Millie Santiago woke up today determined to fight back. It wasn't only that her sleep had been interrupted again by the nightly ghetto blasters and the semi-automatic violence. No. She was angry because she knew he would be there today, just like he'd been there every other day since the beginning of summer.
A quick look at the world outside her window only added to her frustration. "Why can't things be different?" she thought. "Why can't I be different?" But no one could answer that. Not Millie herself, nor anyone she confided in. In fact, nobody seemed to understand why a sweet sixteen year old girl like Millie should care so much about what other people did. If these kids around here wanted to kill each other with their drugs, violence, and now even sex, let them. But some of them had been Millie's friends and she had seen them grow up and she had seen them change and she had seen them die, and that she could not accept. Life was too important. The problem was to convince someone else of that in a world where death sometimes seemed easier than living.
Still, she awoke today with a purpose and was determined to see it through. Let whatever happen, happen, she had had enough. She knew what she would find when went outside and sure enough, he was there. You could set your watch by Frankie, the well-dressed, muscular, good-looking boy of seventeen who sold his drugs to anyone of any age who had the bucks to buy them.
"You here again?" she asked, her aggressive tone making it more a statement than a question. "I thought the Sanitation Department already picked up today's garbage."
Frankie turned, surprised to see the words had come from the pretty young girl who always averted her eyes when she walked passed him.
"Pero mami, no te pongas asi," he replied with a grand gesture of innocence. "What have I ever done to you?"
"First off, I'm not your mother," Millie chided, "nor would I ever want to be."
"Your telling me, baby," Frankie interrupted, backing off just a bit. "You're so cold today, I think about the only thing you could mother would be an ice cube."
"Well, why don't you go find one and help it melt," Millie challenged.
"Because I'd rather melt you, baby" Frankie responded, flashing that smile he felt sure girls like her couldn't resist. And in a way, he was right, at least where Millie was concerned. She had, in fact, at one time been attracted by his good looks and self-confident, if conceited charm. But not today. And not since she first found out what he was doing on her street.
"The City should charge you rent for this corner," Millie continued, icily holding her ground. "Damn, I can't believe I can't even sit outside my own building without having to deal with you everyday!"
"We all gotta deal, baby," he replied, beginning to be bothered, but refusing to show it.
"Unfortunately, some of us just have to cope," came her easy retort, frustrated by his seeming nonchalance and arrogant machismo.
Frankie decided to let this pass. To forget she was even there. He had business to take care of.
Noticing an approaching customer, Frankie turned his back to her, however, suddenly there she was again in his face.
"You know you're killing people with that crap you sell."
It was now Frankie's turn to get angry, the would-be customer having walked away sensing trouble.
"All I do is provide a service. If people choose to do drugs, that's their choice and their business," Frankie hammered. "The same way if you don't like it out here, you've got the choice of staying home."
But his reasoning only incensed Millie more. "The damned streets don't belong to you," she blurted out, hoping the anger in her voice hadn't caused it to tremble. "Why the hell should I be a prisoner in my own apartment because of punk drug dealers like you? I've got rights too, you know?"
