E.D.I Blogs (Part.11) A Letter To The President

(Fictionally written by Treyvon Martin)
Dear Mr. President,
It’s me, Treyvon… Remember, you told those reporters that if you had a son, he’d look like me. Yea, I know you got a lot on your plate right now, campaigning and all, I just wanted you to hear it from me, incase you were wondering what happened that night. YA know, when I died. Well it started like this, I was visiting my dad for the weekend, my little brother and I. Ever since mom and dad split up this is how we spend weekends. IT’s cool too, my dad has a new lady in his life and she’s nice. Anyway, the weekend I was killed was a typical weekend,
except for the fact that I was under suspension for hangin out in a part of the school I go to, that’s restricted. I never really liked rules or laws but I understood their need, I guess. Krop High is an ok school to go to,Igottalotta friends, maybe its because I’m tall (6’3) and got that swag (have your daughters tell you what that is lol). I’m good, or WAS good at math and had above average grades. I could do much better, I know I can, I just get bored sometimes. My Dad says I spend too much time daydreaming about planes and stuff, but all I ever wanted to do was fly. My uncle Ronald flew planes and I’ve always looked up to him for that. The day everything went down, I was chillin, wacthin the game (GO HEAT!) and talking on the phone with my girlfriend. I decided to run to the local store around the corner for a snack and some juice. It wasn’t that cold out, I just like to wear my hoodie, I feel comfortable with it on. Adults are always telling me to take it off when I come in a room or like when I’m In school and stuff. Rules, laws smh… Junior prom is just a few weeks away and me and my girl were talking about what we were gonna wear. I bought a Arizona Iced tea and some Skittles for my little brother, he loves candy. Then I went on my way back home. I didn’t hear Mr Zimmerman’s voice at first, and when I did, I assumed he was talking to someone else. He seemed pretty riled up and made me nervous. My dad always told me to respectful to grownups, no matter what there color is. Still from the look in his eye, I knew he wasn’t asking me for directions, feel me? “Ay! Stop right there! I said… Nigger stop right there!” Is what he said to me Mr.Obama… I don’t know about you, but I’ve never been called that Sir. Yea, me and my friends call each other the ‘N’ word but NOT with the ‘ER’! My girl heard the panic in my voice and asked me what was going on. I didn’t wanna sound all scared, so I put a little base in my voice and told Mr. Zimmerman that “I was minding mine on fuckin business and going home, I live hear, sir!” That didn’t stop him though, he pulled his truck over and got out and started coming towards me. My girl said that I should run and that the guy I was talking too sounded “scary”. I agreed. I looked back at Mr.Zimmerman and noticed that he was fat, so I knew he couldn’t catch me if I started running. After sprinting a few yards, I didn’t see him anymore, and started to relax a little. Almost home. I could see the townhouse my dad shared with his fiancé Just 70 yards away, when I saw Mr.Zimmerman running towards me, I started running again, but stopped and decided to STAND MY GROUND, because I wasn’t doing anything wrong. He grabbed me and attempted to drag me towards his truck. Mr.President, I didn’t know if he was some weirdo trying to kidnap me, or not. I’ve heard the stories of kids vanishing never to be heard from again, so I fought back. Mr.Zimmerman didn’t like that. I could fell him reaching for something, and I tried to stop him. He was really angry and stronger than me,sir… I yelled for help as loud as I could, but no one came. I saved my dads life when I was nine, when we were in a fire. I just wanted someone to come and save ME this time. I found out what Mr.Zimmerman was reaching for, or should I say, felt it, the bullet going straight through my hoodie, into my chest, into me. I saw my dad and mom, my brothers, my girl and friends… than nothing. I could hear Mr.Zimmerman yelling something about self-defense, than he whisperd “I finally got me 1…” Sir, I know you have a tough job, but this guy was wrong and I did not deserve to die like this. I know you don’t have a son, yet (wink) and your girls have the Secret Service protecting them for the rest of their lives, but what do we have? The young black male with dreams of flying and going to college like my older brother is doing right now.
Say the police and I’ll say “Oscar Grant”. Say God and I’ll say “Sean Bell” Say you and… Well only you can answer that.
Treyvon Martin
SALUTE.
P.S. THE HOPE DEALER.