I walk to the bathroom from my usual seat by the front room window where I spent my childhood counting cars day after day. While I walk through the living room, my uncle Ernie staggers out the kitchen, unshaven and dirty looking with a Salem 100 dangling out his mouth. He takes a random, drunken swipe at me in the living room. This isn’t anything new. This is my life, but I am eleven years old now with premature signs of both muscular development and rage. I push the drunken man against the wall and beat the shit out of him. I hit him with countless punches and as hard as I can. I want to hurt him. No, I want to kill him. Elsie comes out of the kitchen. Her hair is the usual fright that it is. Her skin is yellowish. Little does anybody know, her liver is giving out on her from severe chronic alcoholism. All the long, we think it’s the Cancer that is doing this to her.
“Get out! Get the hell out of my house!” She screams.
She attempts to scratch my face from behind. Before she can do much damage, I push her off me. It’s not so easy to fuck me up anymore. Didn’t they know that I would one day turn on them like any abused dog would? I kick her in the stomach. She falls on to the floor, holds her stomach and cries.
“Get out! Please! Just get out!”
I go to my dresser and pack a book bag of the little, busted clothes that I have. Elsie tries to intervene.
“Don’t take anything with you. It’s not yours. Just get out!”
“Leave me alone and let me go! before I hit you again! I scream at her.
Tears of anger roll down my face. I’m trembling and my nervous system is all out of whack. I shove her out of my way, but she just keeps getting back in my face. I pack what I can and on my way out, I take a B.B. gun that my Uncle Tony gave me off a makeshift mantel.
“That’s not yours! You can’t take it! “
Elsie throws her body in front of the door. Ernie wants to get in, but I can see in his eyes that he is now afraid of me. I physically peel Elsie away off the front door. I open it enough so I can squeeze through and leave. As I walk through broken streets, I think of my master plan. It comes fast to me. I was going to rob subway passengers with my B.B. gun and that’s how I would buy any kind of food I wanted. I find my way to the 181 street train station and hop the turnstile. I ride the 1 train to 242nd Street and Van Cortland Park. It’s a sunny day and this is a park that I’ve only heard about through some of my classmates. It’s massive with lots of green. From the elevated train station, I see that it has a pool and lots of families are having picnics and barbeques. There is an abundance of trees, hills and mountains. It’s a never ending paradise for a kid like myself. The first thing I do is watch the people play in the pool from outside the steel gate. Everybody looks like they are having so much fun. I investigate how I might be able to get in, but am disappointed to find out that you have to pay an admission that I do not have. I think about sneaking in, but I lack the courage and the know how to do so. Besides, it’s being patrolled by two police officers and I think that it’s best not to draw attention to myself.
I explore other parts of the park. I’m thrilled to see that it has a lake that is infested with tadpoles. I step too close to a bullfrog and it leaps into the water, startling me. The frog is as big as my head. I remember a TV show where campers club a bullfrog and roast it over a campfire. I fantasize that this is what I’m going to do to survive. I find abandoned railroad tracks that are used for hiking and that’s what I do. I walk and walk and walk, taking in all the nature. I search for signs of wildlife, but there is none that is visible. Although the trail is desolate, I don’t know any better to be concerned about anything. I realized that it is just me now. Me against the world and not only am I just fine with this. In my heart, I feel that is what’s best. People? Fuck them. I think about my father, believing that he had died of a heart attack and wonder why did he have to die? I think about my mother and wonder why did she let Elsie and Ernie have me? She had to know they would be mean to me, beat me and treat me bad. I thought about Elsie and think about how evil she was to me. I think about the beatings and all the pain she’s inflicted on me. I could no longer feel the pain, but her words echoed in my head. I wasn’t stupid. I wasn’t retarded. I wasn’t a piece of shit and I was going to amount to something. My soul told me so. My soul didn’t believe anything she said...but somehow, I did. The words played in my head and I think about them a lot. Maybe they were true. What did I know? I was just a kid. I continue along the tracks, absorbed in my thoughts. I see shadows within some trees and bushes in the distance. I know right away that they are human. They are close to each other. Intimately close. Is it a man and a woman doing it? I think and hope. I approach with caution. I’m very careful not to make any noise that might make them aware to my presence. As I get closer, I become more excited at the prospect of seeing two people having sex. I hope the girl is pretty. I get close enough so that I could catch glimpses of the people through trees and leaves. Something isn’t right though. My heart speeds up. None of the two figures look anything like a girl. I toke a step closer. I could see them a little more. It’s a boy older than me, maybe sixteen. He is Puerto Rican and tough looking. There is a man’s head at waist level to the boy. The man is old and weathered and winkled. He’s sucking the boy’s dick. He is ugly and looks equally tough. I slowly take my bag off my shoulder while keeping my eyes on the two. My instincts tell me that this was dangerous. I don’t have B.B.’s in my gun, but I think that the sight of the gun will keep them away. I slide the bag down my arm. Maybe they have money and I could rob them? Maybe they had a lot of money. Like twenty or even fifty dollars. Yeah, that’s what I was going to do? I’m going to rob these two gays. The boy grunts. I see sudden movement. The older man stands up. I get nervous and panic. My bag slips through my hand and fingers. I try to catch it but I’m not swift enough for the weight of gun. The bag falls to the graveled ground and makes a flat noise. The two assholes are alerted. I see the older man’s face. He scares me.
“What are you doing?”
He has white hair and light grey eyes that contrasts with his dark tanned, wrinkled and weathered skin. He has no teeth and I see only his tongue moving inside his mouth. He looks evil. The boy is angry as well. He zips himself up.
“I’m gonna fuck you up!”
I freeze. Oh shit! The two work their way through the bushes. I run. And I run and I run. I know to be careful not to trip on the wood planks that made up the tracks. the balls of my feet landed on every third track and bounced back up. I take careful, measured breaths so I won’t tire. As much as I want to, I feel like I shouldn’t look back because if I do, it would slow me down and the two assholes would catch me and fuck me up and might do bad things to me. I have to look anyway. The two assholes are not chasing me anymore. I can see them far in the distance. I stop to catch my breath. I still don’t feel safe. It looks as if they are still coming my way. I continue to run and this time I do not stop until I am at the heart of the park by the pool, the picnics and the train station and was surrounded by people. Even then I don’t stop. I keep walking out of the park, winded with a cramp on the side of my tummy.
I walk onto Broadway, always looking back over my shoulders every other minute. I am paranoid. I walked along under the elevated train tracks. I think about the two disgusting gay guys and what they were doing. This made me think about Alfred. Why wouldn’t he just take me outside with him, away from Elsie and Ernie? Wasn’t he suppose to be my big brother and protect me? Why did he use to make me do those things in order to get away from them? I hate Alfred. Maybe even more so than Elsie and Ernie. I walk and walk into dusk. I’m hungry. I walked into some deli’s that are empty and not very good for stealing. I find a supermarket, but my summer clothes don’t allow me to conceal much. I steal a large Nestle Crunch bar and this will be my dinner for the night. Night falls and the air is warm. People are out, hanging out in front of their buildings, on the stoop. Listening to music, playing Dominoes, drinking beer and smoking Newport cigarettes. The night feels festive and everybody seems happy or at least content. I wander aimlessly through Inwood and back into Washington Heights. Once tired of walking, I sneak into the subway. I ride the number 1 train downtown, not knowing where I am going. I must look like an obvious runaway because some of the adults on the train look at me with curiosity and concern. I have no idea what time of night it was. The subway stops at 42nd street and Times Square. I have been here once before to see the movie Superman with Alfred and I know that this was a fun place. Even if I didn’t, everybody knows of the mystique that 42 Street carries and I would have gotten off anyway. The station is big and confusing with many exits and entrances and different token booths in different parts of it. Hundreds and hundreds of people travel through it. Compared to counting vehicles from my window at home, people watching was fun and Times Square had the most interesting people watching I’ve ever experienced. This is pre-Giuliani/Disney Times Square when the strip is still infested with peep shows, pimps, prostitutes and delinquents of all sorts. It is cliché like an old Martin Scorsese movie. There is something about all the lights and business of Times Square that is very attractive to a kid. I find that Times Square at night is very different from Times Square at day when I saw it. There is an element of danger that is very real. There are packs of hoodlums from outer boroughs like Brooklyn and the Bronx that would fuck you up for the slightest infraction like making eye contact. Most of these gangs are going or coming from the Kung-Fu triple features or the pinball arcades. As enticing as the arcades look to me, I know better than to step inside any of them. I look at everybody and everything but avoid eye contact with anyone as if my life depends it. Even the hookers look like they will spit a razor blade out their mouths and fuck you up.
I make my way from Broadway, paying special attention to the posters on the porno theaters, to Eighth Avenue, which is the abyss to a lone eleven year old. This avenue has to be the sleaze capital of the world. Every other person looks like they have just gotten out of prison or should be in prison. Drug dealers peddled their dope freely in the street. Anyone who has money, even an eleven year old like me can purchase cheap drugs and sex with ease. There are three card Monty hustlers tricking people out of their money and people out to take other people’s money any way that they can. I see mean, evil eyes leering at me, probably trying to figure out how I can best serve them. As naïve and with little experience that I have, I know that this is not the place for me to explore. I quickly make my way back to Broadway where things feel much safer.
I walk by a narrow entrance that is between two theaters. I see that it has a flight of stairs that lead to a red door on the second floor. There is a sign advertising some sort of play by the side of the entrance. The door opens slightly. I can see the hand holding it open. I can also see that inside has mirrors and I catch a glimpse of a woman revealing a lot of flesh. The man comes out of the door and down the stairs. I walk away in a hurry. I look to see the man walking in the opposite direction downtown. I immediately creep back to the entrance and look up. Nobody is there. I trot up marble stairs, some of them are broken and I take care not to make noise. I get to the red door feeling nervous. I push it open a crack to see mirrors and plants. I pushed the door open some more. A pretty middle aged woman suddenly appears. I get scared but she smiles. She has curly, dirty blonde hair and her chest is huge and hangs low. I’m about to dart down the stairs but she opens the door fully and tells me to come in with a raspy voice. I walked in slowly, ready to run in a moment’s notice if necessary. The woman tells me to sit on a red velvet couch and disappears behind some red velvet drapes. Within seconds a group of about ten women come out from behind the drapes. They are all in lingerie or underwear and in different shapes and heights. They are pretty to me. One of the women has her breasts fully exposed. Her nipples are puffy looking and the same color as the rest of her skin. My attention is on her. She asks me how much money I have. I shake my head.
“I don’t have no money.”
I try to manipulate her with puppy dog eyes and hope that she feels sorry for me and maybe, just maybe, I will be able to have sex.
“Why don’t you go home and get money from your parents and come back.”
“Okay,” I lie to her.
The older woman walks to the door, unlocks it and smiles at me. I know I have to leave. Back on Broadway, I think about the place and the scantily clad women and how I will return one day with money and sex with the one with the invisible nipples. I can’t wait for that day. The streets are less busy and the temperature has cooled down. I feel cold in my dirty Tee-shirt. I walk uptown and see that there was a subway station at 50th Street. I duck underneath the turnstile. I flinch when the token booth clerk screeches, “Pay your fare!” through her microphone. I walk to the front of the station in time for the train to arrive. I enter. Maybe five people occupy the car. I become aware that I’m hungry again. I’m very hungry. I don’t know what time is but I know that not many stores would be open at whatever this time it is. Reality sinks in. I am alone. Very alone. Me against the world and no, it isn’t alright. I’ve been to bed hungry many, many times before, but now I didn’t even have a bed. I’m tired and hungry and afraid. What am I going to do? I think about my father again. If he didn’t have a stupid heart attack and died, I know he would have loved me and taken good care of me. He would have brought me lots of clothes and toys and made sure I was never hungry and cold. I know this because he was my real father and every father loves their little boy. If my father hadn’t died, I would have had a normal life and that’s all I want. I do something I haven’t done for a while. I cry. I cry because no matter what, everything always sucks for me and I’m only eleven and I feel so emotionally tired. People look at me, obviously feeling sorry for me. I appreciate this. I don’t remember falling asleep
Posted on December 21, 2007 at 11:17 PM | Comment (14 comments)
