Playground

by 50 Cent

  “N-no, of course we’re not,” the bigger one said. No idea what his name was. He was fat like me, and he always had that kid Jamal next to him like some sort of miniature bodyguard.

  “You’d better not be,” I said. “Because if I see your ugly faces around here again, I’m gonna get all kinds of mad.” I leaned an inch forward until I was right in the fat kid’s face. “You’d best be checking yourselves from now on if you know what’s good for you.”

  I slammed the kid against the door and in the same second pushed it open. As I shoved past him to go back into the hall, the kid fell flat on his ass right on the nasty bathroom floor.

  Sucker.

  14

  My feet still hurt like mofos that afternoon, and the three-block walk from Watkins to Liz’s strip mall felt more like a mile. I needed to soak my feet or get some ointment or something when I got home, but I didn’t want my mom or, even worse, Evelyn, to ask any questions about the condition of my feet.

  Not that either of them ever paid close enough attention to me for that, but still, I wasn’t about to take any chances. I knew my mom would kill my dad dead if she’d had any clue what we’d done over the weekend. He hadn’t even had to swear me to secrecy. He’d known I wasn’t dumb enough to rat him out like that. Besides, my mom was already good and pissed about the new shoes, which I would’ve stashed under my bed if I hadn’t left my backup pair on the floor of Atmos NYC.

  I was feeling pretty lowdown when I tromped up that dark stairwell to Liz’s office, and I’d be lying if I said she wasn’t about the last person on earth I wanted to see right then. Okay, third to last maybe, but definitely in the bottom five.

  “How’re you doing today?” she asked me as I plopped down onto her nasty brown couch.

  I shrugged, then suddenly remembered how she’d booted me out of there early on Friday. “Did you have a nice weekend?” I asked, widening my eyes at her.

  Liz straightened up a little. She clearly didn’t appreciate having the tables turned on her like that. “I did, thanks.”

  I raised my left eyebrow at her. I was really enjoying watching the old lady squirm. “Good times Friday night, huh?”

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “I suppose so. Why do you ask? You’ve never taken much interest before. Why now?”

  I shrugged. “I wouldn’t say I’m interested,” I said. “Just making conversation, what’s wrong with that? Since when are you the only one allowed to ask questions around here?” I settled back into the couch and kicked my shoes onto the little coffee table between me and Liz. It relieved the pressure on my feet, so I kept them up there and pretended not to notice the stern look the coffee table’s owner was shooting me. “Oh, and while I’m at it, Liz, would you mind if I asked you a personal question? You don’t have to answer if you don’t feel like it. I just kinda feel like asking.”

  By now she was practically sweating bullets. It was classic. Not so fun, is it, Liz, when the microscope gets turned on you? “I . . . suppose so,” she said finally.

  “All right, then, here goes. You got a boyfriend or a husband or any-thing like that, a special someone who makes you feel all nice inside?”

  And here Liz straightened up so tall it was like there was a gun to her head. “I don’t really see how that’s any of your business,” she said sharply.

  “Well, you said I could ask,” I pointed out, “and that’s all I was doing. Anyway, you asked me pretty much the same thing the first time we met.”

  “Yes, but . . .” Liz was looking at me with a serious expression. “All right, then, I guess that’s true. So yes, as a matter of fact, I am seeing someone at the moment. And we did go out on Friday night, as you so cleverly intuited. We went to Connecticut, actually, to a little bed-and-breakfast by the water.”

  “That sounds hot,” I said with maximum sarcasm, but I was actually feeling kind of fond of old Liz for letting me in like that. And, I gotta admit, I was a little proud of her, too. So she had herself a man, did she? Good for her.

  “I’ve never stayed in a hotel before,” I said when it became clear that Liz wasn’t happy with my first response. “Must be nice.” She kept on giving me the silent treatment, so I went on, “I thought I was going to when my grandma died a few years back, since there were so many other relatives coming into Philly for the burial and all. But I ended up just sleeping on the floor of her tiny living room with all my cousins. It was real fun, way better than any hotel. Kinda made me wish I had some brothers and sisters of my own, you know? Seems like everyone else has that, but not ol’ Butterball.”

  “Has what?” Liz asked when I broke off. “Siblings, you mean?”

  I shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Or not exactly that, but . . . you know, just someone to hang with whenever you wanted. Like, someone close to your own age who isn’t too busy for you and had to stick it out with you no matter what. My dad always said he’d wanted a shitload of kids, but my mom put the brakes on his plans. She denies it, of course, says it’s because we were broke as shit back then and my dad was never around. But I’ll bet you anything my mom’s the one who’s lying. It’s just like her to be all selfish about something like that. Even one kid’s a little too much for her to deal with most of the time, you know?”

  Suddenly I noticed the wide-eyed way Liz was looking at me. She was craned all the way forward, staring at me like I was an exhibit at the science museum or some shit like that. At the same moment, I felt the warm trickle of tears down the side of my face. WTF—what was that about? Somehow Liz had conned me into ... But forget it. No way was I gonna give her the pleasure. After the fight my mom and I had had on Sunday, I never wanted to talk about that woman again. But I wasn’t going to tell Liz about that fight.

  I sat up real straight in my chair and flicked my eyes over to my new shoes on Liz’s coffee table. They were the finest items in that whole shitty room.

  “But my dad’s like the opposite, you know?” I said in my regular voice again. “He’s not selfish at all. He’d do just about anything for me; all I have to do is ask. Like I said, he’s the best damn dad in the world. My life would be perfect if I could just go live with him full-time again.” And somehow, the more I spoke, the less I could stop the flow of tears down my face. If only my dad could see his fatass wimp of a son now, man, he’d just be thrilled.

  “What time is it?” I asked. “Ain’t it about time you and I wrapped up?”

  Liz slowly lifted her arm and squinted at her old-fashioned wristwatch. Then she shook her head. “No, I’m sorry to say that you haven’t even been here twenty minutes,” she said, but she didn’t sound sorry at all. “Can we—I’d like, if you don’t mind, to return to what you were saying earlier about your mom being—what was the word you used?” She pretended to glance at the notebook next to her. “Selfish, I believe you said. Would you care to elaborate a little on that point?”

  “No, I don’t care to elaborate on that point,” I mimicked in the squeakiest old-white-woman voice I could manage. My eyes were dry now, and I knew exactly where I was and what I was doing there.

  “All right then.” Liz seemed unfazed. “I just—I mean, if you don’t mind if I make an observation. Well, it seems to me that your mother isn’t all that selfish. I don’t know her well personally, of course, but on paper, well, it seems like your mother has sacrificed a great deal for you. Moving out here, to a safer neighborhood and better school district, working so hard for her nursing degree so she can better provide—”

  “Let’s get some stuff straight, lady,” I cut in angrily. I just wasn’t in the mood for any of Liz’s BS. “The only true thing you said just now is that you don’t know my mother all that well. That’s what I’d call the biggest understatement ever because you don’t know her at all. ‘On paper’—what does that even mean, anyway? And, by the way, there was nothing wrong with my old school or my old neighborhood in the city. I was happy living there, just like I was happy living with my dad. My mom packed us up and moved us out to this shitho
le for one reason and one reason alone: because she wanted to. That’s the only reason she’s ever done anything in her whole life, so I don’t want to hear your ass lecturing me about all the damn sacrifices she’s made on my behalf. She’s never done jack shit for me. Do you understand me? So I’m done talking about her, done.”

  I broke off, a little short of breath, and when I looked over at Liz I realized I’d done it again: I’d played right into that woman’s hands. She was smiling and nodding over and over as those stupid-ass tears kept rolling one after the other down my face.

  15

  I might be a total whack job for feeling this way, but I always kind of looked forward to seeing my mom after even a short absence. I mean, yeah, we barely ever talked anymore, but she was still my mom, you know? But that Sunday after my visit to the city, she sure didn’t waste any time bursting my bubble.

  “Your father didn’t tell me he was getting you new shoes.”

  Those were the first words out of her mouth after I slid into her car right outside the train station. She hadn’t even said hello to me yet or asked me if I’d had a fun weekend in the city, but at least I was glad she was too tired to notice how I’d hobbled all the way to the car.

  “So?” I was staring straight ahead of me. “He’s gotta ask your permission for everything he want to do? Didn’t you give up those rights when you kicked his ass to the curb?”

  My mom exhaled noisily. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. I was just making an observation.”

  “Yeah, well, even if he had asked, I’m sure you wouldn’t have remembered. You’ve been pretty busy lately, I couldn’t help noticing.”

  My mom made another huffing sound and shot me a tired not-this-again look. Well, she was the one who’d started it.

  “How much did those shoes cost?” she asked me about half a second later. “I’m just curious.”

  I looked out the grimy window of her used Honda, which sputtered every time she pumped on the brakes. “No idea,” I said. “He told me I could pick out anything I wanted, so I did. He’s real cool that way, Dad is. Always has been.”

  I could hear my mom’s quick angry breaths from across the car. “Well, that was very generous of him,” she said, “especially since he’s three months late on his payments.”

  “Mom, don’t you be talking to me about his payments again. You know it’s none of my business. Besides, Dad’s been picking up a lot of slack from you lately.”

  “And beyond that,” she went on, as if not having heard me, “I have a real problem with your father rewarding you for—for . . .”

  Even now she couldn’t bring herself to say the words “kicking that poor nerd’s ass” out loud. Instead she mumbled quietly to herself, as if I weren’t right there next to her, “I told him you were grounded and this is what he does? I swear, every single thing I do, that man tries to undermine.”

  “You have no idea,” I murmured, looking down at my Foamposites.

  “What was that?” she snapped at me.

  “Nothing,” I said quickly.

  “You know I won’t have you cursing at me under your breath, young man. You know perfectly well that’s never been something I’ve tolerated.”

  Man, she was worked up, and we weren’t even halfway back from the train station yet. There were big pockets under her eyes from what was probably another long weekend at work. I was feeling pretty tired myself, so I figured I’d better turn down the volume a little. “I wasn’t cursing, Ma,” I said, then added to be safe, “I promise you. I was just saying that—well, I mean, I really needed to get me some new shoes, so I just asked Dad for a little early birthday present, that’s all.”

  “Four months is pretty early,” she said. “And I still don’t understand what was wrong with the shoes I got you. They’re perfectly nice, and they look identical to all the other sneakers you’re always going on about.”

  And though I was doing my best to keep the peace, I just couldn’t let this one slide. “They don’t look anything alike, Ma. How many times do I have to tell you? No one in his right mind would wear those ugly-ass Payless rip-offs in public, not even in this retarded town.”

  “Don’t you dare curse at me, young man!”

  “Relax, Ma, I wasn’t cursing at—”

  But it was too late. My mom usually kept a tight lid on her emotions, but when she got pissed, she got pissed. No way I could bring her down easily now. “And what does that mean, anyway, you need new shoes?” she practically yelled across the car. “What’s so important all of a sudden that you’ve gotta waste money your dad doesn’t have on shoes that look just like ones you already have?”

  I knew I’d have to ask her sooner or later, and now seemed as good a time as any, since otherwise there was no way she or Evelyn would let me out on Saturday night. Who knows if my mom and I would get a chance to talk between now and then? “Because,” I burst out, “a good friend of mine is having a party next weekend, and I really, really want to go. And I wanted to look good, you know?”

  “You have got to be kidding me.” My mom shook her head furiously, but I could tell she was a little bit intrigued. “Party” was not a word I’d said much since moving out to Garden City, and neither was “friend.”

  “What kind of party?” she asked after she’d exhaled through her nostrils a few times. Then, in case I got my hopes up, she added quickly, “And what kind of fool child on academic probation, just one step away from having his very own police record, thinks I’d let him go to a party?”

  “Aw, c’mon, Mom, I really want to go. This real nice girl Nia is turning fourteen, and all the other kids will be there. She’s one of the nicest kids at school, and, and . . .”

  Was she really going to make me fill in the rest for her? That I hadn’t been invited to a party or anything like it in the two long, gloomy years since we’d moved out to this dump?

  Mom heard the crack in my voice and seemed to waver, but not for long. “No way, no how,” she said, “or not unless I can get this Nia’s mother on the phone to tell me about the party herself. Until you learn the difference between right and wrong, you ain’t going anywhere until I say so.”

  Tears sprang to the corners of my eyes. What a perfect end to my weekend in the city. I could not believe my mother would actually do this to me. I’d tried to play it positive with her, to let her in a little, but there was just no winning with her. Ever since my week off school, when she’d had to take off all those days from work, she just hadn’t stopped making me pay, pay, pay. It wasn’t right. I hadn’t asked for any of this.

  “You know what, I think it’s real rich, having you of all people lecturing me about the difference between right and wrong,” I said quietly as my mom pulled into the parking lot behind our building.

  She slammed hard on the brake, and the hands gripping the steering wheel were shaking. “Me of all people?” she practically yelled. “And what, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?”

  I could tell that I’d gotten her good. She whipped around to stare at me, but I was gone. I faced the passenger-side window and just fixed my eyes on the depressing Dumpster where I had to lug the trash every Tuesday night. If I didn’t, the garbage would just pile up rotting inside our apartment till the cops came by looking for a corpse.

  “You know exactly what I mean,” I said quietly as I unbuckled my seatbelt and grabbed my bag. “Try figuring out your own messed-up life first. Then maybe you can start in on mine.”

  And with that I yanked the car door open and got out. My mom didn’t try to stop me. She just sat there behind the steering wheel, gazing blankly at the now-empty passenger seat beside her. She looked like she’d just been socked in the stomach, and that was perfectly all right with me.

  16

  Liz, to her credit, let me calm down in my own good time. She didn’t even mention my mom again, which I have to say was cool of her. “Do you mind if I ask you about something else, Butterball?” she asked after maybe five minutes had passe
d.

  I lifted my shoulders but didn’t say anything.

  “All right then,” Liz said with that devious calmness of hers. “It’s no big deal. I really just wanted to ask you about that little camera you always carry around with you.”

  “Huh?” Even though I messed around with my video camera on the walk over to Liz’s, I was always careful to stash it back in my backpack on my walk up the dark staircase to her office. How’d she seen it?

  “I just find it interesting that you’ve never mentioned it to me,” Liz went on without explaining herself. “Do you have a photography class in school?”

  I grunted at this. “A photography class? At Watkins? Lady—Liz—what’re you smoking? Have you ever seen J. Watkins? It’s only a couple of blocks away; you should go have a look sometime. That place is about as likely to have a heated swimming pool as a photo class.”

  Liz smiled. “That’s very funny, Butterball. You have a wonderful sense of humor, do you know that?”

  I grunted again but kept my mouth shut. Clearly my moment of weakness a few minutes earlier had given ol’ Liz a false sense of intimacy with me.

  “Can you tell me about the camera then?” she pressed. “Can I see it?”

  I pulled my backpack closer to me and shook my head. What was this woman’s problem, anyway? I still didn’t understand how she even knew about the camera in the first place, much less why she wanted to see it. “Nah, it’s just a camera,” I said. “And if you were going to check to see if it was hot, it isn’t. I still have the receipt and everything, just in case it breaks and I gotta get it repaired or something.”

  “Oh, now, Butterball, I wasn’t implying anything like that!” Liz exclaimed, and she seemed genuinely shocked by my suggestion. “I just ... I don’t know. I’m just interested in what interests you, that’s all.”