CHAPTER 1 with intro Who am I? My name is Michael Caraballo. Most people call me Miguel though. My mother is Black Irish and my father is Puerto Rican. My father wanted my name to be Miguel but my mother chose Michael instead. Rumor has it, my pop was pretty upset about that. His anger didn't last too long though, as he figured out that people pretty much call a boy whatever the father refers to him as, hence the reason most people know me as Miguel. But some people also call me CeeGramz, or Gramz for short. Why? You'll figure that out as you go along; or maybe you won't. Either way this is my story. This isn't an autobiography though. Nope, not at all. That would require me to start from the beginning and honestly, I can't remember that far back. I smoke way too much for all of that. But if the studies are right -- as far as chronic weed smokers and their memories -- everything should come back to me by around the time that I'm in my 60's. Check back with me then. This is all about how I ended up joining the army and what I experienced in training and during my 1st deployment to Iraq. A lot of what your about to read has never been shared before, outside of the people who actually were apart of the events. So, where should we begin... ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ My cousin James and I were apologizing to each other. I told him to tell his mother that I was sorry and in return he told me to tell my mother that he was sorry... ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ How close were James and I? Have you ever heard of Starksky and Hutch? Jay and Silent Bob? Timbaland and Magoo? Pinky and the Brain? Well, none of those previously mentioned motherfuckers had shit on us. Even though we're 1st cousins -- James dad is my mothers baby brother and they were also just as inseparable -- we're more so brothers. I'm James elder by only a year which is also a reason why our bond is tighter than virgin pussy. Although I'm his senior, I look up to him in many ways. For one, people in my circle said I didn't give a fuck but people in James circle REALLY said he didn't give a fuck. If shit was about to go down I knew he had my back and he knew I had his. We might've lived across the bridge from Philly but we still had that brotherly love. Even when shit got deep... ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ I was dropping James off at his mothers house in The Gardens section of Mt. Holly, New Jersey -- we were coming back from a re-up in our hometown of Camden -- when we were pulled over in the alley behind his mothers house. I saw the two cop cars in front of James mothers next door neighbors house when I first pulled up, but I was so high that I decided to do an illegal U turn anyway. The plan went so well in my head: I was going to pull up to the alley behind the house, do a K turn, drop James off, and keep it moving to my pregnant fiancé's parents house. But as soon as I tried to back out of the alley, the blueberries were already flashing behind us. I don't know what I was thinking, or if I even was; I was high as fuck. Now any other night getting pulled over would've been whatever. But that night? It was different. I honestly don't remember how much work we had in the trunk but I do remember the 380 that was hidden under the spare tire and the half of pound of bud in between my nuts. And my cousin? He had a sawed off shotgun right next to the passenger door, over 100 bags of crack, and a fully loaded rusty ass revolver on his side. That thing looked like it would fall apart if he had even thought about firing it. Damn I miss that revolver. It was around so long that it actually became like family. You know, like that one uncle in almost everyone's family. Old, dirty, can't be trusted alone with kids, but still willing to throw down if he had to? Yeah, just like that. So here we were, apologizing to each other without a doubt that fate had finally caught up with us. Almost simultaneously, it started raining and an officer walked up to my side of the car and asked me what we were doing in the alley. I told him that I was dropping my cousin off. He stared at me as though he didn't believe me. He asked for my drivers license, insurance, registration, and my cousins ID. I handed everything over to him without so much as a fight. Surprisingly, he politely took it from my hand and walked back to his cruiser. Just as soon as my cousin and I went back to apologizing to each other, another cruiser pulled up -- a K-9 unit with a barking ass dog-- followed by a paddy wagon. I remember throwing my head back and thinking how fucked I was. Even though I was hustling, I still held down a 9 to 5 and was also in the process of saving up for an apartment for me and my new family. Then my dreams were just about all the way crushed as soon as detective Stanley hopped out of the 2nd cruiser and walked up to my car. Stanley was a cocky son of a bitch who thought he and his fucked up Street-Fighter Guile haircut ran the streets. I actually never had had a run in with him before that night, but we've locked eyes before on more than one occasion while cooling on James mothers stoop. As every nigga in the streets knows, when you lock eyes with a detective, he's actually making a mental note of who you are. I'm quite sure he had a hard on for me and was just dying to find out what my name was. As far as Stanley and James, they had crossed each other's paths a couple times. Although, it was nothing as major as this particular moment, he was out to get James, even more so. Stanley approached James side of the car, leaned over, and peaked in with a huge grin on his face. He was so damn nonchalant. His hands were in his pockets and he was chewing his gum at a hundred miles per minute like he could bring the flavor back to life. The motherfucker irritated me. He asked who was in the car but didn't wait long enough for us to give an answer. He told us that he knew who we were. Then he asked us what we were doing in the alley and we told him. He just chuckled and said, "I guess we'll see" followed by telling us that if everything checked out, army would probably be a good place to go because he was tired of seeing our faces. After that, Stanley strolled off with the biggest shit face grin I've ever seen in my life as he whistled Mary Had a Little Lamb. After 10 minutes of sitting in complete silence -- on top of getting rained on because we were too scared to roll the windows up -- the paddy wagon pulled off. Next, Stanley also drove off. Then the officer who initially pulled us over came back and handed us 2 tickets. One was for an illegal U turn, which was for me. The other was a seatbelt ticket for James. Then -- almost in a whisper -- the officer told me to take the army option, walked back to his cop car, and drove off. To this day I'm still not sure how and why the police let us go. They had us dead to rites. It had to be an act of God. That's the only thing that I can think of because there's no other logical explanation whatsoever. I backed out of the alley as fast as I could, dapped my cousin up, and drove to my fiancé's parents house a few towns over in Burlington Township as fast as I could. Well, as fast as I could doing the speed limit that is. I was usually reckless but after what happened, I wasn't taking anymore chances that night. I pulled up to the house and smoked a blunt to the head. I was actually still in shock behind the whole situation and needed to ease my mind. After the blunt was out, I walked up to the door -- which was immediately swung open before I even had a chance to knock -- and was greeted by my fiancé, Alana. She wasn't very happy to say the least, but even with the scowl that was stuck on her face was still the most beautiful woman that I've ever seen. Every time we went out, men would break their neck just to get a good look at her. She was a light skinned mulatto chick and her skin tone complimented my caramel complexion perfectly. She asked me what took so long and why I had never called to say that I was running late. Shit, in the midst of all the craziness I HAD forgotten to call. I must've had a high smile stuck on my face as soon as I had that thought, because she shook her head, called me a jerk, and walked into her living room. As she walked away, all I could think about was how good her ass looked. Anyway, I didn't really have a rebuttal. It's not like I had any real experience with relationships at the time. I was only 19; she was only 17. I followed her into the living room and was surprised to see a guy and a girl -- obviously a couple -- sitting on a couch together. The look on my face must've said it all because Alana asked me if I had forgotten about our double date. Now, I've never been a good liar so I didn't even try. I just said yeah and introduced myself. The guy (Derrick) dapped me up and let out a little laugh which was followed with more laughter by the girl (Kisha) as I shook her hand. Alana -- again shaking her head -- explained to me that I had met them both before on several occasions. Damn, all I can say is weed, weed is a hell of a plant. I plopped down on a couch across from her friends and asked everyone what the plan was for the night. Alana sat down next to me and told me that since it was so late, we might as well stay in and watch a movie. No complaints from me -- I thought to myself -- or at least I thought I said it to myself until Derrick asked me why I said that. Shit, i really needed to take a break from smoking. Not just because of the fact that I spoke out loud when I thought it was just in my head, but also because of what happened next: I proceeded to repeat the nights events to my pregnant fiancé and her unsuspecting guests. Now, I've done a lot of stupid ass shit in my life. I mean A LOT, but I can honestly say that right there probably took the cake. What made it worse was that they were all so in tune with the story. Have you ever told a story to an audience and they were just in such a state of disbelief that they didn't even speak in between your pauses? So you just told more and more? Yeah, that's pretty much what happened. I was able to recreate everything that happened and by the time I was done, everyone was staring at me as if they had gone through it with me. Again it was stupid on my part because they weren't about that street life. They were just, good kids. All Derrick could say was damnnnnnnnnnn and looked at me like I was the coolest guy on the planet. I think Kisha was a little crazy though because she kept asking me if I could show her the guns. When I finally made eye contact with Alana she just looked away, got up & put the movie on, and turned the lights out. Ironically, the movie happened to be Belly -- which was about hustling -- starring DMX and Nas. I was the only one who had already seen Belly and after the story I had just shared, had a feeling that this night wasn't going to end too well. I was right. Halfway through the movie, Alana got up and left the room. At first I thought she just went to the bathroom but after she had been gone for over 10 minutes I knew something was wrong. I found her in her family room, crying. I asked her what was wrong but almost immediately as I had asked, I already knew the answer. She told me how worried she was about me. She told me how worried she was about all of us including our unborn baby. I told her that I understood but she cut me off and told me that I didn't understand at all. She told me that it was bad enough that she had to worry about me all of the time, but then to come to parents house and tell her AND her friends what I went through was selfish of me. She was right. I knew how sensitive she was and how delicate her body was. I felt so stupid. I apologized to her over and over again. She said everything was OK and with tears streaming down her face, asked me to promise her that I was done running the streets. I did make her that promise...but it was too late. A week later her mother called me and said that I needed to come to the hospital right away. I asked her if everything was alright and she said that she would talk to me when I got there. I rushed to the hospital and as soon as I saw Alana, I knew; she lost the baby. The doctor said she had a miscarriage possibly related to stress. I blamed myself. I knew it was my fault and even though she never came out and said it, Alana also blamed me. She said she forgave me but I know deep down she never did. Her eyes lost their innocence; they were filled with a glassy hatred that seemed to say, "you did this to me." The sweet girl who I had met in church 4 years earlier, was now an experienced woman who had suffered the ultimate sacrifice: losing a child. There was no coming back for her -- at all. We broke up a few months later and that was the final straw. I was fed up. The streets had taken enough from me. Fuck it, I was going to join the army.
