Date: Fri, 9 May 2003 18:26:24 -0700 (PDT)
From: LZ
Subject: Never Say Never, Nothing is Forever Chapter 9

     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.