Brownsville’s the Rio Grand Valley’s biggest city; second is McAllen, which are basically border towns. It’s why we call Brownsville Brown Town. There are a lot of Mexicans; the majority of the population is Mexican. It’s so much so that you meet Americans that speak perfect Spanish. I even met a female that lived in Mexico but went to school in Brownsville. I was surprised about this. The city is full of palm trees; the Rio Grand Valley is known for this, so your first impression would be tropical until you go into the city. Things change; the city is decent, nice enough depending on where you live.

The best part of Brownsville is the west side; that is where you would want to live if you chose to live there because the west side is where the mall is. Plenty of places to shop or get anything you need; the area is nice. Like I said, the best part; the people are friendly there. The females talk as if they know you and have been your friend, but Brownsville is also wild. I’ve been back and forth at an early age, so things change, but at 16, my first day back in Brownsville was crazy.

A childhood friend named David came over; he lives across the street from my grandfather’s house. They speak nothing but Spanish there, but he says, “Want to smoke?” I tell him, “Hell yeah!” But my grandfather comes out yelling, “Ray, I told you I don’t want no one at the house!” So I’m like, “I guess I’ll catch you later.” He says, “Tomorrow there’s a party, but meet me at the park before it starts. Cool, I’ll be there.”

Next day afternoon, I go to the park. You had four different neighborhood gangs all sitting at the picnic table. David flags me down; I go. He’s like, “This my friend; he’s new.” I say, “What’s up” in Spanish.
We start smoking, and I get introduced to many people. But as I’m talking, a fight breaks out. I step back. David said, “Fool was disrespectful to one of his people.” I’m watching the fight; it’s really a brawl.
The guy being disrespectful names Jesse; he’s high, ain’t coin to good guys getting crushed by Emo, the other guy. But they fight for a while to the point the punches are slow and half added. I’m like, “Homie got it,” but ol boy won’t quit even if he’s getting beat up. The drugs are his drive. I get bored; I tell David, “Let’s go smoke at your house.” He tells me the party’s starting.

When we get there, a lot of people are there. This one female pulls me to the side, says, “Hey, you’re cute.” I nod my head like, “What’s up?” I’m quiet around strangers, even pretty girls. So I just hear her babble, but honestly, I’m half listening, and I don’t remember nothing she said or our conversation because as she was talking, I hear a guy so drunk disrespect someone’s mother, and all hell breaks loose. Fools getting crushed down literally; the females I’m talking to stop and say, “Oh my god!” in Spanish. I’m like, “Just chill, shorty, just stay right here.” She grabs my arm for some reason. I look to my left, and I see this guy sitting on the ground slumped. I’m afraid he’s overdosing. So I say “FAM, you alright?” He’s not responding. So I tell someone, “Y’all got to take fool home or some Mexican looks dead.” “FAM,” they like, “Na he alright let em sleep.” Later this same guy becomes my friend; names Chino because he looks a little Asian. It’s only his eyes, though. He has a brother named Guero, which is also at the party. Both are crazy. I go back to chill with the pretty lady. But some cousins arrive of the family throwing the party, and these guys are from another neighborhood gang. The first guy to get off the car, named Eddy. This is Chino’s brother, Guero’s rival. Guero sees him, and well, not good at all. They fight automatically from the street to inside of the house, end up in the backyards, and everybody starts fighting. The girl tells me she’s going inside. I should have gone with her, but I didn’t. Things were getting interesting. Ha! One guy gets knocked out cold. Another one is getting crushed by three guys. No matter where I looked, fights were going on. What stopped me was the sirens and my mother screaming from across the street, telling me to get inside, which was a great idea, especially if police are involved. Yeah, it would be smart to leave, which I did. I just wished I could have got the female’s number. I don’t even remember her name, which sucks.

The atmosphere in Brownsville is peaceful but can go left really quick. I once passed by a house going to the store; I saw two drunk old men fighting. They both looked like they were in their 60s. Ha! But Brownsville isbrown town, and if you don’t look for trouble, live in a decent neighborhood, then you’ll be OK.

I’ve met good people, not gang members, but normal people because of community service. This guy had his own non-profit organization, which on the side helped with community service for juveniles on probation. We cleaned neighborhoods, repainted walls that had gang writings on them. I got really close with the guy. I guess he saw something good in me despite the tattoos. He always gave me advice, was kind and caring. Maldonado was his last name. He even introduced me to the mayor of Brownsville. At the time, it was the opening of a brand new school. We were helping clean/pass out snacks and beverages. Maldonado told the mayor I was a good kid, respectful and hardworking. I shook his hand and introduced myself, then went to go help out. All Brownsville high schools were present at the new school opening; teachers and all the assistant principals of Porter High School, the school I went to, were there. I liked one of the assistant principals; she was always nice to me, wanted me to change, which I told her I would try. She saw I was helping out. She saw me and waved like crazy; but she was in the bleachers.

I had fun, tough for some reason. The Mexicans had this preppy style of dressing. I always stood out because where I’m from, we dress gangsta. I hate tight pants or shirts; I feel like I’m choking. But later
I changed that. Definitely not tight pants, but I mixed the preppy style with gangsta. Definitely got females’ attention first; they would say, “You’re not from here, right?” I’m like, “Hell nawl! I’m from Atlanta, Georgia, shawty.”

Brownsville is cool, but I wouldn’t live there. It’s kind of hard to get a job, and well, if you ain’t got a job, you struggle. But housing is cheap. Nah, Brownsville’s not the place to go. You’re better off in
Dallas/Fort Worth, TX, or Austin, TX, or Houston, TX. But not Brownsville…