My name is Destini, Destini spelled with an “I,” and I want to tell you my story. Every time I turn on the TV, I skip over the National Geographic, Discovery Channel, and Animal Planet, any channel that shows another animal being targeted. Somebody is always talking in the background, usually a white man with, yah know, green outfits and shorts on, and the boots. He would probably have an Australian voice. That’s usually what they sound like. We always see lions, jaguars, wild boars, and hyenas. Sometimes they show snakes, always the big ones, the most dangerous...... anacondas. It seems like on TV, danger is the only thing that exists in Africa. Probably because they never show nice animals living peacefully. - the giraffe, elephant, African deer. You know the ones. I can’t think of the name. It starts with an A... antelopes. This is what I think of when I watch the news. My brother’s not a lion. He’s a giraffe. He’s peaceful. Not all black men are lions, just as not all white men are Australians wearing oversized funny green outfits. I like to think there are two Durhams’. One that’s wealthy privileged, and the other where regular people work to get by. Half of the people in my class only talk about regional golf courses. The other half just look at them like, “Really?” I guess all they want to do is sound like their parents, talk about politics, even though they don’t notice what is happening around them. They always have answers, don’t ask any questions, and it’s like we’re living totally different lives. If they knew the stuff I would do on my weekends, they probably wouldn’t talk to me, like I’de eat them, because they’re not exposed to real things. They haven’t experienced this. When my brother walks down a street, there’s always heavy eyes on him. Plain T-shirts and jeans are always accused of either committing an offense or matching a description. Every person who put in prison comes from a family, but you never think of this when you see young people arrested on TV. It’s kind of like you’re tricked into believing that because somebody doesn’t come from a fancy home, that they’re up to no good. It’s like the light from the news reflects into their skin. There’s no light for people to grow, it’s fluorescent. It’s hard and doesn’t show your whole face. Everyone looks blue. In the holes, you see pain, worries, thoughts, but it’s like it’s in a different language and I can’t understand it. I can never read what’s missing. There are all types of people but I remember one man more than the others. He looked like an old man just sitting there. When we got home, I learned that it was my brother’s uncle. I was afraid that my brother would turn into him. That his face would turn a little like his. The sad part about all of this is the longer my brother is in prison, the more I forget. Sometimes I can’t even remember what he looks like. All my dad does is worry. It makes his nose bleed once or twice a week. I guess it’s a symptom of my dad’s love. He tries not to worry us but we still do. Cause if he can’t control his high blood pressure from stressing, he’ll lose his job. My other brother Darius tries to cut everything out with music and video games. He builds a virtual world in his mind cause it’s the only place he can solve serious problems. My mom doesn’t have time for her self anymore. It’s like she has been running forever. She tries to be a cheerleader for everyone, and tries to make everything seem normal. She wants me to feel like a kid, but that’s difficult. Grandma tries to find peace by going to church, or watching it on TV. The preacher is flashy with all his fancy California stuff. He asks for money. She sends. She’s trying to pray for a miracle. When we’re in court we constantly try to figure out what’s going on. It’s like reading a different language and the words don’t fit into my ears. When you try to catch a word, some always falls out. After the courts, the prison visits, the meeting, the rallies, we have to go home. We just fix ourselves something to eat and look for what we lost. We’re like that one puzzle in the back of the closet that has the missing piece... and we’re trying to find it.