I
heard
my
teacher
yell,
“Stop!”
He
did
not
stop,
and
neither
did
I.
I
ducked,
but
his
fist
caught
my
nose.
Blood
ran
down
my
face.
Then,
I
landed
my

elbow
on
his
chest,
the
weakest
point
of
the
human
body.
He
squatted
down
with
his
hands
on

his
chest.
I
saw
the
teacher
running
towards
us.
I
squatted
down
and
pretended
that
my
nose

was
badly
hurt.
While
I
was
spreading
my
blood
on
the
floor
with
my
hands,
I
remembered

what
my
friend
Kim
once
told
me,
“A
person
can
barely
breath
if
he
is
hit
in
the
right
spot
of

the
chest.”
I
thought
I
laid
a
pretty
good
hit
on
him.
The
teacher
came
to
me
and
asked
me
how
I
was.
I
knew
he
should
have
been

fighting
for
breath
at
that
moment.
The
security
guards
arrived
shortly.
One
of
the
guards

took
me
to
the
nurse,
and
I
did
not
see
where
they
took
the
other
kid.
After
the
nurse
cleaned

me
up,
the
guard
brought
me
to
the
guidance
counselor’s
office.
My
counselor
said
that
my

dad
was
on
his
way
to
pick
me
up
and
asked
me
to
write
down
what
happened
on
a
piece
of

paper.
Of
course,
my
counselor
could
speak
Chinese
and
I
wrote
what
had
happened
in

Chinese.
When
my
dad
arrived
at
school,
my
counselor
told
my
dad
that
I
was
not
doing
very

well
in
school
and
I
could
be
expelled
from
school
for
fighting.
My
counselor
said
that
the

school
would
set
up
a
peace
conference,
and
settle
the
conflict
between
the
guy
and
me.
On
our
way
back
home,
I
did
not
say
anything
to
my
father,
and
he
did
not
say

anything
to
me.
In
fact,
we
did
not
communicate
with
each
other
very
often
because
there
was

an
invisible
barrier
between
us.
My
father
moved
to
the
United
States
with
my
sisters
when
I

was
eight
or
nine
years
old.
Back
in
China,
my
mom
loved
gambling
and
spent
most
of
her

time
in
the
casino
of
Canton,
China.
I
was
on
my
own
all
the
time.
Even
when
my
mom
and
I

moved
to
the
United
States,
I
did
not
talk
to
my
family
a
lot.
My
sisters
were
all
married
and

had
their
own
families.
My
parents
spent
most
of
their
time
working.
Even
when
I
saw
my

family
members
at
home,
we
had
no
common
topics
to
talk
about.
I
did
not
feel
surprised
that

my
father
did
not
say
anything
to
me
while
we
were
on
our
way
back
home
from
school.
But,

when
we
got
home,
my
dad
actually
asked
me
if
we
could
talk
while
we
were
standing
in
the

kitchen
near
the
entrance
door.
“Son,
you
are
old
enough
to
make
your
own
decisions,”
he
said.
I
looked
at
him
and
nodded.
“We
spent
about
fifty‐thousand
Yuans
about
nine
thousand
dollars)
on
getting
your

visa
and
on
your
daily
expenses.
I
want
you
to
know
we
love
you,”
he
added.
I
did
not
want
him
to
know
I
had
been
lying
the
whole
time.
So,
I
just
nodded
again.
“I
can’t
always
provide
everything
for
you,”
he
said.
Then,
he
turned
left
and
walked

into
his
bedroom.
It
was
the
first
time
that
my
father
said
something
like
that
to
me.
My
parents
gave

me
allowance
regularly.
When
I
asked
for
a
computer,
they
paid
for
it.
When
I
asked
for
an

Ipod,
they
paid
for
it.
They
occasionally
asked
me
about
my
day
and
my
academic

performance.
I
answered
them
with
simple
responses,
such
as
“My
day
was
great.
Or
I

received
a
85
on
my
test.”
Somehow,
these
responses
were
just
lies.
Sometimes,
I
wondered
if

my
parents
would
even
expect
me
to
say
something
different,
such
as
“My
day
was
horrible.”

Even
though
my
answers
were
always
simple,
they
never
asked
me
to
say
more
about
my

days.
I
really
wanted
to
know
how
my
father
felt
when
my
counselor
told
him
about
my

school
performance
and
how
my
mother
felt
when
she
learned
about
it.
My
father
did
not

criticize
me
for
all
my
lies
or
for
my
misbehaviors,
which
made
me
feel
I
owed
them
so
much.

That
night,
I
could
not
sleep.
No
one
around
could
comfort
me,
give
me
advice,
or
keep
me

accompany.
I
should
have
been
used
to
the
feeling
being
of
on
my
own,
but
I
did
want
to

communicate
with
parents
better.
Even
though
I
was
down
at
that
time,
I
did
not
tell
either

one
of
my
four
best
friends
because
I
felt
inappropriate
to
share
my
feeling
with
guys.
A
week
after
the
fight,
I
had
a
peace
conference
with
the
guy
in
school.
We

apologized
and
shook
hands
with
each
other
even
though
neither
of
us
wanted
to.
The
school

threatened
to
expel
both
of
us
if
we
did
not
settle
the
conflict.
The
school
also
warned
us
we

would
be
kicked
out
if
we
broke
any
major
rules
again.
Two
weeks
after
the
conference,
I
saw
my
friend
Aaron
handcuffed
and
led
into
the

prison
at
the
end
of
Bayard
Street.
This
correctional
facility
included
a
series
of
buildings,

which
surrounded
the
Columbus
Park.
These
buildings
were
exactly
the
same,
and
each
one

was
over
twenty
stories
high.
The
glass
windows
on
the
walls
formed
straight
lines
reaching

from
the
top
to
the
bottom.
Police
cars
were
parked
on
both
sides
of
the
street,
like
rows
of

armies
ready
for
action.
The
main
entrance
to
this
prison
was
at
the
intersection
of
Baxter

Street
and
Bayard
Street.
There
were
two
big
signs
next
to
the
entryway,
which
said,
“STOP.

Do
not
enter
unless
instructed
by
officer.”
There
was
also
a
surveillance
camera
in
the
upper

left
corner.
My
friend
Aaron
stood
right
beneath
the
camera
on
that
day.
I
kept
turning
my
head
back
while
I
was
walking.
My
friend
looked
at
me,
but
did
not

say
anything.
Then,
he
entered
the
prison
with
the
cops,
and
I
knew
he
was
in
deep
trouble.
I

kept
thinking,
what
he
could
have
done
to
get
himself
arrested?
On
my
way
to
school,
I
asked

myself
that
same
question
over
and
over.
The
day
before
he
got
arrested,
we
had
gone
to
play

video
games
on
Mott
Street
and
gone
home
at
about
eight
o’clock.
 When
I
arrived
in
school
and
entered
my
first
period
classroom,
I
saw
two
of
my

four
best
friends
whispering
to
each
other.
They
usually
did
not
talk
in
low
voices.
Instead,

they
screamed
and
yelled
when
they
talked.
As
soon
as
they
saw
me,
they
signaled
me
over.

“Do
you
know
what
happened
to
Jaylen
and
Aaron?”
Kim
whispered
to
me.

“Jaylen
called
me
this
morning
at
six
o’clock,”
Ramon
added.
Before
I
had
the
chance
to
say
that
I
saw
Aaron
standing
in
front
of
the
prison
with

cops
this
morning,
Kim
looked
around,
made
sure
that
no
one
was
listening
and
continued,

“Jaylen
and
Aaron
broke
into
a
jewelry
store
on
Canal
Street
at
about
five
o’clock
in
the

morning.
The
owner
of
the
store
found
out
and
called
the
cops
before
they
left
with
the

money.
Jaylen
got
away,
but
Aaron
got
caught.
No
one
knows
where
Jaylen
is.”

“I
saw
Aaron
at
the
entrance
of
the
prison
this
morning,”
I
whispered
to
them.
They
both
looked
at
me
with
their
mouths
open.
We
could
not
concentrate
during
our
first
period
class.
We
did
not
hear
about
either

Jaylen
or
Aaron
until
we
read
the
Chinese
newspaper
the
next
day.
The
police
found
Jaylen
at

home
and
locked
him
up.


I
never
saw
Jaylen
and
Aaron
again.
I
heard
that
they
were
released
and
transferred

to
another
high
school.
Neither
Kim,
Roman,
or
I
had
the
courage
to
contact
Aaron
and

Jaylen’s
family
members
when
they
were
in
trouble.
After
this
happened,
seeing
the
prison
on
my
daily
walk
to
the
6
train
had
a
whole

new
meaning
for
me.
It
reminded
of
Jaylen
and
Aaron.
During
my
senior
year
of
high
school,
I
began
to
apply
myself
to
school
and
learn

English.
I
knew
that
if
I
continued
being
rotten
student,
I
could
end
up
in
prison
too.
I
could

not
imagine
what
it
would
be
like
if
I
was
standing
with
police
officers
in
the
front
of
the

prison
gate.
My
parents
would
feel
more
disappointed
than
the
school
fight
I
had
if
I
were

really
in
prison.
Since
then,
I
tried
to
hang
out
less
with
my
friends.
Luckily,
I
graduated
from
high
school
and
got
accepted
by
Queens
College.
I
moved

out
of
my
parents
apartment
and
lived
with
a
roommate
for
my
first
year
of
college.
My

parents
paid
the
rent
and
my
tuition.
Now,
they
still
live
on
Bayard
Street,
the
same
old
place.

Sometimes,
I
go
and
visit
them
and
pass
the
prison.
I
know
that
I
do
not
belong
to
that
prison.

I
now
live
on
a
college
campus
and
pay
for
it
myself.