BEFORE

I

WON

Tomas Veres

Copyright © 2018 by Tomas Veres

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

FIRST EDITION

Cover design: Tomas Veres

Translation: Miriam Oravcova

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ISBN 978-80-973115-1-3 (EPUB)

ISBN 978-80-973115-0-6 (print)

To all of us that work hard, believe in ourselves

and in a better future.

Despite our families, friends and people around us shouting:

what the f*ck are you doing?

If you can imagine these things, and bond with them,

I would be honored.

And if you say afterwards,

“if Tom did it, I’ll can do it too,”

you will be rewarded.

The decisions you made yesterday have brought you to the place where you are today. The decisions to be made today will bring you to a different place tomorrow. Please, share with us all the decisions from your past.

Some of us hope to make it to heaven after death. Some of us help the poor and believe that God will reward them. But as soon as I was born, and I found myself immediately in hell. I didn’t get the opportunity to make something right or even to do something terrible, and look, I was already being punished. Thanks to my parents. Everything started when my mother met one guy. Then, one year later, something happened. A child named Tom Seed was born. Not as a star but as another useless piece of trash in this society.

My first days in the Montefiore Medical Center hospital were delightful. The same goes for the other newborns. I was the star for all the nurses with my green eyes and short curly blond hair. My small mouth was not able to talk yet. My weak body was not able to make any move. In spite of this, I was the one who created smiles on the faces of others. But I did not get to enjoy that pleasant place for a long time – my days in maternity hospital came to an end, and I had to go home as a healthy child with perfect parents. To a small apartment in the Bronx. The place that became my home. The place where we lived together as a real family. My mother spent entire days with me, while my father worked as parking lot attendant at a shopping mall. I had no toys to play with, but I was happy even without them because I had a loving mom who played with me all day long.

As life went on, I started to understand many things. I said my first words, took my first steps, hid my first teeth under my pillow. For me, big successes, for my parents, big issues. They didn’t see me grow up – they just saw me ruining their lives and their furniture.

I never heard words like “I love you,” “thank you,” or “you are my hero”…

Instead I heard words, bad words… “you can’t do anything,” “you are the biggest mistake of my life,” “even the dog’s smarter than you”…

My parents shouting, that was my daily life. My mom shouted at me during the day, and in the night when dad came back from work, she shouted at him. At first I felt terrible. All the noise, all the shouting scared me. But after some time, I got used to it. I started to behave exactly like they did. I started to scream and shout like they did. I started to use the words they used. I thought it was correct, it was right to be the same as my parents. Until I started at nursery school.

That was the moment that changed everything.

My teacher held my tiny hand, took my little bag and led me away from my mother. She held my hand so strongly that she almost broke it. I did not like it at all, I wanted to stay with my mom, but she moved away, further away from me. So, I shouted. Again and again. The other children looked at me like I was a monster they had never seen before. And all of a sudden, this lady, the one who would be my teacher, hit me so hard that it made me cry.

Very painful for me, but very funny for the other kids in nursery school. Even though I stopped crying after a couple of minutes, the children laughed the whole day. Nobody took care of me …

Nobody talked to me …

Nobody …

As I sat in the classroom, encircled by nothing, I heard something that made me happy again. The most important person in my life was back. My mom. She hadn’t forgotten me. Finally, I was able to leave that place and never come back. On the way home, we stopped for groceries and my mom bought me a cherry flavor lollipop. I really enjoyed it, but I started to feel that something was going on, because up to that point I never got any sweets from my mom. Nothing.

This was not the only unusual thing to happen to me that day. The same bag I had with me in nursery school earlier was on the kitchen stool, ready for the next day. Curious, I asked my mom where we were going tomorrow. She told me that for the next couple of years, I’ll be going to that nursery school every day like all the normal children my age.

My body was as paralyzed like a tree, while my eyes started tearing up like the sea.

I couldn’t believe it. I wasn’t able to accept it. I started to shout at my mom exactly like she did to my father when he comes back from work at night. But my beloved mom did something I never expected her to do. She started to pull my hair and hit me on the head. Stronger and stronger. Until I lost consciousness. I woke up only the next morning with bruises all over my body. It took me a while to realize what had happened. I wanted to say sorry to my mom, because I obviously had done something to her, otherwise she would never hit me that hard. I looked for her in every room, but I was notable to find her anywhere. She had left the apartment.

I didn’t want to see my mom so upset. So I dressed, brushed my teeth, took my bag and did precisely what I had to do – I went to nursery school. I walked alone, completely scared of the outside world going on around me. On the way there I met a lot of weird people, heard many weird words and felt many weird smells. I thought my first day in nursery school was the worst. Unfortunately, I was wrong. The next days were even worse, much worse… Despite my fights with bullies, I still had to go. If I didn’t do it, my mom would beat me at home.

My parents had no friends. They avoided people, and I inherited the same attitude towards people. I prefer solitude. In my class there were twenty-two students, and none of them played with me – there were some exceptions, but they also played an unfair game called bullying. I remember the day when I ended up in the hospital with cracked head because of them.

I also remember the day when the cops brought me home in a police cruiser because somebody hid my shoes and I had to walk home barefoot, with no shoes. My body suffered, my soul cried. I felt so lonely. I did not have anybody to play with and spend time with. So I took pencils and paper from off of the table, tilted my head down and left formy favorite place, the dark cold corner of my classroom. I closed my eyes for a couple of minutes, and then it happened. In front of me I saw beautiful objects. I started to draw everything I saw in my mind.

The children I was so scared of before because they were much older and stronger than me, they all became part of my drawings. This was the only way to escape reality. When I drew, I drew for entire days because when I held the pencil in my hand,there was no darkness in my head any more.

I saw the beauty in my drawings, but my parents saw only the costs connected to drawing. As a poor family we were not able to afford many things. Things like paper or pencils.

I would try anything, cry, beg, dream …

Nothing worked.

My parents simply did not have any money to spend on this. But one small act changed the whole situation. I stole a set of pencils and papers from nursery school so I could draw at home.

After I started elementary school, many things changed. A new building, new teachers, new classmates. Only one thing was still the same. I was a weirdo and this caused me a lot of issues. My nose was broken twice and my hand once. Later, I started to have problems with my grades. In the classroom, I was “the best.” I had to learn things from history, literature and other stupid things. I hated it. I honestly believed that my life was jinxed.

I had no nanny, no adult supervision. My one and only companion was an old television in the kitchen. At school I listened to boring stories about Abraham Lincoln, but at home I watched exciting stories about Pablo Escobar on TV, about the violence taking place in my surroundings. In the world-famous Bronx.

I didn’t want to be asweet boy in suit just like Abraham Lincoln. I wanted to be that tough guy, like Pablo Escobar and his companions were, with guns in the streets. I watched TV late at night because that was the only time when I could watch gangster movies. I loved them. I liked them so much that I decided to skip school. As my mom and dad worked long hours, I watched television. It didn’t take long for my parents to realize something was wrong. The electricity bills were much higher than usual, but my parents also got a letter. A letter from my school with news about my absence. It took only a couple of minutes for my body to change color. They beat me.

Then they told me that we’re not wealthy people. We’re poor people because rich people and their families are thieves. That‘s why they have so much money. They stole it.

I understood why my parents beat me, but I did not understand why rich people should be so bad. Why, if they have that much money, do they not support people like me? You know. My family did not own any car, we could only afford good meat on Christmas Eve, I wore old clothes that didn’t fit me.

And them?

They own luxury European cars, live in private suburbs, wear silk clothes and eat healthy and fresh meals every day.

At the age of fifteen I discovered who had jinxed my life. Rich people! They jinxed my life and my parents’ lives. They have their own TV shows where they pay thousands and thousands of dollars for their children’s birthday parties. They buy gold-decorated houses for their tiny dogs, bigger than my room. They are popular while people like me, the poor people of the Bronx, are hated because the world sees us only as criminal animals on the news. Life in the Bronx is tough, my father often said. I understood what he meant. The whole time I lived in the Bronx, I’ve only seen a few rich people. Everybody knew well that the wealthy people live in Manhattan.

In a place filled with stars and luxury. A place just a mile away from our apartment. I couldn’t concentrate, I was still thinking about the people in Manhattan enjoying life in luxury, and I became determined to get my revenge. Immediately I went to the bus stop and hopped on to the nearest bus to Manhattan.

When I got there, I felt like I was in another world. Huge modern buildings, clean streets, shops with glass windows. Everyone wore noble clothes with an unidentifiable scent … Gold watches shone on their wrists …

They all looked so happy there.

In this world, young people bow their heads as they played games on their phones, but in my world, young people bowed their heads because the color of their eyes showed which drugs they’d been using.

In this world, the people embraced each other on benches because they were in love. People in my world held each other because they had to keep warm.

In this world, people were walking fast because they were hurrying home to their perfect families, while in my world, people walked fast because they had just witnessed a crime.

Not a reality show on TV. Only reality. I took a deep breath and I joined the people around me. They looked kind, everyone was smiling at each other. I wanted to be loved, I wanted to be happy, I wanted to be part of that perfect world even for just a few seconds. I only needed a few seconds …

As usual, something went wrong. The people around me who looked happy just a few moments ago with wide smiles on their faces weren’t saying anything. They just walked like statues. No joy, no smiles. Then I remembered. I remembered where I saw the same expression they were wearing on their faces. The same expression the kids in the nursery school had when they looked at me like a screaming monster. I didn’t need to see any more. It was enough to prove the point.

I didn’t go home. I stayed there until night, when all the people went to sleep in their luxury apartments. Then, my revenge began. It was so easy. When I saw a fancy car parked along the street, I took my apartment keys and scratched it. Repeatedly. I had a great feeling after that. I had a great feeling about myself. That night I keyed more than fifteen cars.

I felt like a real gangster, a boy who belonged to the victims of violence, who had himself become part of the violence.

After a few days, I had the urge to do it again. But this time with a greater effect. I couldn’t just sit so idly at home. I had to create something out of the hatred that I felt within myself. I decided to do it on a Sunday, because it does not matter what color you are, how old you are, where you live or how much money you have, all people were gathered in one place –at church.

I put only two things in my bag: a knife and spray paint. I chose the same target. Luxury cars in Manhattan parked along the street. With my mom’s kitchen knife I cut all four wheels on each car. With blue paint I sprayed the message: “Thief!” I wanted to see the car owners’ expressions when they woke up in the morning and see the surprise I had prepared for them. I didn’t have to wait until morning. I just closed my eyes and imagined it. I enjoyed it. Until I heard a male voice shouting from a nearby street.

My heart was beating like crazy. I panicked. I started to run away. I ran as fast as I could. I could not stop. I was frightened that the guy would catch me in the act and call the police. I have no clue how, but I made it home from there. It was probably a miracle that I got home. When my adrenaline disappeared, I began to regret my act.

The fear of being discovered was stronger than the joy of revenge. I tried to forget that night, but I could not. From that moment on, I asked God for forgiveness. I promised myself that I would never do anything like that again. The next morning I went to school like usual. The same way, the same people. But things I had never noticed before started to make me mad. Car sounds, police sirens, the clock ticking, laughter …

All these everyday things made me angry. I was afraid, and fear was destroying me. I avoided all eye contact. I stopped eating. I felt terrible.

My mind was filled with the horrible feeling of having a conscience. I was down in the dumps.

I picked up a knife from the dining room, and I went to the bathroom and locked myself in.

There, in that bathroom, I wanted to end my suffering, but I couldn’t do it.

I was so weak …

So weak …

I was just lying there on the dirty floor like an old ship wreck on the shore, crying.

I cried till I could see a white light.

God had listened to me,

God had heard my prayers …

Or so I thought.

Apparently, I hadn’t seen the same light that people see just before death. The light I saw was coming from the flashlight of an NYPD Police Officer.

The vandal who had scratched thirty-six cars in Manhattan ended in a juvenile detention. “A young man from the Bronx who listened to too many 50 Cent songs,” wrote a New York Post journalist.

As I later realized from that police officer, at the crime scene, they found a book that had fallen out of my bag during my bloody escape. Also, images from security cameras recorded my act. The police had clear evidence of my guilt. I knew it, they knew it, they all knew it. After a few hours spent in the juvenile detention, they led me to a judge with deep wrinkles on his face. I stood before him as a dangerous criminal, waiting for my punishment.

Dear young man – the judge said, your acts reflect your thoughts, and people who cannot control their thoughts are in prison or on the way there. Now I’ll give you a chance to turn it around, to change your life. Remember this, because you will not get a second chance.

The judge stood up, picked up the gavel, hit it on a large table and said his verdict. I was let free. He hadn’t lied to me. I really was given a second chance.

I could finally sleep peacefully. My secrets had been revealed. I didn’t have to worry about it anymore. I didn’t have to hide it anymore within myself. I felt a huge sense of relief. It literally set me free. It helped me.

Unfortunately, someone else was hurt by it. My parents were worried. I had let them down big time. I did not hear any words coming from them. I didn’t have to.

I saw the shame, the pain in their eyes.

What happened, happened. I was sorry. Two days later I received a diploma for successfully completing elementary school together with a detailed report on the condition of my release set by the New York City Court. The terms: another offense would be considered as a criminal offense without the possibility for dismissal.

It took more than ten days for my parents to start talking to me. They had to, because we had a guest. It was the first time someone else had come to our old apartment. We never had a guest at home. A man came wearing a blue suit and bright red tie. Or in other words: a Manhattan lawyer wearing a blue suit and bright red tie that represented the wealthy owners of the damaged cars.

He closely reviewed our modestly furnished apartment, which looked amazing in his words, he asked us how we were doing, and then he showed us papers from the insurance company. He explained to us that even if I damaged the cars, the insurance company would pay all the costs associated with the repairs.

A very nice message for me and my parents. The lawyer wished me a lot of luck, shook my hand and left. There was only the strong cinnamon scent of his perfume left after that. It could not have gone better. I hadn’t caused any problems for my family. We could go back to how things were before.

The punishment I received was more like a reward.

I got sentenced to two months house arrest. That meant for me, I had no chance to do anything wrong or something illegal. I enjoyed my life at full speed. I got up in the afternoon, I fell asleep at night. In the meantime, I just watched TV.

I had days when I slept for sixteen hours in a row, and for eight more hours I sat down and watched TV. I had nothing else to do. I had no work. I had sandwiches in the refrigerator. I didn’t need anything else to get by. My mom took care ofeverything else.

In my fifteen years of existence, I never even made a meal myself.

I never bought food in the store. I never cared about what and how much money it costs because we could not afford it anyway.

I did not have to ask. My parents’ nightly quarrels I listened to on a regular basis were mainly because of money. They blamed the government together with Barack Obama…

They blamed their employers…

Every night, the same fights about the same topics…

Everyday I did the same thing. I spent the whole day inside the apartment like a fish in an aquarium. I didn’t need to look at myself in the mirror. I experienced it, I knew that I was living a boring life. Only when I switched on the television did my life have any meaning. That little black box was one of the most amazing things in my life.

Some days I wanted to be like Michael Scofield in Prison Break. To be a smart guy with a perfectly tattooed body.

Some days I wanted to be like Brian O’Connor in Fast and Furious. Driving incredibly fast cars.

Some days I wanted to do magic tricks like Harry Potter and some days I wanted to kill people like Jason Bourne did.

In any event, I never wanted to be Tom Seed.

The movies gave me a reason to be happy, even though I faced my bullies back at school, even though our flat smelled like the black mold spreading across the walls, even though I had no friends.

Movie stars replaced everything that I did not have – friends, love, excitement…

I remember St. Patrick’s Day. My parents stayed at home. Everyone had the day off. Me, my mom, my father, we sat on the old couch and watched the news on the TV. I had to partake in the TV channels that old people usually watched. From the microwave wafted the great smell of pizza, frozen pizza. One of the few foods we could afford. Bored from the long commercials, we sat down behind the table and started to chow down on our pizza. We enjoyed it, the delicious taste of the thin dough. Suddenly something interrupted our moment of joy. I heard a noise, so I went to turn off the TV. I heard a knock on the door. Someone was knocking on our door. We had no idea who it might be. Mom was sitting closer to the door, so she went to open it.

A tall man in a FedEx uniform stood outside the door.

Mrs. Seed? He asked.

I knew it must be something important. Very important because no couriers go to the Bronx. They’re too scared. The guy looked frightened too. Mom signed something, then he went away. He brought a large brown envelope. Each of us had our own idea of what might be inside. Maybe new checks? Perhaps we won something? Maybe they invited us to the Oprah Show?

I opened the envelope with my excitement building. Papers dropped from inside the envelope. A ton of documents from an insurance company based in Manhattan. The nightmare had returned to our lives. These papers stated the value of the damage caused by my stupid actions.

We had to pay $40,000 within thirty days. That lawyer had not lied to us. The insurance company had paid the costs of repairing the damaged cars, but we had to pay that amount to the insurance company. When I read it, I ran to the bathroom and threw up the pizza I had eaten a few minutes ago. I was so nervous. My whole body was shaking. I had a huge pulsing pain in my stomach.

While my mother was crying, my father started to hit me many times with a leather belt. After so many days of sitting in front of the TV, in peace, I couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t bear the pain anymore.

I attacked my father.

I tried to stop him …

I failed …

My attempt did not work. Everything just got worse.

He tossed his belt and began to beat me with his hands straight on my face. I’m sure that if he had not broken my nose, which started to bleed so hard that the blood covered his whole body, he would have killed me then and there. The broken nose saved my life. After a few hard moments, my mom called an ambulance for me, and it came very quickly. They took care of me and my nose. Luckily, I did not have to go to the hospital. Of course they asked who did this to me. I told them that I slipped on the wet floor and hit my face on the table.

Yes, I was lying! But if I told them the truth, the next time a funeral car would come to our apartment, not an ambulance.

When the EMTs left, my mom asked me for the business card for that lawyer from Manhattan. She called him and tried to explain our situation, that we did not have enough money for the insurance company. It did not take long before the call ended. My mother told us with a sad voice that there was no other option, that we had to pay, otherwise we would go to court.

My parents thought it was a miracle if we would be left with some money for food at the end of the month. Less than a hundred dollars in the bank account, in our wallets just a few dollars … This was all the money we had. We did not have any jewelry, antiques, or other valuable items that we could sell. We did not even have health insurance. The most valuable thing my family owned was that old apartment, inherited from my grandparents.

We had less than thirty days to get $40,000. I knew my family was having a difficult time. My parents worked regular jobs: my mom cleaned at he fast-food chain, my father looked after the parking lot at a mall.

I never heard them complain about their work. Only about their employers. I think they liked their work, but there was one problem. Their jobs provided them with only the minimum wage, even though they worked full days. My parents did not have any friends, siblings, or other relatives to help us. As a poor family, we did not have any other option.

The next day, we all visited the bank. My mom explained our situation to the clerk sitting behind the desk. He assured us that the bank was helping people like us solve their problems. We needed to borrow $40,000. The clerk asked about our income, our expenses. Everything was entered into his computer. Then he went to the office nearby. We were sitting nervously in the huge seats while we tried to distract ourselves by admiring the decorations hanging on the wall.

The end of excerpt

Table of Contents

Title page

Imprint

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