Trust cannot be learned through books, it can only be learned through experience. How a friend acts in your view cannot solely justify your trust for them. I remember an experience when I was betrayed by a trusted acquaintance. The experience forced me to question my view of who should be considered a friend. It all begun with an ignored phone call moments before ending my shift at Johnny Rockets, the tiny little malt shop perched in the center of Meadows Mall. Before the call was received it felt like any other summer day. I was casually working in the back room dumping loads of spattered dishes into the tiny dishwasher. The blue slip resistant floor holding the soles of my shoes as I stood by the massive three tub sink, It’s tainted stainless steel cut off by the dirty off-white walls. It was only a few minutes until closing and I was almost complete. I had been there for at least eight hours constantly gathering and cleaning random dishware. It was no surprise that all I could think about was clocking out, how hopefully I could skate to the bus stop in time. After dumping a load of glasses into the dishwasher and my cell phone begins vibrating. I let the phone rumble as I remind myself of the form I signed earlier in the day and how the new policy strictly prohibited cell phone usage.
Grabbing a cart full of waste, I began sprinting toward the dumpster, drifting and swerving past obstacles in my way. I jumped in the air as I slam through the double doors, flashing into the dimly lit hallway. The dozens of dark holes adorning it’s sheet rock walls. I veer left and push the final doors open reaching the dumpsters. I stop the cart and grab the one black bag and two smaller white bags. The giant half full dumpster relaxes it’s disgusting mixture, the softening heat radiating from every square inch of its steel being. As I step closer and toss the bags into the behemoth, I gag from the horrible stench radiating from the opening. I jump back in disgust breathing the untainted air to relieve my nausea. I grab the cart and reenter the building and run back to the restaurant, quickly entering the door upon arrival. Hurriedly, I began unbuttoning my soiled uniform. As I stood struggling with the sleeves I become frustrated and rip off the shirt, breaking the still latched buttons. I grab my skateboard and run to the register, clocking out at nine forty two.
I burst out of the doors and throw my board to the asphalt below, and with one swift push I proceed to haul ass. I push harder and harder hoping that if I go fast enough I just might catch the bus. For about five minutes I ride with no breaks and no sidewalks, while traffic blazes past me on my left. Eventually, I become too tired to keep the pace up any longer. I stop kicking and start to slow. Reaching into my right pocket I pull out my portable phone hoping I had time to spare. As the LCD screen flickered on the phone read “1missed call”. I then press the small metallic button in the center of the directional pad telling the phone I want more info. The screen changes to a new page reading a missed call from an old acquaintance of mine Cj. After pressing the end button, the screen flashes back to the home screen. The date and time typed on the lower half of the screen. I read the time only to realize it was nine forty eight and I had two minutes to get to the bus stop. I freak out and close my phone, quickly placing it in my left pocket. I begin riding faster and faster, only to realize how fatigued I am, my chest stinging with each new breath. I continue pushing past the pain, increasing my effort with each movement. My wheels rattle as I slam my foot back striking the smooth asphalt below. I insist on trying to roll faster but the reality was that my pace was slowing with each burst of effort. Suddenly I see the bus approximately hundred feet away, accelerating past the newly greened light. It steamed across street I was riding on so viciously, stopping at the people ridden bus stop. The doors fling open and the passengers start boarding the bus. ”STOP!! HOLD THE BUS!!” I scream at the figures lined up by the door of the bus, only to be ignored. I frantically start kicking as hard and fast as I possibly could, feeling pain with every kick and every breath. I finally reach Decatur taking a sharp right into the lane of traffic and as I do this the buses’ doors close. I use my last bit of energy and smash along the left side of deuce swerving in its path. The bus driver gives me an angered look as he opens the door and I quickly jump off my board only to board the bus. Still wheezing I swipe my transit card and walk up the stairs, sitting down in the back of the bus. I rested my board on the seat to my right next to the window. After catching my breath I begin to relax, feeling as if the day’s ordeals have ended.
As I arrive at my house at around ten fifteen I am surprised by a mongoose bike strung about on my lawn, the torn piece of tape with “el presidente” written in sharpie peeling of the frame. Confused, I continue walking down the patio toward the door glancing at the unlit bathroom window on my right. A smiling figure, which I assume was my little sister stands staring at me. I continue into my house greeting my mother. I question her about the owner of the bike sitting so precariously upon our lawn. Confused and tired I walk up the stairs into my room only to see my glass water pipe lying on my bed with a large water puddle. Angry at the site I ask my mom if she went in my room and she denies it. Believing her I assume my little sister might be the culprit. I open her door abruptly and see her passed out on her bed. I ask her if she had been in my room and she denied it in a sleep like tone. Frustrated, I continue talking to my mom about the situation, and suddenly Cj walks out of my bathroom with a mischievous smile on his face. His long greasy hair running down his back touched his black Bevis and Butthead t-shirt.
Cj was an acquaintance of mine, but now he seemed shady. Immediately we confront him, and assault him with questions, only to receive cryptic messages in a heavy accent. We ask him why he was in our house and he replied that he thought I was home. Furious my mom kicks him out of the house and I follow to hopefully get the real story. He continues nervously answering my barrage of questions, not really giving me any info. I ask him about the pungent water puddled around my floor and he tells me he spilled it accidentally while observing my “piece’s” beauty. He honestly thought he did no harm. Frustrated, I instruct Cj to wait while I clean the resinous water spill caused by his stupidity.
After coming back outside I saw that Cj had left and my friends Devon and Dakota were waiting in his place. I tell them the story and they inform me of how when they arrived Cj looked extremely nervous, and how he left just as they arrived. Nothing in my room was missing so I just thought it was some kind of cultural difference. As we proceed to smoke and skate up the street we discussed the situation and what I should do. My phone begun vibrating, interrupting my speech. I answered the phone call addressed from my mom. She stated how she discovered evidence in our backyard. She told me of a bag with a name scrawled on the outer canvas sitting on a table in our backyard. Our Nintendo Wii and all its games filled the backpack to the brim. She told me how she also found a bag full of change dumped from a small change bucket standing on a dresser in my room. Upon hearing this, my engines were started. It was all the info I need to pursue the ordeal previously faced. I began discussing the newly found information with Devon and Dakota. We then began discussing whether we should just go to his house to get his address or maybe convince him to “kick it” which would seal his fate. I then took out my phone and dialed his number and to my surprise I called his moms phone instead.
The Robbers mother, unaware of her son’s rotten escapades, greeted me in a heavy accent while answering her mysterious cellphone call.
“Hey, where’s Cj?”I questioned bluntly
”Deis isn't his phone number, cull Cj's cellphone if you wanuh reach em,”
I took a deep breath, and began to speak in a calm casual voice.
”oh well just to let you know about twenty minutes ago I caught your son trespassing in my home and trying to rob us,”
I explained the bag only to discover it was her name written on its face. Like a water jet drilling a giant sponge, constant shock and loads of information ripped at her thought process. She was dead quiet. I proceeded to threaten her with exaggerated prison terms, and tease her with false promises of leniency.
“So If I could have your address me and my friends are going to skate to your house to call the police.” I took a short pause to allow her to regain her composure.
”Maybe if you get your son to turn himself in, he won't receive too heavy of a charge.”
There was no clear response on the other line as she discussed the information with a man in the background.
“Here eez Cj's number,” Shouted the man in the background.
He yelled numbers at Cj's mother as she relayed them each to me individually. In her heavy accent, she told me his full number before she quickly hung up the phone.
Frustrated we continued west up Lone Mountain toward Jones, and too thirsty to continue, I entered the 7-eleven on the corner while my friends waited by the door. I walked down the aisle towards the cooler, opening the transparent door and grasping a can of Arizona green tea. After purchasing the drink I exit the building and stop next to Devon and Dakota waiting by the door. I pull out my cell phone and begin dialing Cj's real number. I placed the receiver beside my ear and prepared myself for the worst. When he answered I began telling him what the situation has become and how I had the police involved. He immediately became frightened. He kept trying to convince me that he was sorry. He told me that I never have to talk to him again, but I didn't buy it. I told him if he didn't want to go to prison he would meet us at his house to turn himself in to the police. Like a mouse trapped in a snake’s aquarium, he agreed, hoping to avoid extreme consequences.
We Left the corner store and continued riding North down Jones, passing the arena like church muffling the area. We skated for about two miles and reaching his neighborhood just south of Ann road. I turned left into his neighborhood and the first right down a dimly lit street. We screeched to a halt in front the one story house covered in vines and surrounded by shrubbery. The gate held up by a single bungee cord, swaying back and forth as the chalk like rocks crunched below. I text the address to my mom and wait for her reply. About fifteen minutes after we arrive Cj pulls up on his stolen bike.
“Why did you do it scumbag?” I said mockingly.
“ I wasn't trying to rob you man. I was just seeing if you were home...,”
He paused for what seemed like twenty seconds as he watched the dusty concrete gutter at his feet.
”If I took your stuff I would have just, kinda, borrowed it, ”
”If you were going to borrow it then why were you hiding in my bathroom with the lights shut off?”
”I wasn't hiding. I had…to use the restroom,”
“Why would the lights be off if you were going to the bathroom, tell me that, huh?”
“I always piss and shit in the dark... me.. me and my step dad do it all the time in my house... so I.. I.. do it at other people’s houses too,“ he murmured.
I busted out with laughter; it was the most bullshit explanation I have ever heard. I began unleashing my thoughts on the subject, telling him that he needed to get his life situated. He told me how his best friends started ditching him and that he never had a group to hang out with. He said I was always busy and never answer his calls, and that I never ask him if he wanted to skate. He continued telling me how maybe he wanted to also. Saddened by his confessions I advised him that his predicament was no reason to rob anybody. After that no words were exchanged.
Since reaching Cjs residence we waited about two hours for the North Las Vegas police to arrive. Cj turned himself in, and I wrote my statement. After thanking the cop I began skating back toward the direction of my home, sore and sleepy. I entered my dark house at one thirty on the Wednesday morning and walked clumsily up the stairs tripping on my loosened jeans. I felt as if I was the criminal. Maybe I shouldn’t have called the police I thought to myself. I guess there is no real trust in this world. As long as people are free thinking they can’t be trusted.