12ozProphet

Where the hell are all my plates going? My aunt screams in frustration. Her china has been disappearing over the last few weeks. I sit at the kitchen table, eating arroz con pollo and try not to laugh.

That’s messed up, Titi. I fake sympathize with her. Where can they be going?

That’s what the hell I want to know.

Pretty soon we’re going to have to eat on paper plates. I don’t like paper plates.

Who the hell are you to say you don’t like paper plates? You weren’t even eating when you were with Elsie. Jesus Christ!

That’s fucked up, I think to myself. Why does she have to keep on bringing up Elsie for? I’m only 14 and haven’t developed my sassy mouth as of yet, but I’m keeping score so I can make up for it later. She’ll see.

I finish my plate of food and go to my room and lift up my pillow. I take a plate that I stashed under it and shove it in my waistband. It’s awkward and feels uncomfortable.

Bye Titi! I yell and rush out the apartment before she has a chance to stop me.

It’s a sunny Spring day. I walk a few building over and enter White Boy Bobby’s building. White Boy Bobby is 16 years old, 6’3” and 240 lbs. He’s not really Cacausion. He is of Cuban descent and has a misleading baby face. Bobby has been incarcerated two times and claims that he’s in all the cool gangs, but in retrospect, I can’t see how that is possible. None the less, Bobby is very well known and respected or at least feared in my neighborhood. I’ve seen him slap a 30 year old man and drop him to the ground. The man wasn’t soft either. Even my cousin Junior who everybody is afraid of treats Bobby with respect. Bobby is a good friend to have.

When I was first allowed to hang out outside by myself, Bobby was one of the first guys to approach me and befriend me. That week we smoked Angel Dust. Today, we’re going to shoot plates on the roof with his 22 caliber rifle. My aunt is lucky that we are lousy shots or we would have been eating on paper plates weeks ago. Bobby’s mother opens the door for me. She reminds me a lot of Elvis Presley’s mother. I don’t like Elvis, so I’m not especially fond of her.

Hi.

Bobby, it’s what’s his name! She calls out down the foyer.

Stupid fat bitch! I think.

Yeah! Bobby calls back.

His room is dingy white and depressing. He only has a bed and a dresser. I guess it’s a step up from a jail cell. Little do I know, I’ll find out for myself in due time.

What’s up? Bobby’s just woke up. He picks out a pair of crusty socks from a pile of dirty laundry that sits on the floor. He puts on the same burgundy Lee twill pants that he wears four out of the seven days of the week. Bobby still has sleep crust in his eyes and I’m sure his breathe smells like a dog’s ass. He takes out the rifle from his closet full of junk. He aims it at me.

Chill Bobby, don’t do that.

Shut up!

He squints and aims at my head.

What the fuck Bobby? That’s not cool!

Bobby lowers the rifle.

You’re such a pussy. It’s not even loaded. See!

Bobby aims the rifle at my head again and squeezes the trigger. The blast that comes out of it sounds even louder inside four walls. I shut my eyes tight and think Shit! My ears ring and my heart rate is going berserk as I wonder what happened? Am I dead? I open my eyes. Bobby looks scared and is whiter than before. About four inches to the right of my head is a huge hole in the wall. Oh my God, I think, that’s serious.

Bobby’s mother screams from wherever she is. I want her to shut the fuck up. Bobby rushes to grab me and bear hugs me to prevent me from swinging on him.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.

Get off me, please. I just wanna go.

Alright. Just don’t swing on me.

NI won’t. I just want to go.

Bobby releases me. I walk out his room and help myself out his apartment. I walk back to my stoop. My aunt stands waiting for the mail man for her welfare check. She’s still pissed about her missing plates. She gives me a dirty look.

I sit on the stoop, ignoring my aunt, realizing that I don’t have anything to look forward to in this dead end slum and that God is mean, making me continue with this bullshit life.