The Old Neighborhood (17 page)

“He started some shit now,” Angel said, wincing as he leaned over at the waist and gripped his Dickeys at the knees.

“Man, naw. We're cool,” Ryan said, rising calmly. He heaved a deep breath. “But we might have to move on your brother now.”

“Man, what the fuck?” I spun on Ryan. A trembling shiver rushed through my arms. “Fuck that.” I shoved him in his sternum.

He pushed me back. Angel dove between us and pressed either hand into our swelled chests. I craned my neck over Angel and glared at Ryan.

“That's my fucking brother, man!”

“Look, Monteff is Crew!” Ryan demanded. “Crew comes first. Next time I see your brother, I'ma give him a mouth shot!”

“Man, you're fucking crazy… That's my fuckin' brother,” I said, knocking Angel's hand away. I reached out to grab Ryan by the throat.

“Look, just chill, alright,” Angel pleaded. He caught his balance and shoved me hard. “We'll see what happens tomorrow, alright?” He looked me in the eyes.

“That's my fuckin' brother, Ryan… My fuckin' brother.”

“Whatever, man…” Ryan frowned. “Whatever.” He flapped his hand at me as he spun, and then he walked away towards the north—to the darkness of those blocks.

Angel walked with me. We crossed Hollywood and turned down the alley we shared—it was empty, dead. The stale-yellow light glimmered off the cracked-up concrete. The garages loomed and seemed to lean out over the alley and leer down at us in quiet judgment. We stopped out behind my garage.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do, man?” I sighed.

“Shit, man. I don't know.” Angel shook his head and glanced away. “Man... I don't fucking know.”

“Fuck.” I raised both hands to my head, then I squatted down on my hams and closed my eyes

“Your brother's too old for that shit. You said he's moving out de neighborhood, right?”

I opened my eyes and looked up at Angel. He stood with his arms folded over his stomach. “Yeah, but not soon or anything.”

“Look,” Angel said as he slid his hands onto his hips, “I bet this shit blows over.” He looked up the alley.

“I hope so, man.” I stood up and reached over the gangway gate, unlatched the lock, and pushed it open. I stopped and looked back at him over my shoulder.

“Will you go over there with me tomorrow?” I asked.

Angel looked down. “Yeah,” he flinched. Then, he shook his head and looked up into my eyes. “Yeah, I'll go wit' ya.”

I nodded and walked into the gangway. The gate swung shut with a sharp bang.

“You'll see, it's gonna be cool. We'll just tell dem mothafuckas at de Dead-End-Docks dat your brother didn't take his meds and thought Monteff was a transsexual pedophile,” Angel yelled to me as he walked down the alley. I could hear his laughter over my own until it all faded to nothing.

•

THAT NIGHT,
I dreamt I was a little kid. Alone. All the lights were slowly clicking off downstairs in the house. I rushed to get upstairs, where I could hear Ma running a bath. The water roared and clapped into the tub. Her little black and white TV happily buzzed. I got to the base of the stairs and looked in the tall mirror that was part of the old-fashioned mahogany coat rack. The last light went out, and the mirror sunk and swirled into a deep tar black. A magnet-like force sucked me towards it. I tried to pull away, spun, and climbed the stairs.
MA! MA! MOM! HELP ME! MOMMY!!!
The force swelled stronger, and I clawed my fingernails into the carpet, frantically crawling upward. I strained with all I had. I started to scream. Suddenly, from the mirror, a beast rumbled a deep, crackly growl that swallowed my scream. It squeezed a wide claw around my ankle. I turned, and the tar had elongated. It stretched into the shape of a brown-maned monster. Its wide skull morphed slowly into several furred forms: a bear, a buffalo, a lion. It bared a row of small, sharp, white teeth. Then, I awoke panting, sweat-soaked. It was an hour before I slept again.

CHAPTER 12

CIVIL WAR

I WOKE UP GROGGY
and laid in bed a long time, just watching the room brighten with the day. Snoop Dogg ambled low from Rose's room down the hall, and it made me sick to think of Rich hating blacks so much. They'd been part of the family before me. I didn't know a world without them. Every memory, every day—my sisters, my family. Skin tone had never been something to divide, and it hadn't meant anything until I got older. That's when people started trying to explain to me about adoption and how they weren't really my sisters, when I knew all along they were—on a level no words could touch. But hatred comes from all sides; no one is immune. We live in a confusing world.

I finally got up and called Angel, and we planned to meet on the corner. I stepped out the front door as Rich headed up the porch steps. His eyes lit up when he saw me, and he sprung right in my face.

“I got dat nigger good last night, huh?” He mimicked the swing of his sword, and I received the blow from the imaginary wooden blade.

“Owwww…,” he grimaced in ecstasy. “He was bleedin' everywhere and screamin' like a stuck pig!”

“What the fuck, Rich? That was my friend!” I yelled. Pin-prickles swarmed along my neck.

“Who? That nigger? The one walkin' down my street like he owned it?” He flailed his arms and legs wildly like a cartoon pimp. “That nigger won't ever be your friend.” He jammed his index finger stiff into my solar plexus. I snatched his hand and shoved it away. Then, I stared into his beady, blue eyes.

“Look, I tried to warn you, little brother, but your day's coming. Them niggers are gonna get you, and it ain't gonna be pretty.”

I brushed past him and went down the steps, flicking him off.

“Quit talking like that. The girls'll fuckin' hear you,” I said, making it to the sidewalk.

Rich just stood on the porch in front of the door. He folded his arms over chest, and a deep, hacking laughter rumbled from his gut.

Angel met me at the corner, and we headed over, quiet and scared. Looking back, I can see how good a friend he was to me—how obvious it was what was waiting for us.

We got to the Dead-End-Docks at noon. The bright, white sun was high—there was nowhere to hide from it. They played three on three. Somebody'd replaced the milk crate with a rusty rim already bent and warped from people dunking on it. There were a dozen guys out—all of 'em blacks of different shades, except Ryan. He stood shirtless—his deep-brown freckles lined his pale skin. His sweat-dampened scalp glistened bright orange. It was a slow, subtle shift in race. The Mexicans, Puerto Ricans, and Asians slowly evaporated until one white boy stuck out like a flare struck in the dead of night.

Ryan saw us approach and stepped over to meet us. He frowned a little and looked down, bashful and embarrassed. Then, he reached out his hand, and I met it with mine. I could see just then how thick his wrists were—almost twice as thick as most.

“Hey, man... I'm sorry about last night, alright?” he said. His deep-green eyes were still and calm. He pulled me close and patted me on the back with the other.

“Yeah, it's cool, man,” I said, hugging him back. “It was all fucked up.”

“Hey, Joe, but look, man.” Ryan leaned in to whisper in my ear. “Be careful today. Everybody's acting shady.”

“Whatchu mean?” I said, pulling back and peering nervously at the others. None of them looked our way.

“I don't know, man. Just be careful, alright?” Ryan urged. I looked into his fiery eyes.

“You got my back, right?”

“You know I do.”

I walked up by the fence. The basketball panged. Shoes scraped pavement.

“Who's got next?” I asked.

Three guys raised their hands but said nothing. BB popped off the fence and stepped up to me. He squinted in the mid-day sunlight.

“So what happened last night, Joe?” BB said. “Your brother done kicked some shit off, huh?” He cupped his hand along his brow to shade the sun.

“Man, my brother's gone nuts,” I said loudly. “Shit, you remember that day when me and Leroy were going at it, and he jumped out all crazy?”

“Ahh yeah... I remember that day. That was a good-ass fight.” BB grinned. “Hell yeah. Aye, remember that fight, Tank? With Joe and Leroy?”

Tank glared at us both but said nothing. His muscularity seemed to grow every day. In the midst of the game, his shirt off, sweat gleamed off his dark, black skin. His wide, slumped shoulders and the thick mounds of his traps swelled. He looked like he'd stumbled onto a bottle of steroid pills and swallowed 'em all in one gulp.

“How's Monteff?” I asked, glancing around for him.

“Ah, he's alright. But don't worry, you'll be seeing him shortly,” BB said, smiling. “Ah, look, here he come right now.”

I turned to see Monteff walk out of his gangway gate in a white Dago T. He sneered and stepped fast and hostile. There was a large white bandage taped to the side of his head, and he walked directly to me. His thin arms trembled.

“Hey, Monteff. Man, you alright?” I asked.

Monteff stopped a couple of feet from me, looked down, and shook his head. “Now, I'm only gonna ask you this once: was you in on it?” He shot his wet eyes up to mine.

“What?” I took a step back. I heard the basketball bounce to a roll as the others slowly stepped towards us. Their forms crowded my periphery—mountainous.

“You set me up, mothafucka?” Monteff shouted. Spit burst off his trembling lips.

“What're you talking about?” I said, shrugging my shoulders and raising my palms up. “You know my brother's nuts.”

“Put it on the Crew…” He looked down and ground his molars. “Naw… you know what? All you honky mothafuckas was in on it! Fuck this Crew! I'm Stones now!” He threw up the Five.

T-Money must've come out of the gangway after him, because I didn't see him 'til just then. He swooped up next to Monteff. Then, he yanked on the brim of his Padres cap and licked his lips. I went to say something; I don't even remember what it was. T-Money's fist sprang at me. I lunged backward. His arm stretched out long and straight like a spear. His fist crashed into my eye socket so quick I didn't blink. His knuckles struck my eyeball. I felt it suck up into the socket, and it got stuck there deep in my skull. I stumbled back and clutched my face. That whole side of my mug flexed hard, and suddenly the eyeball popped back out into place. I couldn't see anything out of that eye. With my good eye, I saw several fists shoot up and crack down on my head and face from all sides.

“What the fuck!” Ryan yelled, then he reached his hand out and grabbed T-Money by the throat. The others swooped in like a swarm of hornets.

I started to fall. Tank punched Angel from the blind side. Angel got taller, then tipped over like a tree cut at the base. I got hit three more times before I flopped on the concrete. I tried to cover up as rubber sneaker soles thumped down on me heavily. They planted into my arms and chest and shot air out of my gut. I peeked up between my forearms. All I could see were black bodies silhouetted against the bright blue sky. They looked tall and narrow and distorted. They were laughing. I could hear little squeaky-ass BB laughing. I didn't recognize any of them. I couldn't believe it was happening. I felt caught inside some wrathful force of nature—an earthquake that wasn't gonna stop 'til it was through with me. I could hear the groans and shouts from Ryan and Angel. Finally, for some reason, they stopped. I heard their feet patter off toward the different gangways.

Monteff slowed and turned. He bounced on his toes. “Stay off this set you honky mothafuckas!” Monteff squeezed his fists at his sides. “This Moe's set now... Black Stone, mothafucka!” he shouted as T-Money went by laughing. They shook-up—some new shit I hadn't seen before. At the end, their left hands patted their chest twice.

Ryan got to his feet and plodded after them. He clutched his temple.

“Motherfuckers!” he shouted. “I'm gonna kill all you motherfuckers!” he screamed. Then, he lumbered back and pulled Angel and me to our feet.

We stumbled back towards Hollywood Ave. My whole body ached. My heart pumped buckets in my chest. My whole torso swelled up like a balloon. Vomit bubbled in my throat. The sun beat down. The entire neighborhood seemed to shake and vibrate. This neon sheen radiated through the trees' green leaves. Sparrows chirped loud like a clamor of applause. A thousand squeaking murmurs swirled in and out of the air above us. They chirped with the same cadence as the breeze flicking through the leaves.

•

WE WENT TO ANGEL'S HOUSE
'cause his mother wouldn't be home for a few hours. We hung out, bewildered, in his living room. The lights were off, and the daylight seeped in through the yellow drapes. Ryan sat in an easy chair as knuckle-sized red knots blossomed up under his stubbly scalp like he'd been stoned. A red lump swelled on Angel's jaw near the ear. I went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror—my eye was bloodshot. The tissue around it swelled red, and a few purple dots formed inside it like tiny nebulas. It felt like someone had scraped sandpaper across the film of my retina, and the vision in that eye was still blurry like fog on a windshield in the winter. We raided the freezer and grabbed ice and some frozen crap, then I laid down on the couch and flopped a bag of frozen peas over my eye. We didn't say it, but we all knew everything had changed irreconcilably. There was no going back. We were on our own.

After a few hours, Ryan got up, walked to the front door, and opened it. He stopped, looked back, and said, “I'm gonna talk to Mickey tonight.”

“Alright.” I replied. I didn't know what he meant.

Angel just turned and looked from where he sat at the kitchen table, his head in his hands. Ryan nodded and walked out the door.