School didn't go well that week. First thing Monday morning, no more than a minute after leaving Cholito, a fat sixth grader, a head taller than me, damn near knocked me down from blabbing with his friends and not looking where he was going. Then, instead of 'excuse me' or 'sorry', he says, 'Watch where you're going, punk!' I kicked him hard in the balls then punched him flat in the nose when he doubled over. One of his friends tried to push me away so I gave him two shots in the mouth and a kick to the shin before a teacher grabbed me by the belt and dragged me to the counselor's office. Miss Peters told me to bring my mother in the next morning. Then Mr. Martinson gave us tests in English, arithmetic and history. Even though they were a lot higher than usual, the best mark I got on any of the tests was 77 in arithmetic. I failed most. The ones of us who failed were supposed to have our mothers sign the tests and bring them back to the class the next day. Mr. Martinson told me not to worry, that I had improved considerably. He didn't know my mother.
I wasn't in the mood to get hit that night so I went to my grandmother's and asked her to sign and come to school with me in the morning. I told her the boy deliberately tripped me and I was just defending myself. On the tests, I lied again and said the teacher never explained anything so a guy could understand it and that most of the kids got marks like mine. She signed and said she'd go to school but if I were lying, she would tell my mother. I knew she wouldn't do that.
The counselor had the sixth grader come and tell my grandmother his side of the story. Naturally, he blamed it all on me. I kept calling him a liar. When no one was looking at him, he gave me the finger and a nasty smile. Then Miss Peters brought in three more kids including the other one I hit. It made me feel better to see his lip was all puffy. All three boys backed the fat kid's story.
'They're all his friends! They're all fucking liars!' I shouted finally, close to crying out of frustration. My religious grandmother hadn't heard me curse for years. She looked at me like I had shit on my face. Without a word, she got up and left, leaving me to face all of them alone. I didn't get a chance to give my teacher the tests. I was taken home by the counselor, suspended for three days. Lucky for me, mother had already left for work.
All I could think about that day was getting back at the snitch sixth grader. I wanted to find out where he lived so I could beat him bloody. I concentrated on revenge instead of the fear of what was going to happen when my mother found out.
My grandmother wouldn't let me in when I tried to talk to her. She just walked away from the closed door when I answered it was me. I wanted to kick the door in but something deep inside wouldn't let me do anything against her. She was the one person I felt really did love me. It made me feel horrible that I had done something that upset her so much that she wouldn't talk to me. Although I was unfamiliar with the concept of an apology other than to reject it generally as something I just didn't do, that idea crept into my mind briefly before I walked away from her apartment.
On the street, I went to Times Square but there was no one there interested in me other than some bum who tried to hustle a dime.
At two thirty, I was waiting down the street from the school for Cholito. The fat kid came first and gave me the finger again. He and his friends laughed. That was too much to bear. Knowing I couldn't take him and his friends together, I followed at a distance hoping to catch him alone or with just one other kid. I knew this was going to be a problem but I just couldn't allow anybody to fuck over me like I felt he'd done. I was under the control of my boiling emotions.
He lived all the way up on Fifty-Third Street halfway down the block toward Eighth Avenue. He'd been alone since Forty-Ninth but there were too many people on the Avenue to do anything there. I couldn't understand why a kid came all the way down to Forty-Eighth when there was a school right on his block.
Once on Fifty-Third, I took off, running quietly as possible in my sneakers. I jumped him just as he reached his stoop. I went berserk, swinging, kicking and cussing. He went down to the sidewalk, folded up like a broken table, arms covering his head, screaming for help. I was still kicking him in the ribs when the building super ran up and snatched me off the ground like a half empty trash bag. He held me at arms length, my arms still swinging, legs still kicking.
'Be cool boy,' he shouted, or I'll bust you up side your head.' He was huge, black and looking at me like he meant it. I went limp. He put me on the stoop, one great hand gripping my arm, while he reached for the quivering boy curled up on the sidewalk. The kid was too much to lift with one hand. He released me just long enough for escape. Dodging around them both, I managed a quick kick to the downed boy's head.
I ran like a halfback for Ninth Avenue, dodging people and cars. The super made no attempt at pursuit. Fast as I was, he'd never have caught me anyhow.
Finally inside my basement hideout, angry and scared, I tried to figure out how to handle all this without my mother finding out. A lot depended on whether my grandmother would tell on me, something she'd never done before. But what I didn't count on, and didn't recognize even when I saw the badges in my hallway, was that the fat kid's parents would call the cops. I walked right past them as they were looking for my apartment. One of them knew me and grabbed me.
'I thought so, it's Hoolihan's bastard,' he told his partner while holding firmly onto my arm.
'What'd I do?' got me a laugh and 'Nothin', kid, you din't do nothin'.'
The whole matter was transferred to the Midtown North precinct house on Fifty-Fourth Street.
When my mother arrived, they had me cuffed to a large wooden bench. I'd been left earlier at a cop's desk but tried to walk out. The super, the fat kid and his parents had given their statements and left. The sixth grader had both a mother and a father. His father wore a suit and tie. He only looked at me once and shook his head. I mouthed 'fuck you'.
Sitting on the bench, I groused over the injustice of what was happening to me. It wasn't fair that a big white boy like that could push me around and call me names. It wasn't fair that he had a father in a suit that thought he was better than me. He even had a better super than mine. Mine would have just watched us fight and told the cops he didn't see a thing. How come this shit was always happening to me?
Mother signed some papers and they uncuffed me. I was to go to juvenile court the morning of Wednesday, March 23rd. My mother held onto the sleeve of my coat and led me out. 'Don't you say a fucking word, boy, or I'll beat your fucking ass right here on the fucking street,' she whispered harshly into my ear as we walked out the door and onto the sidewalk.
I was resigned and determined to let her do whatever she wanted. I wasn't going to fight back or run or anything. Fuck it all. She couldn't beat on me forever. She couldn't keep me in the house forever. Never say never. Nothing is forever. Fuck them all.
There was no beating, just, 'Now, you fucking little pain in the ass,' she said in English, `you gonna be outta my life. They gonna lock you up in the reform school. How you like that?'
I didn't say a word. Let them lock me up. They couldn't keep me forever. They couldn't keep me for five minutes. I'd escape. Fuck it; I wasn't even going to go to court. Fuck them all!
I curled up on my bed, still in my coat and tried not to cry. Bit by bit, my bravado dissipated. Fear crept in. Where was I going to run? Grandmother wouldn't talk to me. Anyway, they'd find me there easy. There weren't any kids who'd let me stay with them. Cholito's mother would want to talk to my mother. Georgie wasn't really my friend.
I thought about John and the misery, the hopelessness he felt. Was that my fate?
Mother fed the girls without calling me. Delia brought me cold beans and rice and grape Kool-Aid then left me alone. After a while, I went to the window and looked out at the night. Were there other planets out there where kids all had nice houses like the sixth grader, with a father who wore a suit and tie, and looked after him?
Delia and my little sister came to bed and were asleep long before I could get my eyes to close.
When, in the morning, I told my mother that I was suspended, she said mostly in Spanish, 'Good, you can clean up the house, and I mean the whole fucking house. And wash your fucking socks and your fucking underwear.'
By that time, I was so cowed by fear of what was coming that I did just that. First, I washed the dishes, dried them and put them away. Then I cleaned up the sink and mopped the kitchen area linoleum, scrubbing some dirty patches that wouldn't succumb to the mop. I striped off my clothes and washed all three sets of underwear, then Delia's and my little sister's, putting them on radiators all around the apartment to dry. Still buck naked, I swept the whole house even the hallway outside the apartment all the way to the stairs. I made rice and beans for lunch, adding sugar to make it more palatable. Then I went about straightening things, making beds, folding clothes and putting them in their boxes. Finally I took a bath and put on my clean, now dry clothes, even undershirt and underpants, the first time I'd done so in weeks. It felt good, like they were new.
'Jesus,' said Brenda after school when she saw what I'd done. `I'm gonna call the cops on you every day if this is what it makes you do.'
Delia tried to console me that mother wouldn't let them put me away, that she'd just been mad the night before. `But you better be real good for a while.'
The second day of suspension began like the first with me cleaning the kitchen, my underwear and socks from the previous day and most of the house. The level of terror was diminishing. After a shower, I put on fresh clothes, dug out some money I had stashed inside the folded bottom of a box in the closet and went down to near Forty-Fifth for a half sub, Seven Up and Jelly Krimpets.
Off and on all morning, I'd been thinking about asking my biological father to use his connections to get me out of having to go to juvenile court. I walked over to Tenth Avenue and checked out the places he hung in most. Everybody expected him but didn't know when. I finally found him on Forty-Sixth at a friend's house. He was in the kitchen drinking beer. He seemed happy to see me. After letting him muss my hair and poke me in the ribs a couple of times, I told him some of what had happened and the upcoming court date.
'Don't worry about no fight. Don't nobody get jailed for a fight. And this is your first time. It was just a fight.'
I admitted going after the boy in front of his house and told him about the super.
'Jesus, Junior. That's gotta be Big Marvin. He used to be one hell of a boxer, didn't he, Pat.' His friend nodded seriously. 'Got some kind of head injury or he'd a gone places. You're lucky he didn't break you in two.'
'Can't you just call one a your connections and fix it so's I don't have to go to no court?'
'Junior, you only use connections when you got to. This ain't no big deal. You ain't got nothing to worry about. They're just gonna try to scare you. Just be nice, you know, yes sir, no sir and other'n that, keep your yap shut and ain't nothin' gonna happen.'
He got me a cold beer. I drank a little but was concerned mother would smell it and get pissed off again. She'd been happy about the house the night before. I didn't want any problems getting out Saturday to meet Bill.
Thursday, I tried my grandmother's again. She let me in and I told her I was sorry for saying bad words in front of her. It's the first time I remember ever apologizing to anyone. She hugged me tightly and had me watch TV while she fixed dinner for grandpa and me. I wished I could stay with her but knew grandpa didn't like us visiting much less staying overnight. I wished the nigger motherfucker would run off like the rest of our fathers.
Friday morning, I went back to school, Cholito at my side, unsure how to react if Oscar Ostrowski got in my face. I didn't want any problems to complicate my already precarious situation. Oscar was nowhere to be seen.
The school day was uneventful except that my teacher kept me after to help with my studies, and to talk to me about what had happened. He dismissed Cholito and told him he'd see him Tuesday. Mr. Martinson pulled me close and spoke softly.
`Ray, you're a bright boy with lots of talents. You draw nicely and you are an excellent athlete. But these are just talents, benefits some of us have because we were born with them. You need to develop your talents and gifts. That means studying so you can use your brains. And practice and play fair to be a good athlete everyone will want on their team.
`You think you have enemies and, right now, you probably do. But nobody started out to be your enemy. You had to give them a reason.'
Words of defense welled inside me but didn't get out. Mr. Martinson gave me an extended embrace. I sighed and made sure no one was watching us. If there had been, I'd have had to push his arm off.
'Look at Cholito. How many enemies does he have? I don't think he's ever been in trouble. That's mostly because he doesn't get all excited and angry over little things. Okay, that boy ran into you. Most kids would have maybe given him a shove or a dirty look but that would have been the end to it.'
'He called me names and he was laughing. I'm s'posed to let him do that?'
'Well, look at what's happened because you didn't. What's worse, getting your pride hurt a little or getting suspended and taken to the police station?'
'He still ain't s'posed to be calling me names.' I actually saw some of his logic but I was macho and had to defend.
He continued talking about my future and how great it could be if I'd learn to control myself. 'Sometimes our worst enemy is ourselves.' He muttered something about somebody named Pogo and got out the math test I'd failed. He showed me the easy answers to most of the problems I had messed up. I walked away feeling smarter, at least in math.
What did stick with me in a negative way was the bit about me being my own enemy. How could I be my own enemy? Well...
Cholito was visibly upset when I said we couldn't meet Saturday but brightened when I promised Sunday morning.