“First Class Kids”

“Roxanne….Roxanne….I wanna be your Man!” I screeched as I listened to the U.T.F.O. song on my new walkman that I robbed from a kid in Social Studies class.

I’m not gonna tell you again. Give me the fucking walkman!’

I can’t. My mother’s going to get mad at me.

I don’t give a fuck about your mother. Give it! I felt my blood pressure raising.

I can’t. Leave me alone.

You think I’m playing with you?

I looked around the class. The pervert Mr.Lehberger was busy flirting with Jackie, the hottest chick in our Junior High School. Any of the other kids that I made eye contact with, quickly looked away. The coast was clear enough.

Bap! I punched the kid in the head.

Aghh!

Shut up. Just shut up!

Mr. Lehberger looked up. Is there a problem back there?

No, Mr.Lehberger. Everything is just fine. I responded fast.

The pervert teacher got back to Jackie.

Don’t make me punch you again.

Fear became part of the kid’s face.

That’s fucked up, Vincent.

Life is fucked up. Besides, your parents are rich.

My parents are not rich!

Yes. They are. Your mother works?

Yeah.

Your father works?

Yeah.

You’re fucking rich then. Give me the walkman before I kill you.

I gave the kid my crazy eyes killer look to make him relinquish the walkman faster. It worked. I was glad. I didn’t want to punch him again. I hurt my hand the first time.

Yo, we’re still friends….right?

The kid gave me a dirty look.

Come on, don’t be like that!

Now I found myself walking through the streets of Hell’s Kitchen with my boys, West One FC, Poke IBM, Zear FC, Zame Fc and Joey from The Death Squad. It was still night and I have no recollection when the night began. There were way too many substances involved. I know for sure that we all took Mesculins and tripped for most of the night. I also know that there was weed because that was just a staple on any night or day. There were also lots of 40 ounce bottles of malt liquor. We were only 15 and 16 with Joey being in his early 20’s, but none of us had to go home. If my aunt asked me where I been. I would simply tell her, “out.” as I looked in the fridge. “Out where?” she might ask and to this, I would tell her, “Don’t worry about it.” I was Psycho Tc5, IBM, FC, a New York City kid and that’s the way it just was with city kids.

Ay-eee Bee, let me listen to that. That’s my shit, Bee! Poke asked, wanting to listen to my walkman.

Nah, get the fuck out of here. I’m chilling.

Ah, that’s fucked up. I thought I was your boy.

You are my boy, but can’t you see I’m listening to it. Oh shit!… “L.L. Cool J is BAD as hell!”

That shit is whack anyway!

Out of the five of us, Poke and I were the most animated and unpredictable. West was the quiet one. Zear was the muscle. Zame was the funny one and Joey was the O.G. who could tell you stories way before our time. It was an interesting collective from different parts of Manhattan that only a sub-culture like graffiti would bring together.

None of us wanted to go home. The weather was beautifully perfect and the streets of the city made for a nice playground for delinquents. We wandered aimlessly through the brownstone streets, heading towards Broadway.

West and I walked ahead. Zear and Zame followed several feet behind us and Poke and Joey TDS trailed behind them. All engaged in conversation, usually of the storytelling kind. West was telling me about how his brother kept an ax in his pick up truck for protection. I visualized how an ax could do some serious damage to someone’s limbs.

A taxi stopped and two nicely dressed young women stepped out. Both had olive complexions and wore summer dresses. They looked they just came home from partying.

Oh shit! Look at these two bitches. I whispered to West.

They’re fine.

Hello!

One looked at us.

Good night. How are you doing? I asked with a smile.

They were friendly and smiled.

Good.

Come on.

West and I approached them.

Just coming from a party?

No. We’re coming from work. The prettier one with black curly hair answered.

West drifted several feet away with her friend and conversed with her.

I looked into the eyes of the girl I was speaking to.

You’re really, really beautiful.

She giggled.

Thanks. But how old are you anyway?

15.

I’m 24.

Wow. I’ve never been with anybody that old.

She laughed again.

Why aren’t you home?

It’s too nice out here to be home. Besides, if I was home, I wouldn’t have met you.

Are you out here looking for trouble?

Only with you.

She play pushed my chest.

Get out of my face! What a real smooth talker.

I looked at West and it seemed he was making more progress than me. He was inches away from her friend’s face. I thought they would kiss any second now. Maybe I should take a cue and cut the funny stuff out.

That’s my best friend.

Nice.

She acted like her shoulders hurt her.

My bag is heavy. Why don’t you carry it to my door?

Okay.

Then I heard: “Oh shit! Those bitches are fine!

It was Joey and Poke and I knew it was over.

Yo, what’s up, Psycho…you’re going to hit that, right? Yeah my nigga!

That nigga can’t handle that bitch. She needs a man like me. Yo Boo! What’s up?

The girl and I looked. Poke and Joey were at the bottom of the brownstone.

Ay-eee! Yo Psycho! It’s your boy, Poke. The best who ever did it! I.B.M!

Joey chimed in. Yo Boo. What’s up?

The girl asked me if these were my friends. I hesitated but shook my head yes in embarrassment.

Come on, Carol. Let’s go.

Just like that, the two girls hurried up the steps and into their building.

West and I just looked at each other in disbelief. Words weren’t necessary.

Yo, why you’re letting those bitches get away? Ai-yeee!

Joey took a drag of his Newport with his thumb and index finger. You niggas are stupid. I would have been fucking those bitches by now.

You assholes just messed it up for me! I protested.

How? You fucking liar.

I looked at West and we just shook our heads.

We walked east and continued up Broadway. We came upon Columbus Circle, what is now the Time Warner building. There was a convoy of buses parked and dozens and dozens of women lingering, waiting for their bus to depart.

Oh shit! I squinted looking at the women. Most of them were black.

Look at all those bitches! 

For the most part, they weren’t a very attractive group. Most had on rollers and/or were applying their make up. It didn’t take long to figure out that they were going to visit men in different prisons, including Rikers.

Ayy-eee, those bitches are whack!

West looked at me and confirmed. You’re bugging, Psych.

Nah, I’m not bugging! One of them has to be fine and one of them wants to fuck!

I ran into a bus that had boarded. The bus driver stopped me.

Where you going?

Chill, yo.

I just want to know one thing. I announced. Who’s fucking?

I waited for an answer but all I received was glares. I exited the bus.

You guys are right. Those bitches are whack.

Poke was picking up a pack of Newports and a walkman somebody left om the ground.

Ayyy-eeee! Look what I found.

Just then this 7 foot tall L.L. Cool J looking black guy with a royal blue bell top Kangol approached Poke.

That’s mine.

Poke looked L.L. Cool J up and down.

Ay-eee, bee. It could be yours or it could be mine. I don’t know.

L.L. Cool J’s going to fuck Poke up, I whispered to West.

It’s mine. Give it to me.

But I’m saying. It could be yours or it could be mine.

Is he retarded? I went to intervene.

Yo Poke, Give L.L. Cool J his shit back.

I took the Newports and walkman from Poke and gave it back to the tall Black guy.

I really like your music by the way.

You kids are funny.

Poke and I walked away towards West and the others.

Yo bee, how do you know it was his?

Shut the fuck up.

We stood, checking out the scene. In retrospect, it was a sad and interesting sight. Most of the women had shopping bags of food and their Sunday’s best on hangers protected by plastic.

Damm yo, I never want to go to jail. I told West.

Yeah, that shit is whack. I can’t imagine.

Word. You can’t even go the store and buy yourself a beer.

Well, we don’t ever have to worry about that.

Word. I agreed. I’m going to college.

Nigga, you’re not going to college. You don’t even go to school. Yo West, that nigga Psycho be up in the lunchroom at my school robbing kids.

West shook his head, not surprised.

I don’t know if you’re going to college, my brother. Zear added.

Fuck college! Joey finished the conversation.

We grew bored of the bus scene and continued, entering Central Park. The sun was now coming out. It was a beautiful summer day. Walking through the park, there was all sort s of weird people wandering around here and there. Most of them looked like gay zombies there to pick up other guys. We didn’t know about AIDS yet, but a lot of them looked like they had it.

We walked into Sheep’s Meadow on 72nd street and I was the first to spot the lone hippie. I could see that he was beaten up and a rare wave of compassion rushed over me.

My friend!  My friend! I hurried over to him.

The hippie was afraid.

It’s okay. We’re not going to do anything to you.

He was beaten up more than it first looked. Both eyes were black and he had lumps on his Bozo style bald head.

What happen to you?

Mikey!  Mikey beat me up and took my stash. Man.

Yo guys, you hear this?

The others got to me and the beaten hippie. I filled them in.

Mikey beat him up and took his stash!

Who’s Mikey?  Everybody wanted to know.

Yeah, who’s Mikey?

Mikey with the red track suit from 83rd street, man!

83rd street! I know where that’s at? My boys looked at me like I was insane. Every New Yorker knows where 83rd street is.

Where in 83rd street does Mikey live at? West asked.

Between Amsterdam and Columbus Avenue.

What’s your name? West asked.

Tony.

We’re going to find Mikey and fuck him up for you, Tony. Cause you’re our nigga!

Ay-eeee! We’re gonna fuck Tony up.

Tony looked frighten

No, he’s Tony. We’re gonna fuck Mikey up! I set Poke straight.

Whatever bee, let’s just fuck somebody up!

Alright Tony. Be well, my friend.

Are you going to bring my stash back? I’ll smoke it with you.

I doubt that.

So off, West, Poke, Zear, Zame, Joey and I went on a mission to find Mikey. The chances that we would actually find Mikey were slim. It wasn’t even 5:30 in the morning on a Sunday morning. The streets of New York were desolate. Sometimes enthusiasm has a way of making things happen.

We walked up to 83rd street and turned left on Central Park West toward Columbus Avenue. From a distance, I saw a man in a red track suit sleeping on the stone ledge on a brownstone.

Oh my God!  Oh my God! It’s him!

Almost everybody said oh shit! all at once. It was unbelievable. We found Mikey.

Poke ran up on him and woke him.

Yo bee! You fucked up my boy Mikey!

What are you talking about? I am Mikey.

Out of nowhere, West cracked Mikey in the jaw.

Oh shit! West cracked him!

You know what we’re talking about. You beat up poor Mikey and took his stash. Where’s the stash at?

There was an obvious lump inside the tummy area of his red track suit. Poke grabbed for it.

Gimme that.

Mike slapped Poke’s hand off him.

Hey man, what the fuck!

Joey snatched up Mikey and body slammed him on the concrete ground.

Oh shit! Joey body slammed that nigga!

I went and snatched the stash off his person. The stash being a plastic baggie filled with about twenty dime bags of weed.

Oh shit! I remembered feeling like we struck gold.

That’s what you get for fucking up Tony, you scum bag!

We headed to the nearest bodega and picked up a bunch of Philly blunts.  We headed back to the Central Park and sat on a park bench and smoked and smoked and smoked.
In a few hours the city was bustling, perfect for girl watching. I sat next to West.

Yo West, who are we to say that there isn’t life on other planets. You ever think about that shit?

As a matter of fact, I have.

Posted on January 26, 2008 at 03:08 AM   |   Previous Entry   |   Next Entry   |   Entry List   |   Email Entry   |    Digg

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