by G. Neri
I put down the food and got on my knees, gathering up the drawings. “That’s old. I don’t do that stuff anymore.”
“Why not?” she asked, surprised.
I got stuck on that question.
She picked up a pretty big one that was a detailed dissection of my old school in Little Rock. In every room, hallway or courtyard, something was going on. Me, I was hanging out in the cafeteria with my only friends. I remembered that one taking me a good month to finish. “Fish, these are amazing. Is there anything you can’t do?”
“Yeah, look like a supermodel.” I rolled up the drawings and shoved them into a drawer in my dresser. “Who said you could go through my things anyways?” I crossed my arms and felt my nails biting into my skin.
She crinkled her brow. “I thought we were friends. Friends share.”
I felt the tension in my hands melt. “Still . . . you shouldn’t go through my personal stuff. You want me prying into your past?”
She turned gray.
I laughed. “Exactly, right?”
“They’re just drawings,” she said. “I wish I could draw like that.”
Me too, I thought.
I had to admit, next to the excitement of the TKO Club, school started to drag for me. I saw Destiny all the time which was cool, though sometimes at school, she still had to lay low and pretend me and her weren’t so close. I understood. Mrs. Lee had heard about our fight, of course, and pulled me aside to ask if I wanted to change classes so Destiny couldn’t bully me. I almost laughed at that, but tried to act stoic and said that I could handle it. “Well, that’s what I like to hear,” she said. “People should stand up to adversity and take the higher ground. Good for you.”
I’d spot Prince too, from time to time, in the hallway. He always gave me a bit of a hard time, but kept his distance. I never saw Kalvin there, though. I asked Destiny about it, but she just shrugged and said, “K and school don’t mix.”
I was starting to understand why. School was predictable. You got good grades, graduated, got a job. At least that’s what my parents hoped for. But I wasn’t so sure now. I didn’t know what I wanted anymore. Ever since we got to St. Louis, I was just . . . surviving, getting by. Trying not to be an ant. With TKO, it was the opposite. Every time was unpredictable, crazy, or full of chaos. School just seemed boring in comparison. It was hard to get your blood pumping about American history or algebra. What was the point?
Each time the club met up, I could feel the adrenaline rush. I found myself getting excited just by the idea of hanging with the boys—I became someone else for a few hours. And being someone else was good.
Sometimes, Kalvin would take us places just to have fun—the roller rink, Taco Bell, the park. He wasn’t planning any Knockout Games, just treating his crew as family. For Halloween, he made all the Tokers dress up in costumes—mostly ninjas or superstar athletes—and took us trick-or-treating around the nice neighborhoods in Tower Grove Heights. He dressed up as Muhammad Ali with some funny, oversized boxing gloves. He suggested I go as Red Sonja, the only redheaded action figure he knew of. I felt ridiculous, but he couldn’t stop smiling when he saw me decked out. I figured if he liked it, I must be making it work. When the sun went down and we roamed the streets, I thought maybe it was all just a setup, especially after they followed this one guy dressed as a clown. But it was for real. Kalvin made sure everyone watched out for the little kids and said thank you when they got candy. Including me.
I liked watching Kalvin taking care of everyone, making sure they were having a good time. He always kept his eye out for trouble too—cops, even gangs. Real gangs, he’d call them. I asked him what the difference was and he looked at me like I was ignorant or something. “Northside, gangs. Southside, just clubs. They’re into crack dealing and killing over turf. We’re a crew. My guy’s don’t even steal a dime off their targets. We’re just into proving ourselves and having fun.”
And they had a lot of fun.
Other times, when they played the game, I was scared that we’d get caught. But in a weird way, that felt good too. Like going to a scary movie that makes you scream feels good sometimes.
Once Kalvin pulled me aside after I showed him a particularly good video. He put his arm around my neck, pulled me into a playful headlock. “I had my doubts about you at first, Erica. But you proving yourself to be solid. Some of these mutts can’t handle it, but you can. You alright. For a white girl, I mean.”
I pulled myself out of his grip and hit him in the arm. I meant it to be playful, but for a second, I thought I’d made a big mistake. Then he laughed it off.
“Girl got spunk. Not bad.”
I tried hitting him again, but he blocked me.
“But you hit like a girl. I could fix that.”
“Maybe I like hitting like a girl.”
I took a swing and he grabbed my fist. He smiled, examining my hand closely. “You got good hands. Meaty. Like the rest of you.”
“Thanks,” I said sarcastically.
He flipped my hand over, studying my palm. “Nah, that’s a good thing. Shows you’re a fighter. Most girls got small dainty hands and shit.” He closed my hand into a fist, then took that fist and popped it into his palm a few times, making a soft slapping noise. “Solid. You probably don’t realize your own strength. Ever hit anyone before?”
I pulled my fist away. “Yeah, you.” I popped him in the gut.
When he glared at me, I added, “You’d never hit a girl, would you?”
He smiled. “Only if she deserved it.”
I tried to sucker punch him, but he ducked it easily.
“You gotta hit with your body.” He showed me, faking a hit and throwing his whole body into it—legs, shoulder, arm. “Boom. You’d be down for the count with that.”
He spent a few moments showing me how, walking behind me and guiding my body into a hit. I felt his chest on my back, his arms around me. He might be tall and lean, but he was built.
He made me hit him in the stomach a few times. He didn’t wince, but it did hurt . . .
Me.
11
In between, we met up some afternoons at Prince’s house. He had a giant video system in his basement where we’d gather to screen movies on his overhead projector.
Destiny even played some of mine on the big screen. The HD looked great, like real movies up there. It was cool, watching the others watch my flicks. They even acted out ideas for future videos.
Kalvin loved to download streaming movies and show them to us. The boys always wanted to watch a Fast & Furious or Transformers movie—some big action flick. But Kalvin had a taste for great old movies that he came across. He hated movies where the white character “saved” the black person or ones where the black guy always died first. That was Hollywood’s idea of the world order, he’d say.
Action was great—he loved an explosion as much as the others, but the old movies he picked were different. He said if you wanted to learn how to do things right, you had to study the past. And not history-past, like in school. Movie-past was better because it felt more real. The funny thing was, he only wanted to show us the best parts, usually the first part of the flick. So we only watched the beginnings of movies.
We saw the beginning of this crazy British movie called A Clockwork Orange. This was not a movie my mom would ever let me see. Kalvin showed us the opening, over and over—from the first beat of that weird synth music and that jarring closeup of Alex, staring directly at you for the longest time, talking that strange gooblygoo talk of his—sucking me into his world. It was a real horror show, full of ultraviolence and anarchy. But I couldn’t tear my eyes away from it. It was the first time I noticed what a filmmaker could do and how they controlled how you felt. The movie was filled with shock and laughs, but it was stunningly shot with classical music over it. Horrifying acts were suddenly strangely beautiful and you could almost understand how Alex and his droogs saw the world. It was their playground, their rules, their game. And we
were playing with them, whether we liked it or not. That movie blew me away because even though I thought this is so wrong, I found myself liking it. A lot.
We also watched fun movies like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. That one was full of outlaws and big heists, something the boys really got into. It was a buddy movie—two guys against the world. But the bad guys were the good guys—you rooted for them. And you hated the good guys. Again, everything was upside down. Prince liked it so much, he started calling himself Sundance, though he dropped it when Kalvin didn’t want to be called Butch. He said Butch had a different meaning these days.
One time, when there were just a few of us and Destiny wasn’t around, Kalvin put on a movie called Bonnie and Clyde. He sat next to me. Our knees touched. The movie was weird, about this waitress who suddenly starts going with this gangster, just to escape her boring life. When they started robbing banks, it got pretty exciting. I was worried for Bonnie, but you could see her getting sucked into it—the glamour, the danger, the excitement—who could blame her? It looked like fun.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Kalvin looking at me every now and then. He stopped the movie after about half an hour.
“So how come I never heard of these movies?” I asked him.
“‘Cause nobody ever bothered to show them to you before me.”
“Yeah, and who showed you—Prince?”
“Yeah, right. Even though he likes Purple Rain, he don’t know the good stuff,” he said, offended at the idea. “There was this teacher at Truman, kind of weird but she was ok. When I got in trouble a couple times, she secretly gave me a list of great movies to watch on my own. She thought I needed to be challenged, that the thoughts in my head could be expanded.”
“What was her name?”
He brushed it off like he’d forgotten. “Doesn’t matter. She was a little off, but it was a place to start. Then I looked movies up on my own and found even more. I started showing them to these clowns so they could see the bigger picture.”
“And what is the bigger picture? You don’t even show us the whole movie,” I challenged him.
He scoffed. “Endings are for idiots. Just because the heroes of the movie don’t live by ‘The Rules,’ Hollywood says they gotta suffer so they can show the audience you can’t live like that. Well, fuck that. Beginnings are always a lot better.”
“Says you.”
He laughed. “You know, you don’t realize it, but you’re making your own movie. ‘Bout us. And one day in the future, some kid here in St. Louis will see it and say, Damn! That TKO Club is fire!”
“Maybe. Or they’ll get you in trouble.”
He shrugged. “No. ‘Cause everyone knows if they open their mouth, they gotta deal with the Double Trouble!” He held out his fists and began boxing right in front of my face. He got close enough for me to feel the wind from a right jab.
A couple days later, Kalvin texted me on Saturday when I was hanging out with Destiny. It felt good when I saw his name on the caller ID.
Kalvin said he had gotten some new ideas after our last talk. He had been watching some nature film about cheetahs and thought a moving target might be a challenge. I reminded him about chasing the security guard and he said, no, something faster.
He told us to meet the crew down near the bike paths in Tower Grove Park. The Tokers were hanging out behind some of those giant old trees you see everywhere here. He told me to position myself down aways on a grassy hill.
I waited on the top of the hill. Destiny lay on the grass with me. I felt like a sniper gazing through my zoom lens as I watched the bikers speeding by on the path.
“I told him about your drawings,” she said.
My heart skipped a beat. “Why would you do that?”
“He wants to see them. Maybe you could invite him over—”
She was testing me. I gave her the stink eye.
She grinned. “I’m not lying. Just sayin’. . .”
I fiddled with my camera. She could see I was embarrassed, so she changed the subject. She nudged me in the shoulder. “You always film the Tokers, but you never point that thing at me. I got moves too.”
She posed like a supermodel and I recorded her for a minute, doing my fashion photo talk: “Yeah, baby, make love to the lens.”
She fell down on the grass and we busted up laughing. It was definitely a girlfriend moment. We lay on our stomachs on a low hill and observed the boys waiting to pounce.
“How come we’re the only girls and we’re stuck out here?” I asked.
“Dunno,” she shrugged. “Maybe ‘cause most girls don’t like to fight?”
“How did you get in, then?” I asked.
She frowned. “My brother. He used to be TKO top dawg. He was close with K. One day, my mom told him that he had to watch me. I was twelve. Neither of us wanted to hang with each other, but he took me along with him. And you know how it is, guys love to show off when a girl is around, ‘specially one as fine as me.” She gave me her straightest face. “Why you never laugh when I’m joking?”
“Sorry.”
I peered through my viewfinder and spotted a couple of the boys peeking from between some trees.
“Anyways,” she continued. “I caught K’s eye. He liked me and kinda took me under his wing. My bro didn’t like that and threatened to whup me if I came back. I didn’t know what was up with him, and later I figured it was because he didn’t want K hitting on me. But I wasn’t about to let my brother tell me what to do! I’d already seen what they was doing and told him that I’d be happy to tell momma what he been up to. He let me come back and I been there ever since.”
“You didn’t tell me your brother was here. Which one is he?”
She stewed. “He left.”
“Well, when is he coming back?”
She shrugged. “I mean, he ain’t here no more. He said he outgrew it. To him, it was a stupid thing only kids do.”
I could see she was pissed. “And he doesn’t mind you being here?” I asked.
“He ain’t around to stop me—oh dang, look!”
There was action. I trained my lens on one of the Tokers. He sprinted out of the trees and was quickly on the heels of a biker with the fancy racing clothes you see around. It was like a nature film—a cheetah pursuing his prey. The kid caught up to the biker and swung, but hit the dude’s helmet by accident. The biker freaked and took off, barely escaping the three or four others chasing him. Eventually, they all gave up.
They tried a few more times, failing over and over until finally they just drove some guy into the bushes and attacked him in a frenzy.
It made for a crazy movie. I added some narration from a nature film I downloaded about cheetahs. I did quick cuts and made all the failures dramatic, until the exciting climax when they captured their target.
It was wild.
12
We were on the bus over to Benton Park. The Rec Center had a gym where K and some of the Tokers boxed. It was a rundown brick building left over from another time. Somebody had spray painted a “W” in front of the sign so it read WRec Center. It was like out of some old movie—even had a salty old guy in there with a whistle—your typical hard-fought movie coach who’d seen a million boxing matches. His face was all knots and full of what my mom called “character.” He had a bunch a guys doing exercises with these big heavy leather balls, throwing them at each other and doing squats and stuff. All the while he was walking back and forth blowing his whistle and talking.
“Use your fists in the ring, not the street!”
“Yes, Teacher Man!” they all shouted back like they were in the army.
“Be disciplined in your work and you will be a champion in life and in the ring! Do you doubt me?”
“No, Teacher Man!”
“Do you believe you have the will to succeed?
“Yes, Teacher Man!”
And on and on he went. While he had them doing laps around the gym, he spotted us and wandered over.
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“My Million Dollar Baby!” he said to Destiny. “Where you been hiding yourself? I’ve been waiting for you to get in the ring again and show these boys what it takes!”
She checked her nails. “Nah, I’m retired. Once you KO a cop, you can’t go nowhere but down. I just like to watch now.”
He nodded. “You and me both.” He noticed me and gave me the once-over. “Fresh meat?”
“Her? Nah, she ain’t the punching type. More like a wrestler.” She winked at me.
“You never know . . .” He checked my arm muscles. “You could use some work, but you got heft.” He slapped me on the thigh. “Solid. I like it.”
I gave him the evil eye. “Do that again and you’ll see how much heft I got.”
“That’s the spirit, ladies!” Teacher Man boomed. “Use that attitude in the ring! Join us anytime, darling!”
Destiny shook her head. “We ain’t here to box, old man.”
“No, she’s here to see the champ,” interrupted the Knockout King, who was standing there covered in sweat . . . and yeah, looking more than a little hot.
“Girls are not good for a boxer, Mr. Barnes,” said Teacher Man as he headed back to his guys.
Kalvin shook his head. “Don’t pay him no mind, Fish. Teacher Man is a funny guy. But he watches out for us. Keeps me out of trouble . . . at least as much as he can.”
“Watch out for that one, ladies!” Teacher Man shouted. “He’ll sucker punch you every time.”
Kalvin rolled his eyes. “So, you came to see the King do his thing.”
“You going to get in the ring?” I asked.
“Shoulda been here an hour ago. I flattened one of these clowns like Ali. Float like a butterfly . . .” he danced around, shadowboxing.
“Right,” said Destiny. “You said you had plans for us this afternoon?”
“Yeah, just give me twenty minutes. Wait over in the video room . . . and make sure them shorties ain’t playing no video games.”
The video room was some kind of training spot for screening fight videos. It was clear they didn’t know Kalvin’s instructions because the room had been taken over by six or seven Tokers all playing this game called Splatterhouse. It was the goriest video game I ever saw, filled with blood and ripping people in half and all kinds of unimaginable things. Seeing all these boys playing was a trip. Giggles filled the room whenever someone’s head exploded.