by Otis Hanby
“Knee him in the nuts!” I hear someone yell. I take the advice. Grabbing the black kid by the shoulder, I thrust my knee into his groin. He lets out a groan but remains standing. I drive my knee into his crotch again, but he doesn’t go down. I’m getting tired and weaker by the minute. I can’t understand why this guy won’t fall to the floor. Suddenly, with what seems to be his first interest in the fight, he spins me around and drives my head into the combination dial on one of the lockers. My eyebrow ridge makes contact with the edge of the dial, and I see stars briefly. Then, I feel a hot, sharp pain on the side of my neck. Before I can determine what’s causing the pain, he tries to hit my head into the locker again, but I brace myself and resist the blow. I break free from his grasp, then spin around with my elbow raised and feel it connect with the side of his face. He backs up, hunched over with blood dripping from his mouth. My lungs are burning. I never remember feeling so tired. I stare at him, hoping he’ll be too tired to keep going. Just as I think the fight is over, he charges me, grabbing me around the waist, and ramming his shoulder into my stomach. The force knocks me back, and I slam into the lockers once more. He tries throwing me to the ground, but I keep my feet wide and my body low. I elbow him in the back between the shoulder blades. He holds me tight, and I strike him in the back again with my elbow.
“Hey! Stop that right now!” The coach comes into the locker room.
The black kid lets me go and looks behind him as the coach approaches.
“You two come with me!” he growls.
“Good fight, man!” a kid says as I walk past him.
The coach grabs me by the arm and leads the black kid and me out of the locker room. I look over at Rodney, and he has a proud smirk on his face.
I sit outside the principal’s office next to the door. The black kid sits on the opposite side of the waiting area, staring at me, bouncing his leg up and down. I look to my left through the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching students walk by. Most of the kids ignore us but a few who are more curious look in and stare at us. I feel like an animal on display. I turn my attention from the onlookers and back over to the black kid.
“What the fuck are you looking at? You want some more, Honky?” the black kid snaps at me.
“Alright, enough is enough. You! Corey! Come to my office.” The principal is standing in the doorway. A heavy feeling hits me in the guts. I rise out of my chair and walk into his office.
“Sit down,” the principal says, peering over his glasses. I sit. He’s looking through a file which I assume contains my school records. After a few moments of intimidating silence, he looks up.
“I don’t seem to remember you ever being in my office before. You have a pretty clean record, other than your slipping grades. I don’t tolerate fighting in my school and believe me; this won’t go unpunished. Do you understand what I’m telling you?” the principal asks, still peering over the tops of his glasses.
“Yes sir,” I say weakly.
“I called your parents, and they’re on their way to pick you up from school. You’re getting three days of suspension. If you get into another fight at this school, I will expel you. This school isn’t even in your district. You should be going to South Garland. So, any more incidents and you will have to attend school somewhere else. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes sir,” I respond. That hit me hard. Between my parents picking me up from school, the principal threatening to send me to another school and getting suspended, I’m sure to be in for a lot of grief when I got home.
“You can wait out in the lobby for your parents,” the principal says, dismissing me with a hard look. I exit the office and sit back down in the lobby.
“Cameron, I’ll see you now,” the principal says to the black kid. Cameron stands up. His eyes stay locked with mine until he’s passed me and in the principal’s office.
After a short while, I see my parents through the window. My stomach sinks when I see the disappointment on their faces. My dad opens the door for my stepmom, and they enter. They don’t say a word. I get up and walk out the door. They follow, and I hear the angry punctuation of my stepmom’s high heels hitting the floor. The look my dad gives me makes me wonder if he’s going to whoop me. Fifteen years old seems a little old for spankings, but my dad has been known to give them to my brothers at that age. My stepbrother Ben, no longer living with us, called my stepmom a bitch once when he was sixteen, and my dad beat his ass with a two-by-four. I remember my dad telling Ben never to disrespect “his wife again.” It was the way he said, “his wife” that stuck out in my mind the most like he was separating my stepbrother from the family. Although I hadn’t disrespected my stepmom today, I did pull my parents away from work to come get me out of school. And my dad doesn’t tolerate fighting at all. I once got in trouble when I was seven-years-old for getting beaten up by the neighborhood bully. I couldn’t have done anything to stop it, and he still scolded me and threatened to spank me if it happened again. Today could have been avoided. There’s no way I’ll be justified in his eyes because I was defending a weaker kid from getting bullied.
When we reach the car, I climb in and brace myself for my stepmom to start screaming at me. She’s a screamer. My dad is low key and doesn’t do a lot of yelling. Even though he’s not as vocal, I’m more scared of him than I am of her. Still, I know what to expect, so I settle into the back seat, close the door, and wait for it. My dad starts the car and navigates through the parking lot and onto the street. We drive for about ten minutes in total silence. No yelling, no lecturing. My parents don’t even look back at me. My dad is listening to Paul Harvey on the radio as my stepmom is sitting stoically, face forward. I look down at my shirt and see spots of blood on it. The neckline is stretched out, too. My right knuckle has a gash which I assume came from hitting Cameron in the mouth. And I can smell him on me. It’s a foreign smell that I can’t wait to wash off. The left side of my neck still burns. I look into the rearview mirror to see what stings so bad. I see a perfect bite mark. It’s red and bleeding slightly. The thought of Cameron biting me makes me feel a little sick. I meet my stepmom’s eyes in the rearview mirror, and she asks angrily, “Why did you have to get into a fight at school?”
“That bigger kid was picking on a weaker kid. I couldn’t just sit around and let him bully him. I really did a number on him, though,” I say, thinking that what I did was noble.
My dad finally speaks up. “You do not fight under any circumstances. You were not raised to fight. I’m very disappointed in you. You should know better.” He’s using a deep, strong voice. The kind of voice where you know you’re in deep shit.
“I’m sorry.” I know that nothing I say will justify the fight in my dad’s eyes.
We return to silence for the rest of the drive home. I know I’m still going to get punished, but I don’t want to encourage them by asking about it. It remains quiet until my dad pulls into our driveway.
“Your mom and I are going back to work. We’ll talk to you later and let you know what your punishment will be,” my dad says.
“In the meantime, you will clean the whole house till it’s spotless before we get home tonight. Do you understand?” my stepmom adds.
“Yes.”
“Yes what?” my dad asks.
“Yes ma’am,” I reply.
I get out of the car and go inside. My brother Will is in the kitchen getting a beer from the fridge.
“What happened to you?” he asks.
“I got into a fight at school.”
“You look like shit. Who won?”
“I did. I didn’t knock him out or anything, but I kicked his ass even though he’s bigger and older than me.”
“Is that a bite mark on your neck?” Will asks, looking stunned.
“Yeah, the son-of-a-bitch bit me. That’s about the only thing he did to me.”
“I bet mom is pissed. I’m glad I’m not you,” he says, smirking and shaking his head.
In my room, I strip dow
n to my boxer shorts. I carry myself tiredly to the shower. As I wash, I can still smell Cameron on me. I scrub hard until I’m red and raw. After I towel myself dry, I put on a clean pair of boxers and lie down in my bed.
I wake up to the doorbell ringing. I get up, pulling on my Levi’s, and walk to the front door and see Rodney’s standing in the door, grinning, with several people behind him.
“Come on in,” I say, wondering why there’s such a crowd.
Rodney comes in, followed by Leann, Marcy, Erica, Greg, Tyler, Chad, and Darren. I’m especially surprised to see them because they all live across town.
“Can I use your phone?” Darren asks, breezing past. “I gotta call Brigette.”
“Sure,” I respond. I can understand him wanting to take advantage of a visit while he’s in the neighborhood.
Darren heads into the kitchen where the phone is. Everyone else finds a seat around the living room. Erica seems to have strategically placed herself between Leann and Marcy so that I can’t sit with her. I don’t understand why she’s being so standoffish, but I try not to let it show that it bothers me.
“Man, you beat up that big nigger? I heard you whooped his ass really good. Rodney told us all about it,” Chad says, excited.
“I guess. Look, that motherfucker bit me.”
“Gross. You might want to get a rabies shot after that monkey bit you,” Tyler says jokingly.
“Yeah, I had a hard time getting that nigger smell off of me,” I say, wondering how we all got to be so racist. It doesn’t feel right, but I don’t want to lose face in front of my friends when they all seem so proud of me. I look over at Erica. When my eyes meet hers, she turns her head and starts talking to Marcy.
“I’m gonna split and go see Brigette before her mom gets home,” Darren says, emerging from the kitchen.
“Alright. Thanks for coming by,” I say. I was hoping for a little praise from Darren for beating up a bully, but he walks off without saying anything. I’m guessing it’s because nobody made a big deal about his fight, but I don’t know. Darren isn’t easily impressed.
The girls get up and go into my room. None of them look at me. I brush it off and sit down where they were.
“Greg! Come in here for a minute!” Marcy yells from my room. Greg looks up from the rubber band he is stretching in his hands. He gets up, pulling on his baggy pants, and goes into my room. I strain to hear them talking, but I can’t catch anything. Chad and Tyler are talking about a fight from their middle school years. Rodney’s sitting in my dad’s chair with the remote, flipping through channels. I turn my head again when I see Greg walking out of my room. He pauses, looks back into the room, and says, “No.”
I give him a puzzled look. He turns and walks back to where I am, holding his baggy pants up as if they might fall off at any second. He sits down next to me and pulls an earring out of his pocket.
“What are they doing in there?” I ask Greg as he tries to put the earring in his ear.
“Nothing. They’re just being silly.”
I watch as he struggles with the earring.
“I didn’t know you had your ear pierced.”
“I don’t. I’m trying to pierce it now. Do you have a safety pin?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
I get up and walk to the kitchen. I open the odds and ends drawer and find a large safety pin. I take it back to Greg.
“Here you go,” I say, handing him the pin.
“Thanks.” I watch as he pushes it through his earlobe. A small amount of blood trickles down his ear.
“You’re crazy,” I say, meaning it.
“Let’s go skate?” Rodney says to me looking away from the TV.
“No, I better not. I still have to clean the house before my mom and dad get home.”
“Have it your way. I guess we’re gonna go.” Rodney gets up.
I walk to my bedroom and peek in.
“I think everyone is leaving,” I say to the girls.
“Alright,” Leann says, and the girls get up from sitting on my bed.
Leann and Marcy walk past me and say bye. As Erica is walking out, I gently grab her wrist.
“Let me talk to you for a minute,” I say.
“About what?” she asks, trying to act as if nothing’s wrong.
“I just want to ask you something,” I say, pulling her into my room.
“What? Everyone’s leaving.”
“What’s wrong with you? You’re acting like I’m invisible.”
“Nothing’s wrong,” she says. She’s hiding something.
“You’re acting strange around me. I just want to know why.”
“No reason. I have to go,” she says and tries to walk out of the bedroom. I’m still holding onto her wrist, and I give it a slight tug.
“Can I at least get a hug?” I ask.
She reluctantly hugs me, leaning her shoulder into me to avoid getting too close. I quickly let her go. Her eyes meet mine, and she seems to be trembling. I give her a beseeching look, but she breaks eye contact and exits the room. I hear the front door slam, and I stand motionless in my doorway. I stare at the wall trying to suspend the dark feeling I know will grab hold of me any minute now. I hear the familiar exhaust system of Rodney’s and Chad’s cars pulling away. As I sit on my bed, the dreaded darkness fills my heart. I sit for a long time with my elbows on my knees looking down at the floor.
I stay like this for a long time because when I look up, I notice it’s getting dark outside. My parents will be home soon, and I haven’t even started cleaning the house. Reluctantly I get up and head for the kitchen to start with the dishes. I clean with an absent kind of feeling. My mind isn’t on the chores I’m doing. It seems to be elsewhere. While I’m cleaning, I hear my dad and stepmom come in, but I don’t look at them. I keep cleaning. They go straight to their room. I’m glad, not having to confront them. As my mind wanders, I fall deeper into depression. Then I grow angry. I have a feeling of wanting to be evil. I want to hurt someone or break something. My frustration is mounting. I finish my cleaning and throw the washcloth in the sink, and go to my room and put my shirt and jacket on. I go outside and sit on my front porch and light a cigarette. As I smoke, I begin to feel numb. I can’t focus on anything.
My mind keeps drifting back to Erica and her weird behavior. I can’t figure out where things went wrong. I’m hoping that it’s just a phase and that things will go back to normal, but I’m not convinced. The dark feeling swells in my chest. I sniff and feel a tear slide down my cheek, and hadn’t realized that I was crying. I feel empty, estranged. The things that have always been near to my heart feel like they are slipping away. I’ve never thought of suicide before, but here I am, pretty close to entertaining the idea. I snuff out my cigarette on the ground and throw the butt into the bushes. I get up and wipe my face with my sleeve. I go inside, lie down on my bed, and stare at the ceiling, feeling empty and angry. Harder things are yet to come. I sense it just as sure as I feel the bed beneath me.
Chapter Twelve
The next morning, I wake up late. I look at my alarm clock and see that it’s 11:00 and reluctantly get out of bed. It feels strange to be home on a school day. I eat breakfast, watch MTV, and mess with my dad’s computer. The day moves slowly. I’m looking for something to eat when the phone rings.
“Hello?” I say, picking up the phone.
“Hey, Corey, what’s up?”
“Nothing. What’s going on at school?” I ask, recognizing Tyler’s voice.
“Not a lot. I called because I’m supposed to tell you something.”
“Alright. What’s up?” There’s a long pause as I wait for Tyler to say something.
“I can’t do it. You tell him,” I hear him saying on the other end.
“Corey?” I recognize Erica’s voice.
“Yeah.”
“I’m breaking up with you.”
“Yeah, I know.” I hang up the phone without saying goodbye. I knew this was coming. I’m not surprise
d, but I’m hurt. And why would Tyler, of all people, be calling to tell me? Why would Erica put him up to that? I guess it doesn’t matter. The result is the same. I go to my room and lie down, and I want to cry. I want to scream! But something is suppressing these feelings, and I feel numb again. Maybe it’s a sense of disbelief. Even though I sensed the breakup coming, it doesn’t feel real. Things were great until now. I don’t know what happened or why I can’t allow myself to hurt. My chest feels heavy with loss. I suck in a deep breath, trying to lift the weight. Now I begin to feel the pain. All at once, the hurt floods in. Suddenly I understand what having a broken heart is. It feels like a hole deep in my chest where my heart is supposed to connect with my soul. I tremble and feel cold. And now I do cry. I bury my face into my pillow and cry in such a way that I never have before. I feel I could cry a river of tears.
***
Later that night my stepmom comes into my room. She starts right in. “Alright, this is going to be your punishment. You are going to sit at this desk. You are going to do homework. As soon as you get home from school, you sit here. You do nothing but schoolwork. You get up to eat dinner when I say you can. You go to the bathroom when I say you can. Your grades are terrible. You might even flunk out of school. You are going to be punished like this until you are passing every class. Do you understand me?”
I look at her, dumbfounded. What the hell is this? There’s no way I’m going to sit at that desk all evening, every day. This is bullshit!
“Did you hear me? Do you understand your punishment?” she asks me with heightened anger. I just stare at her. I look at her with pure hate. At that moment I think I’m capable of more than just hate. She’s matching my stare with ice. Her eyes are like daggers, but I stand my ground.