Red
I was working in an antique building in Korea town, so old that I was in an office with a mottled glass panel set in the door and a transom on top. I always wanted to paint my name on the door in gold copperplate, with "graphic artist" underneath looking like it should say "private investigator." It was that kind of building. It wasn't the best neighborhood, about a block up from the Wiltern theatre, which I could see clearly from my window. I suppose it wasn't the worst either though. There was a Korean version of a greasy spoon downstairs that served up an amazingly tasty fried kimchee rice dish and all the noodle soup a girl could want for under $5.
There was a noise. Loud. Probably louder after being bounced off the sides of the buildings. Not nearly as quiet as a clap of thunder hitting the tree right next to you. No backfire from a car's exhaust pipe could be that loud.
I looked out the window, to the street corner, where I saw a group of Asian (given the neighborhood, probably Korean) teenagers standing. A few other kids—torn up jackets, blue jeans—running away caddy-corner across the construction site for the new Metro station. They looked Mexican-American, although they were not facing me, so I couldn't be certain.
The teenagers who remained had shocked expressions on their faces. Not scared exactly — this was numb shock. One boy had his hands to his stomach, and he stood there, for a long second, with hardly any expression on his face at all.
Then the blood seeped out from under his fingers, from where he had been shot.
I'd seen a lot of shootings in movies and TV shows. I have repeatedly been told that we are desensitized to it as a society. But I tell you that no blood I have ever seen in any movie looked as red, as horribly, terrifyingly crimson, as the red that spread out over his white t-shirt. I called 911 — I'm told over a hundred people in the surrounding offices called 911 — even as several of my coworkers raced out to try to help.
It had happened in broad daylight, on a busy street, and it had taken just a moment. I never found out what happened to the teenager — if he survived. The ambulance arrived quickly, so I'd like to think he did, but truthfully, I don't know. It didn't even make the papers, which I guess means he probably lived. I don't know why he was shot. I'm quite sure it's in an LAPD file somewhere listed as a "gangland shooting." It's Korea town, right? That sort of thing happens in Korea town. And in Inglewood and in Compton and anyplace else in Los Angeles, it seems.
Yesterday, it was Venice.
I found out while waiting for the bus this morning, when a man sat down next to me and started chatting in a friendly fashion. (It is, honestly, one of the things I love about living in Inglewood — that men and women will sit down next to you and start chatting as if you grew up together.) He had a copy of the LA Times with him, and he started telling me about a boy in Venice who was killed trying to keep gang members from stealing his brother's silver cross. The fight spilled out into the parking lot of the school, and one of the gang members had pulled out a gun and shot the young man once, in the chest, killing him. The victim had not been a member of any gangs; he was only trying to protect his little brother.
"Why would they do that?" The man said, clearly mystified. "Why would anyone kill someone else over a cross? Don't they realize what the cross means?" He was trying to make sense of it, and failing.
And I had no words with which to comfort him. Can there be explanations for something like this? Can one make sense of it? The papers are already saying it was racially motivated. The attackers were African-American and the victim was Mexican-American, after all. The local police are making preparations for the expected counter-attacks by rival Latino gangs, which will, in all probability end in more shootings and the deaths of more innocent people.
And all I can think is everyone's blood is the same color red.
4 Comments
Recommended Comments
Create an account or sign in to comment
You need to be a member in order to leave a comment
Create an account
Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!
Register a new accountSign in
Already have an account? Sign in here.
Sign In Now