by G. Neri
We pass a big ol’ mural someone painted on the side of a building. It shows a street called Horseman Way and has all the riders hanging out on their horses. It’s like a shot of the Old West, except instead of country, you got city, and instead of white folk, you got black cowboys.
I look closely and see Tex and Harper in the background.
“Is that you up there?” I ask.
He nods. “Yeah, that was from back when we must’ve had four hundred horsemen around here. But most of the stables been closed down by the City over the last few years. We one of the last ones in Philly to survive. There’s probably less than eighty urban riders around here now, and most of them is struggling to find a place to put their horses. There might not be any of us left soon, if things keep going the way they are.”
I think about what Jamaica Bob said yesterday. “Bob says the end is coming for all of you.”
He grunts. “Maybe ten years from now, someone will pass this mural and think it’s just a painting instead of a way of life.”
We go a few more blocks. Folks pass us in the streets, smiling, waving. A car pulls alongside and a little girl says to me, “Are you a cowboy?”
I shake my head, but Harper says, “Yep, and we gonna race today!”
A block later, a group of kids come out, all asking for rides. He stops and gets off the horse.
“Who wants to ride?” he asks.
All their hands shoot up. He leans down to a coupla girls who look like sisters. “You wanna ride?”
They nod their heads. He lifts them up onto Lightning and starts guiding them gently, talking them through it. He seem like he got a way with kids. So how come he wasn’t that way with me? I think of the first time I saw him with that gun, and he actin’ so much nicer now.
For a half hour, we give rides. He even starts putting kids up on Boo with me and leading both horses around. They start asking me questions, and I answer what I can. One kid with a ol’-school Afro and gold necklace that says CJ on it asks why my horse don’t got no bling. I don’t know what he’s talking about until he points to Lightning and I notice he got little shiny things braided in his mane and hanging off the saddle.
I ask Harp about that, and he says every rider tries to make his horse special, kinda like trickin’ out a car. I look at Boo, and he ain’t got nothin’.
Then I remember Mama’s bracelet in my pocket. I ask this kid CJ if he knows how to tie a knot. He nods, and I give him the bracelet. He ties it onto Boo’s hair and smiles. Bling.
CJ and them kids is looking at us like we rap stars who just stopped and gave them a ride in a limo. They all ready to race — “I can beat you!” CJ already saying, even though he can barely stay in the saddle.
Harper says they’re all like that — ready to throw down before they can walk. They’re all about speed and who can go fastest . . . until they grow older and get interested in girls, then they’re all about that. “A girl beats a horse any day,” he says, and laughs.
We show ’em a good time, but after a while, Harp looks at his watch.
“Gotta go!” he says, cutting them off. “Gotta earn my keep. But you all come down to Chester Avenue and you can learn to ride for real. How’s that sound?”
They all jump up and down, asking if they can come tomorrow. Harp smiles and says he’ll be there. On the way out, I see CJ still watching us.
“Save one kid by getting them into horses and it’s all worth it,” Harp says to me. He got a strange look in his eyes that makes me think maybe he was one of them kids that Tex took in a long time ago. “You never know what someone will do with his life once he finds himself.”
We ride a little farther, past a few pretty girls sitting on a stoop. “Morning, ladies,” he calls out.
I nod too.
Philly girls is hot. They all smile and wave, and I remember how much girls like horses. Man, is this all I need to get a fine one like that?
We ride on, and I’m starting to like this. It still feels weird up here, but I can’t help but think what it woulda been like if I grew up this way. Would I be like Harper, all into horses, working in the stables every day, keeping busy? How would it be growing up with him and not Mama? Would we do more man stuff, being cowboys and hanging with the guys? Would it be any better? Or would I just end up like Smush, some corner boy with a mouth on him?
We turn a corner and at the end of the street, I can see it: the park. After a few minutes, we leave the city behind us, and it’s like we in the country all of a sudden. Trees everywhere. I can hear the wind blowing on the leaves as we make our way across the grass.
We pass a swimming pool with a bunch of kids in it. Some of ’em see the horses and press their faces up against the chain-link fence to get a look. We mosey down a trail, past some tennis courts. The sound of the city is far off in the distance. I can hear birds chirping, something I ain’t heard in a long time.
I ease up, feel okay on Boo’s back. Harp tells me Fairmount Park is one of the biggest parks in America — so big, you can even get lost in it. We ride, and for a good while I can’t see no buildings no more, only trees. We could be anywhere, a thousand miles from the city. I ain’t never seen so much trees and stuff.
Then I hear it. Laughing, music, cheering . . . and a rumble. We come out through some trees into a clearing, and I see what the rumbling is: two horses racing toward us faster than I ever thought a horse could go. They fly by us, two young guys, hootin’ it up, and one of ’em raises his fist like he won.
I look down the other way, and all the guys is there — Tex, Bob, and then some — cheering, cursing, paying off money. Behind them is a bunch of cars, some women sitting on beach chairs with coolers and stuff, a few kids running around chasing each other.
“This is it. The Speedway,” Harp says.
“This is the Speedway? It’s just a strip of grass in a park.”
“You was expecting Churchill Downs? This is where the real deal is.”
I shrug. “Whatever you say.”
He laughs at me. “Boy, what do you know? Black horse trainers started racing retired Thoroughbreds here a hundred years ago. How do you think the Chester Avenue tradition got started?”
The two racers come galloping up to us. “Harper! We ain’t seen you around here for a while. So it’s true, you gonna race?”
I look at Harper, who scratches his head, glancing over at the crowd across the way. “Maybe. What’re they saying?”
The guy who won smiles. “Big Dee saying you too old. Past your prime. And that Lightning’s racing days are over and done.”
“Who’s racing his horse?”
They look at each other. “You don’t know? Carmelo.”
Harper’s face changes, gets all grim.
“Who’s Carmelo?” I ask.
Harper don’t answer, so one of the guys pipes in.
“Carmelo is the new sheriff out here. You’re nobody if you don’t beat Carmelo. And nobody beats Carmelo.”
“I beat him,” Harp says.
The guys look at each other. “Yeah, Harp, but that was a long time ago. Last time, he whupped your —”
Harp raises his hand. “He cheated. Cut me off. It’s all on video.”
The guys look at each other, unsure.
Harp shrugs. “Hey, you wanna bet against me, go ahead. Just make sure it’s money you don’t need anymore, because you ain’t gonna be keeping it.”
He turns and ambles toward the starting line, Boo an’ me following along. When the other guys see him, a cheer goes up.
I see Big Dee dressed in a bright-red Sixers jacket and cap and big ol’ shades. “Well, well, well. Look who it is, the Lone Ranger and Tonto,” he says, grinning.
I have no idea what he talking about.
He looks at me. “You his son, right?”
I nod.
“That’s too bad. I hope you don’t mind if my horse puts your daddy to shame. Hate to ruin his rep in front of you and all.”
I see Harp roll
his eyes.
I shrug. “Don’t make no difference to me.” I’m joking, but Harp gives me a look out of the corner of his eye.
“He’s coming!” someone shouts. He ain’t talking about Harper, ’cause heads turn away from us and the crowd splits apart as some slick-looking dude with gold-rimmed shades and a black head wrap rides in.
I don’t know nothing about horses, but that horse looks ripped, like it’s built for speed. The guy rides right up to us, but ignores me.
“You came back for more?” he says to Harp.
“I came back for a legit race, Carmelo. You gonna keep in your lane?”
“Always do, Harp. You got Lightning hopped up on them special ‘vitamins’?”
Harper turns and spits. “This horse is one-hundred percent natural. Always has been, always will be.”
They stare each other down like I seen fighters do before a boxing match. Finally, Jamaica Bob interrupts.
“Well, guys, you heard it. It’s the rematch of the century! Now, who’s gonna put their money where their mouth is?”
Suddenly, there’s like a rush, and everyone’s holding out cash as Bob takes it and writes it down in a little black book.
“This one’s even odds. Quarter-mile sprint. I don’t know who’s gonna win, but it’s gonna be good, that’s fer sure.”
He turns to Harper and winks. Harper breaks off his stare and leans down to Bob. “If I don’t win, we’ll both have to pack our bags.”
He hands me the rope attached to my saddle. “Tie Boo up to that tree there. Then you can watch with Bob.”
I look at Carmelo, acting all cocky. “You gonna win this?” I ask Harp.
“Why, what’s it to you?”
I reach in my pocket. “I got ten bucks to bet. You gonna win?”
He smiles, nods. “Go make some money, son,” he says, taking his cowboy hat and plopping it on my head.
I ain’t never wore no cowboy hat before. “Don’t you need this to race?” I ask. But he’s already galloping off to the starting line.
I tilt my hat so I’ll look all fly. Then I try to steer Boo over to the tree, but suddenly, he don’t wanna move. “Giddyup!” I yell.
Nothing. Boo just stuck to the ground. Them kids who was washing horses earlier is laughing at us, having a good ol’ time.
Finally, I gotta get off and pull him by his rope.
Carmelo passes by, shaking his head, and mutters, “You don’t deserve to wear that hat.”
I give him the evil eye. I sure hope Harper puts him and Big Dee to shame.
I try not to look at the guys as I tie Boo to the tree. “Why you gotta make me look bad, Boo?”
He looks at me all sorry. Dumb horse. But then he bows his head and waits for me to pet him. I roll my eyes but end up petting his neck while he chews on the grass, and he seem like a dog you can’t help but love, even if he trouble sometimes.
I make my bet. One of the little kids stares at me wide-eyed as I hand over my cash. “What? That’s how I roll. I’m a playa, understand?”
He giggles at the clothes I slept in. “You ain’t got no money!”
I chase him off. “Punk. You’ll see.” He’s still laughing at me.
At the starting line, Harp and Lightning is chomping at the bit. Carmelo and Rocket trot over. I can see the horses don’t like each other neither, nipping at each other like a coupla pit bulls looking for a fight. Bad blood.
A older woman with a fake blond wig on walks out with a red bandanna in her hand. The guys all whistle, and she makes a face, like, Ain’t I pretty? even though she ain’t really. She gets to a spot about twenty feet in front of the horses but off to the side.
“Ready?” She waves the flag around.
“I’m always ready, honey!” someone shouts out to laughs.
“Set!”
Harp and Carmelo line up their horses like they struggling to hold ’em back.
“GO!”
Rocket bolts, but Lightning seem to be stuck in neutral, like there’s an invisible wall in front of him. Harper don’t panic, though. After a beat, he yells, and Lightning, well . . . it’s like he explodes outta there. He takes off and the ground is shaking and he goes after Rocket. I can’t believe my eyes, but somehow Lightning is catching up to him! The guys is going crazy, yelling and climbing over each other. Even I’m jumping up and down. Finally, Lightning and Rocket is running side by side and I swear, I see Harper look over and nod, like, See ya later, and he shoots past Carmelo!
Now everyone really goin’ crazy and that woman is jumping up and down laughing and Harper passes the spot where we came in and holds up his arms and points to the sky.
I jump in the air and yell, “Yes!” Some of the guys is on their knees pounding the ground like they can’t believe what they just saw neither. The kids is running around, whooping it up.
Jamaica Bob yells out, “The champ is back!”
Big Dee just stands there stewing, then heads over to his truck. Money changes hands, and the ones who bet on Harp is really happy.
“Now, that was a race!” I hear Tex say. “Just like the old days!”
I see Harper trotting back, sitting up in the saddle, all smiles. Carmelo’s still down at the other end, looking away from us like he trying to figure out what happened.
Bob hands me a twenty-dollar bill. “Looks like you made a good bet,” he says.
Everyone rushes around Harper as he gets off Lightning and pats him on the back.
“Now, that’s how it’s done!” he says, all proud. “Where’s Big Dee?”
Bob points to the truck where Big Dee is sitting behind his shades. Harp nods, and Dee nods back. He don’t look too happy.
Someone turns up the music. It’s that song “Celebration,” and the guys start dancing and screaming for Big Dee’s benefit. “Ceeeelebrate good times, come on!” Even I get into it. Big Dee just shakes his big head. When Carmelo rides up to his truck, they have a few words, and they don’t look like good ones.
The song ends, and the woman hands Harper a Coke. He gulps it down, then says, “Victory sure do taste sweet!”
I go up to him and hold out the twenty. “What’s that for?” he asks.
“That’s my winnings. I kinda borrowed it yesterday.”
He don’t seem to mind. “Keep it. I got my own winnings coming.”
Jamaica Bob slaps Harp on the back and hands him a small stack of bills. “To the victor go the spoils!”
Harper grins and pockets the cash without counting it.
“Your old man ain’t so old now, is he?” Bob asks me.
Looking at Harp all happy, he do seem younger.
Bob takes the hat offa my head and plops it back on Harper. “Your daddy is a legend around here. Nobody’s won more races, even though he only races a few times a year these days.”
Harp acts all modest. “Well, maybe I’ll come outta retirement for this kinda cash.”
He sees Carmelo, but before he heads over, he leans down toward me. “You know, if you stick around, you might learn a thing or two. You could follow in my footsteps, be a racer.”
I look at all the love he getting and think that might be all right, but I just nod. I watch him go up to Carmelo and expect to see him put that punk in his place, but instead he says something quiet and they hug.
Word musta got out, because on the way home, we run into a block party and it seem like everyone’s on the street or hanging out their windows saying nice things to him. I can see it makes Harper feel good to be out among the people, treating him like a real neighborhood hero or something. He gets held up by some friends, but nobody seem to notice me so much, mostly ’cause he don’t introduce me. I end up waiting around for him, and even though some lady gives me a drink to pass the time with, I don’t know nobody here, so I wanna leave. Finally, after about a half hour, he sees me and nods and we head on back.
“Been a while since I seen a lot of those folks. Nice party, wasn’t it?” he asks.
I shrug
and ignore him.
When we get to the stables, Tex and Jamaica Bob is already there. I get off Boo, and Bob takes him back into the stable. Harp calls Tex over and hands the stack of bills to him.
“Use this to take care of that dead horse. The meat vendors won’t take him now, but see that the body is disposed of proper-like.”
Tex glances at the money. “But this is your winnings, son.”
“Yep. And we can’t afford to have a dead horse around here, can we? Mrs. Elders can’t afford to do nothing, so there it is.”
Tex wanders off, counting the cash. “Too bad. Coulda bought some nice feed with this.”
Harp looks down at me, then holds out his hand.
“What?” I say.
I think he wants me to shake it, but all he say is, “You hungry?”
I gotta admit I am. “Maybe.”
“Well, come on, then.”
I put out my hand, and he grabs it and swings me up onto Lightning like we in a rodeo. I don’t know how he did that, but he nods like it ain’t no big thing.
“Hold on,” he says.
He puts my arms around him as we trot back out onto the street. I can feel the warmth from his back and then I realize, this is the first time I ever hugged my daddy.
Harp asks me if I ever had a Philly cheesesteak. I don’t know much, but I know steak, and it ain’t made of cheese. But I seen a place in Detroit called Philly’s Cheesesteak, so I guess it’s not a joke.
He takes me to this place around the corner, and we stand in line in front of this little shack. He talks to the guy and then turns around with two gigantic sandwiches. “Gotta have the complete Philly experience.”
We sitting on the curb, and even though this sandwich got a weird name, I dig in . . . and it’s sooo good! Where I’m from, we got Coney dogs and deep-dish pizza. But I ain’t had nothing like this.
Both of us is chowing down when a cop car pulls up in front of us. The window rolls down, and this black cop with a shaved head stares at us through his mirrored glasses.
“That your horse?” he asks, looking at Lightning, who’s tied up to a sign.