by Otis Hanby
“How long are you in town for?” Lisa asks me.
“A week or two.”
“You should come over sometime and hang out.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Cool. Well, I’m gonna go now. I’m expecting a call from my ex-boyfriend. But seriously, give me a call. I’d like to see you again.”
“I will. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Bye,” Lisa says and hangs up the phone.
I place the receiver back onto the cradle and stare at it in the dark for a long time. I’m mad about Chance being such a dick. I hope that I see him again so I can beat his ass. I think about Erica again, too. I stare at the phone, wanting to pick it up and dial her number. I want to talk some sense into her. I want to tell her that she’s made a mistake. In my mind, I reach for the phone and dial her number, but I can’t get my body to cooperate with my thoughts. I wonder how long this pain is going to last. A couple of months have passed, and it’s still just as fresh as it was before I moved to Jack’s. Being isolated out there in the country, while my mind wanders and reflects, the hurt and pain surface, intensify, and I feel like my insides are being eaten away.
I thought being back in Garland would help, but nothing feels the same. It’s like I’ve exhausted my welcome in just one day. Somewhere from the depths, the darkness within me is making it clear that I am not welcomed here in Garland anymore. Then there’s the separation between my family and me. I feel like I don’t even have a family anymore and I’m entirely on my own. I feel unwanted at Jack’s, too, like I’m intruding on their family. I reason to myself it’s just a place stay for the moment before I move onto the next unknown. My friendship with Rodney seems like it has dwindled and might be dying.
On top of everything, I lost Erica. In the weeks before I ran away from home, that growing darkness within me seemed to set all this into motion. On top of that, the darkness never left. It’s on me now with more weight than ever. Maybe coming back to Garland is the worst thing I could have done. This is where the darkness found me and seems to find its strength.
I look from the phone to my dad getting up from his chair. He turns off the TV and walks off towards his room without even looking at me. My stepmom has already gone to bed. No one even said goodnight. I might as well be invisible. What difference would it make if I had not come back here? I’m starting to believe that no one really gives a damn. I use to thrive on being alone. Like being isolated was a safe place for me. I wanted to be left alone, and now I am alone. Perhaps I’m just melancholy by nature. Do I push people away because I feel they intrude into my space? Is that why I chose to make friends with misfits?
I get up from the kitchen table and go outside, and sit on the front porch and light a cigarette. The night has grown foggy. I look up at the street lamp as it fights to penetrate the fog. The fog is winning. I feel like my soul is fighting the same battle. The darkness around me is a fog, and my soul is a fading light trying its best to shine through.
Chapter Seventeen
Life is tricky. Especially if the only direction you know to go in is the road leading to detachment. As the days wear on, I become less concerned with anything in the physical world, burrowing deeper within myself. I exist for the sake of existing. I don’t consider myself a horrible person. I agree that I ended up in some peculiar situations and that I try to hold on to what I can no longer have. Therefore, I continue to look inward. The sequence of events in my life affirms my desire to push deeper within myself. I think on these things as music emanates from Rodney’s car radio. I take a long drag off of my cigarette, slumping in my seat and letting the words sung by ‘Social Distortion’ fill my ears. The words project an image of the future in my mind. I would never claim to be a psychic, but I see only heartache and disappointment down the road of life. The lyrics of the song ring true. I look at Rodney from the back seat wondering where I land on his list of friends. His newer friend Chuck is riding shotgun for the second day in a row. I guess being gone as long as I have been, I’ve forfeited the right to claim the front seat. It’s just one more thing to remind me of how insignificant I have become.
Rodney said earlier on the phone that he wanted to skate for a little bit. Maybe hanging out the other day reminded him that we were closer once, and perhaps that triggered a spark in him to do something we use to do together as friends. Although this may be his intention, I know he’ll never share it with me. I have to make assumptions about what’s going through his head, just as I’ve done as long as I’ve known him.
“Hey, remember that black kid you beat up right before you got kicked out of school?” Rodney asks, looking at me from the rearview mirror.
“Yeah.”
“Did you know that he was in a gang?”
“No.”
“He said he could use a guy like you in his crew because you’re a good fighter. Isn’t that crazy?”
“Yeah, considering my skin isn’t black.”
“He was just impressed how you kicked his ass,” Chuck chimes in.
“No shit,” I say, dragging off of the last of my cigarette. “Are you two hanging out with that piece of shit or something?”
“No, he’s in our P.E. class, dumbass. You can’t help but run into him. Maybe you scared him, though. Him and his friends leave us alone. He’s not all buddy-buddy or anything, but there’s definitely respect there,” Rodney says.
“I wish I could have seen that fight. People at school talked about it for a week or more,” Chuck finishes.
Rodney pulls off the street and drives behind a convenience store in a shopping plaza. He parks next to a block wall, and we get out of the car. Rodney opens the trunk, and we get our skateboards out. Chuck doesn’t skate, so he takes a seat on a curb and lights a cigarette. Rodney and I are at the bottom of an incline that leads to a drainage area behind the plaza. The incline is a little steep, creating a ramp-like transition. Rodney and I have skated at this place hundreds of times.
Rodney begins riding his skateboard up the transition and does a massive ollie-grab onto the sidewalk. I feel excited for the first time today.
I skate up the incline and ollie, turn 180 degrees, and roll back down the grade. I continue going toward the block wall where Rodney’s car is parked. I reach out with my arms to the block wall and come to a stop. I see movement out of the corner of my eye and glance over my left shoulder. Four Hispanic kids are walking towards me dressed like thugs. Not wasting a minute, I push off the wall and roll in the direction of Chuck.
“Hey, we got company,” I whisper to Chuck.
Rodney doesn’t hear me, but I see him eyeing them out of the corner of his eye. The Hispanic kids are right by Rodney’s car now. Chuck stands up waiting to react. I kick the tail of my skateboard and catch it in my hand. Rodney turns around, keeping one foot on his skateboard and one foot on the ground. Rodney’s about ten feet away from me on the left. I glance at Chuck on my right and see that he’s tense. The Hispanic kids round the tail end of Rodney’s car and continue to walk directly at us. The kid in the front of the group has his head tilted back with a thin cocky smile. He has his hands in the pockets of his trench coat, and I notice a teardrop tattoo in the corner of his left eye.
“Eh look, homies. Skaters,” the lead one says, and the other kids laugh. He looks directly at me, losing his smile, and says, “Who said you could skate your toys in our neighborhood?”
I don’t answer. I stare at him, trying to think of a way out of this.
“I’m talking to you, motherfucker. Are you gonna answer me or stand there looking like a little bitch?” he asks, taking a step closer.
One of his friends on the left laughs. He has a bandana tied around his head almost covering his eyes.
“We don’t want any trouble. We didn’t know this was your turf. We’ll just leave.” I’m hoping there’s still a chance to diffuse the situation.
“It’s not that easy, holmes. You’re already here. You gotta give me something, eh. What do you got th
at you can give me?”
“Make him bleed!” one of his friends says behind him that I can’t see. I look around for any sign of help from Rodney or Chad, but they’re standing their ground, waiting to see what’s going to happen next.
Since we’re obscured in the alley, the chances are slim that anyone will see us back here and help us.
“What’s that you got around your neck, ese? That’s kind of pretty. Look at this puto with the butterfly necklace. My girlfriend would like that shit,” the leader says, leaning into me and lifting the necklace with his fingers.
I stiffen. I half expect him to sucker-punch me. I can smell alcohol on his breath. It’s sour and musty, and I feel sick.
“Take it off, faggot!” the leader says, letting go of the necklace but not backing away.
I feel anger rise in me. I’m not taking off the necklace, and I sure as fuck don’t want to give it to this piece of shit, no matter if we’re in his hood or not. The necklace is sentimental to me. It carries the memories of better times, especially the time I shared with Erica. There’s no way in hell I’m giving him the necklace.
“Are you deaf, motherfucker? I said give me the fucking necklace!” the leader shouts, laced with cruelness.
“I don’t think that I can do that.”
“What? What the fuck did you just say? Do you want to die?”
“You’re not getting this necklace,” I say, feeling more determined than I’ve ever felt about anything in my life.
The leader pulls his right hand out from his trench coat, and I hear a clicking noise. I see a switchblade knife in his hand. He holds the blade low.
“Then I guess I’m going to have to cut it off your fucking neck!” he says, motioning towards me.
Panic runs through me, but it only lasts for a fraction of a second. My adrenaline begins pumping and my eyes narrow on the thug holding the knife. Instinctively, I tighten my grip on my skateboard and swing it at the leader’s head with lightning speed. I feel the skateboard connect with his face. The dull thud of the connection sickens me slightly but does not deter me from protecting myself. He falls to the ground holding his face. Blood is already washing over his hands. I don’t take pity on him but grow angrier. I hit him again in the head as he covers his face. He’s crying out “stop!” now. He sounds like a baby to me. I hit him again and again. One of his friends moves toward me. I don’t know if he’s going to try and stop me or assault me, but I hit him with my skateboard across the face, and he falls back, covering his head. I hit the leader again with my board. I realize that he’s no longer moving. I see his friends running off in shock. The second one I hit gets up and runs off too. I hit the leader on the ground again. This time his arms aren’t shielding his face. I see his forehead split open and fresh blood pouring onto the concrete. I start to swing at him again when I feel strong arms wrap around my waist, picking me up. My ribs feel like they’re being crushed.
“Stop, it’s over! It’s over!” I recognize Chuck’s voice shouting in my ear.
I feel tears roll down my cheeks. I hadn’t realized I was crying. My breath is labored, and adrenaline is still pumping through my body. I feel crazed with energy.
“Fuck you! I’ll fucking kill you! I swear I’ll fucking kill you!” I shout to the motionless body on the ground.
Rodney has the car door already open and the front seat forward. Chuck throws me into the back seat. Rodney and Chuck jump in, and the car roars to life.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here before the cops show up!” Chuck yells as Rodney spins his back wheels on the pavement. Through tear-soaked eyes, I look back at the still body lying on the ground as we speed away.
Ten minutes later I’m sitting on the top of a picnic table in Bradfield Park smoking a cigarette. Chuck is straddling the bench facing me. Rodney’s throwing pecans at the flat metal slide in the playground area. The bloody face of the thug I just beat up with my skateboard will not leave my mind. I keep seeing the big gash in his forehead and all the blood flowing from it. The thought that I might have killed him enters my mind. It makes me sick to my stomach. But it was self-defense, even if it was a bit excessive. What was I supposed to do? He had a knife, and I knew that if I didn’t do something, he was going to cut me up. I feel a moral responsibility to go to the police, but going to the cops would just make things worse for me, and things are already pretty bad. I’m in Garland visiting my friends as a reward for improving my grades and staying out of trouble. If my parents find out I’ve been in a fight, self-defense or not, that’ll be it for me. I’ll never come back here. Besides, what if I did kill the guy? What if the cops come looking for me? I can’t go to jail. I start panicking. I want to talk through what happened, but I decide to keep my mouth shut. I know Rodney and Chuck will want to keep it quiet as well. Nothing good could come from involving the cops.
I came to Bradfield Park a lot as a kid. My memory isn’t very clear, but I do remember there’s a creek that runs behind the trees at the northeast side of the park. It’s like another world back there. I lost a shoe in the gray mud one time when my foot sunk into it. My foot and sock came up out of the mud leaving my shoe forever buried. I also have a vague memory of my birth mother, before my dad and her divorced, losing a ring in the same gray mud by the creek. Every time I went to the park when I was younger, I would look for the ring, hoping by chance that I would find it. I try to focus my mind on that memory instead of the incident with the gangster.
The breeze is biting. I’m shaking, but more from fear than the cold. Rodney, Chuck, and I have been at the park for more than twenty minutes. I’m still in shock and wait for someone to say something, but it remains quiet. Rodney looks bored. It’s like what just happened doesn’t even bother him. Chuck seems shaken, but I can tell he’s trying to conceal his nervousness.
“You fucked that dude up pretty bad,” Chuck says, sounding nervous.
“Yeah, do you think he’ll be alright?” I ask.
“Who gives a fuck?” he says, suddenly animated. “That motherfucker could have killed you. His little gang could have jumped us, too, had you not acted so quickly. You saved us, man. You did the right thing. I heard you were a badass in school, but I didn’t know you were ruthless.”
“I ain’t no badass. You would have done the same thing.”
“Yeah, but most wouldn’t. Most would have hesitated and got themselves hurt or killed. You did what needed to be done.”
“What if I killed that dude?” I ask again.
Rodney walks over from where he’s picking up pecans and says, “Who cares if you did? He was a scumbag. You probably did this city a favor by removing that piece of shit from the planet.”
I don’t feel right. I feel shame over having done something so brutal. I remember the anger and hate pouring from my heart as I hurt that kid. The way I couldn’t stop. The shame seems to be feeding the darkness growing within me. My heart feels like it’s dropped out of my chest, leaving a hollow space. My emptiness is expanding, and the darkness takes over. I try to stand because I’m tired of sitting and worrying, but my legs are too weak. I take another cigarette from my pack and put it to my lips with shaking hands. Chuck leans over and lights my cigarette for me as I fumble for my lighter.
“Look. This never happened, okay?” Rodney says irritably. “Those assholes aren’t going to the cops about this. If anything, they’ll try to get revenge. But this is Garland. Garland is one big fucking place. None of us live anywhere near that neighborhood. Besides, you’re going to go back to the country in a little while, right? This will be old news in no time. No one is going to make a big deal about a gangster getting beat down. He’ll probably just have a big scar from what happened today. A good reminder not to go fucking with people if you ask me.”
I don’t answer. I just continue smoking my cigarette. I suddenly hear a siren coming from the street running by the park. I look to the road and see a cop car passing with the emergency lights flashing. My blood turns cold as I watch i
t pass. The cop car keeps going down the road and eventually disappears. I’m so frazzled that I half expect the cop car to turn around and come after me.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say, feeling strong enough to stand.
“Where to?” Rodney asks.
“Let’s go by Erica’s house.”
“Why do you want to see her?”
“Let’s just go,” I say flatly.
“Alright.” Rodney gives in for the first time that I can remember.
Chapter Eighteen
Rodney pulls up in front of a house, but it isn’t the house I remembered.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“Erica’s mom moved a few weeks ago.”
“Oh,” I say. I’m seriously out of the loop.
We all get out of the car and approach her front door. Rodney and Chuck hang back a little. I feel nervous and short of breath. I wonder if I can bring myself to knock on the door. My legs begin to tremble. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all. I’m still standing here doing nothing when Rodney steps past me and knocks loudly on the door. My heart sinks for the second time today. Several seconds go by and then I hear a female laugh coming from the other side of the door. The doorknob turns, and a girl I’ve never seen before opens the door.