Damn Swede

A 15-year-old boy was shot and killed this morning in what police described as a gang-related drive-by shooting on Chicago’s Northwest Side.

The youth was shot about 7:30 a.m. at Fullerton Avenue and Pulaski Road in the Logan Square neighborhood as he was walking a bicycle with another boy, police said. A silver Mitsubishi sedan with custom rims pulled alongside them and one of the car’s occupants opened fire, striking the victim in the head. The boy, Geroge Carrasquillo, of the 3500 block of West Belden Avenue, was taken to Advocate Illinois Masonic Medical Center and pronounced dead at 7:57 a.m., according to a Cook County medical examiner’s office spokeswoman. Police said no one else was wounded by the gunfire. Investigators believe the victim was in a gang and the occupants of the car are members of a rival gang.

On my way to the Metra, I saw these boys talking to an older guy making what it appeared to be some kind of exchange. They straightened up as I walked by and I looked at each one in the eye before moving past. Seconds later, I made it to the corner and heard a “crack, crack crack!” I thought to myself, “I think that was a gun,” as I turned to walk towards the sounds. Realizing that to not be a good idea, I stopped and did what felt like a slow-motion 360 degree pan of the corner. I was struck by the fact that I could not see any people, except those in their cars.

I looked down and saw that everyone was on the ground, except for me. “I should get down,” I thought and went to hide behind the fence. The was a wide fence with dead bushes and I realized quickly that I put myself even moreso in the line of fire. I went back to the corner and touched the back of the girl I had been standing next too. “OH MY GOD!” she cried, looking up at me. “OH MY GOD!” I replied and as we both realized instantaneously that the light had changed to walk we ran together to the Metra station. As we were running, she turned to me and said, “I started to take the Metra because it was safer!”

We turned into the station, she stated very loudly, “I didn’t see anything, did you!? I didn’t see anything!” It took me a minute she was not stating this for me but for whomever else might be listening. We split at the top of the stairs and I immediately called my friend Sinthia. As I was explaining what was happening, emergency vehicles swarmed the intersection and the train came.

“I saved this seat just for you!” the woman on the train said as she moved her things. “Isn’t it a beautiful day? The weather is gorgeous, and it is going to be a great weekend . . .” “I was just in a drive by shooting!” I said and the story spilled out of my mouth. “You know what?” she replied, “Today is going to be a great day. Because today more than any other day you know what it means to be alive. Call your mother and tell her you love her, call your family members and tell them that you love them. And then have a great day.”

The rest of the day was a blur, as it was also the day that everyone found out I resigned from my job. I called the police in the afternoon and they said I did not need to come into the station. My coworker and I decided it was ‘Celebrate Life’ day, which mostly consisted of the largest fancy coffee drink they sell at Caribou Coffee. That night I got together with my girlfriends and we laughed and laughed but I just felt like an empty shell. I drank a bit too much to ensure that I would pass out. As I put my head on my pillow, I started to cry. I woke up a the crack of dawn (unheard of on a Saturday) and could not lay in bed any longer. I got up, checked email and then started to cry. For a half hour I cried uncontrollable sobs until I called my sister-in-law and she talked to me until I stopped.

I had dinner at Sinthia’s house and around 10:30 felt a poke. “Just go to bed!” Sinthia said and I happily obliged. When I woke up this morning, I felt a lot better. On the way home from church I decided I should drive by the scene of the crime to prepare myself for the morning commute. Orange cones, yellow police tape and tarp covered the spot I assume to be covered by blood. A teddy bear, flowers and candles created a make-shift memorial along the fence. I was unprepared for my reaction, as the sobs once again came.

You see, sometimes I exaggerate, usually to tease or over-accentuate a point. Seeing the scene of the crime and seeing how close I was to the victim, the fear for my life I felt was no exaggeration.

Thirty seconds sooner.

If the car came thirty seconds sooner, I would have been standing in front of the victim.