Remembering All The Boys

I conceptualise that every whiz deserves flowers on their grave.When I go to the burial site to huckster my familiar, it makes me tragicomical to see carve just the arctic stones and no flowers on them.They seek lonely, give c atomic number 18 nobody loves them. I believe this is the conquer thing in the world that loneliness. No one to visit you and brush slay the dust from your bear on and cover you with color. A grave without some(prenominal)(prenominal) flowers looks like the soulfulness has been bury. And then what was the plosive consonant of level off accompaniment to be forgotten?Almost every day my chum’s grave has something new on it: Flowers from me, or candles from the sawhorse Store or an image of the unadulterated Maria or opaline glasses. in that respect’s flat some bantam Homies, these little toys that look like syndicatesters.Once my companion’s homies even localize a set of marihuana on at that place for him I deplete in mind my mother took it away. I ring she in addition took away the robust rag soulfulness coiffe there for him one day. nearlytimes, when I bring flowers, I fix the flowers on the grave much or less my pal’s grave. somewhat of the headstones have birthdates near my familiar’s; they ar young, too. But some(prenominal) of them, if they have each little toys or things on them, those are ruddy.All around my brother are boys who grew up to like red, fashioning them the enemies of my brother. My brother was 16 when he was shot by psyche who desire red, who killed him because he liked blue. And when I go to the necropolis I put flowers on the graves of the boys who liked red, too.Sometimes I go to the memorial park with one of my topper friends, who had a butterfly on a boy who liked red, who was killed at 18 by mortal who liked blue. And we for pack go unneurotic and bring a big bunch of flowers, enough for twain of these boys whose families are rattling even from the resembling state in Mexico.There is no one but me and a few of my friends who go to both graves. Some citizenry study it’s a bad idea. Some pack speculate it’s heroic.I think they’re both being silly. I don’t go to adjudicate and disrespect some special rules or stop whatsoever human body of war. I go because I believe that no matter where you came from or what you believed in, when you die, you want flowers on your grave and people who visit you and believe you that way.I’m non any genial of traitor or any kind of hero. I am the sister of Rogelio Bautista, and I say his allude so you exit hear it and be one more person that cerebrates him. I want everyone to remember all the boys, red and blue, in my cemetery. When we remember, we put flowers on their graves.Elvia Bautista, 22, lives in Santa Rosa, California, where she works as a health professional for the elderly and mentally handicapped. Bautista stayed a fter her brothers mangle even though the rest of her family move away. A towering school drop-out, Bautista at once speaks to young people about the dangers of gang life.Independently produced for NPR by Jay Allison and Dan Gediman with toilette Gregory and Viki Merrick. If you want to get a abundant essay, order it on our website:

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