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Friend Or Enemy |
| Written by Jack | |
| Saturday, 06 September 2008 | |
Walking down the narrow, muddy path saunterly, he turned to me saying, “You are the only one that I can trust.” I turned to the lanky, dark skinned character with satisfaction. He just looked at me and nodded his head. Quentin and I have been friends since the seventh grade, and I still did not understand him. Today like any other Friday we were heading to our fishing spot after school where our buddies would be waiting impatiently with a joint and some cold beers. I looked at Quentin and uttered that he was a good friend and that he could count on me to have his back in any situation. This comment started a conversation about all the stuff we had experienced together, such as going to juvenile and getting suspended the same day for fighting the same kid. The fishing spot was more like a hangout no real fishing was ever done, it was mainly a place where we could get high without are parents catching on. We found the fishing spot one afternoon riding our bikes between the salvage yard and the recycling plant next to the river. As we grew closer to our destination we could hear assertive voices coming from around the bend. We looked at each other in dismay, wondering what was going on. Both he and I barreled toward the fishing spot with no idea what was waiting for us at our haven. Turning around the steep curve I saw a dark figure casting a long shadow over top of a mass of broken flesh and dirt. The kid lying on the ground was Quentin’s cousin Benny. As I grew closer I recognized the person standing over Benny. OJ was the bully in our school, and was the sworn enemy of our clique. “What now *****,” he shouted toward Benny. Quentin seeing what was going on turned to me and squalled, “Help him!” He bolted to OJ jumping on his back, dragging both he and OJ to the ground. After regaining his senses, Benny also jumped up and started to throw blows toward OJ. I stood there in amazement. A sense of panic dwelled inside of my chest. What should I do, I thought to myself. What if Quentin gets hurt, what if Benny gets hurt, what if I get hurt? I went over scenarios in my mind of being arrested, getting shot, loosing my friends, hurting this other kid. What was I going to do? I remembered a similar time when a boy stole Quentin’s bike and we caught him riding it down our alley. We hid on the other side of the blue garage and when the boy came back up the alley we jumped him and took back the bike. The boy showed up with his older bother and cousins and beat the crap out of us. To this day I still dodge those kids when I see them. My remembrance was broken by a shout toward me. “Hit him,” Quentin barked at me. I could see OJ lying on the ground now, crimson tears beading from his eyes like a leaky faucet. The dirt was caked around his eyes and mouth. He really wasn’t moving much, and the only noise coming from him was a low moan every few seconds. “What the hell are you standing there for,” Benny bellowed, “do something.” I stood there for what felt like a few centuries, and then mentioned that OJ was barely breathing. “He is finished, leave him alone,” I pleaded. Looking at him lying on the ground was unsettling and I just wanted to go home. After many slanders toward me by my friends I felt I was obligated to uphold our packs honor. After all, OJ deserved it, right? He was lashing our crony and he knew the consequences if he got caught. We couldn’t let him get away with disrespecting us. How could we, then all the other kids in school would try it. Even worse they would think we were punks and wouldn’t protect our selves. We couldn’t let that happen. We were not jellyfish, we are made men. We are desperados, and you don’t let people walk on you if you are a desperado. As I leaned in to take the first punch, I could see the fear in his eyes. He looked as if he saw the white light and just wanted to let everything go just to escape this torment. I heard a smashing noise as I drove my fist into his upper lip. Another low grumble cam from his mouth and I knew he was in pain. “Hit him Jack,” my friends boasted. I took another punch, this time right between the eyes. Another whimper was exclaimed, this one louder and higher pitched. I drew back my hand and went in to give another blow. I saw him look at me and I paused. Is this really happening, I thought to myself. Do I have a reasonable exclamation for beating the crap out of this kid? What will happen tomorrow when he catches me by myself? I thrust my hand into his face again, causing an outcry from his mouth. I couldn’t do it anymore. I stood up and said I was finished. “Let’s go guys, he has had enough,” I sounded. Quentin agreed and we started to walk away from him. Benny gave one last kick to his stomach and followed close behind. I asked Benny what OJ was beating on him for. “Shut up nigga, he wasn’t beating me up!” he shouted. This didn’t surprise me that he would say he wasn’t getting beat up. You never admit to loosing a fight. I asked again why they were fighting. He announced that it was because he tried to take OJ's bike. I was angry then. I just laid into this kid because he was protecting his own property! I was silent the rest of the way back to our block. The following Monday at school was sure to be packed with drama. I went to my first period and waited impatiently for class to end. I would see Quentin in the hall after class. We always make it a point to interact between every period. The bell rang and I rushed out the door and down the hall. People were trying to stop me to say hi and chat but I ignored everything and continued my journey. I reached the stairway and noticed that coming down them was OJ’s friends. I ducked into the student office fearfully and watched them pass by. I didn’t see OJ with them. I ran up the stairs and met with Quentin at the top. He was on his way down to see me. “What’s up,” he hollered to me. I looked at him without saying anything. He asked me what was wrong and I told him about almost running into OJ’s friends. He laughed at me and said that he wouldn’t have run. “Any word about OJ,” I asked. He looked at me and again smiled. “He isn’t in school today,” I told him. He just kept the smile on his face. I questioned “what if he is in the hospital or something?” Quentin did not seem as worried as I did. He just shrugged his shoulders and smiled. On our way down the hall he turned to me and exclaimed that he didn’t give a damn about what happened to OJ. I looked at him in disgust. He mentioned that he hoped that OJ would die. I went to class after that remark and just sat there uncomfortably. I couldn’t believe that he had said that. How could I be friends with someone like that? What was his problem? I got out of class and went home early. I didn’t feel like staying any longer. The walk home was a long one. I kept thinking of what Quentin had said. I wish he would die! What kind of person would think of something like that? After dinner I decided to sit on the front porch and smoke a cigarette. I noticed Quentin was sitting on his porch down the street. I decided not to go join him as I usually did every evening; instead I went in and laid down. I drifted to sleep. I was awoken by the sound of tapping. It was Quentin knocking at my window. I lifted the window and asked what was going on. “Come on,” he pitched, “we are all going to Nina’s house.” I sat there in silence for a moment. “I wish he would have died,” the words hovering in my mind, as if they were lyrics to a bad song that you just can’t stop singing. “Not really,” I spoke softly to myself. I didn’t want to go to Nina’s with them. “I think I will just stay here,” I recited. Quentin looked at me funny and shrugged it off. He announced that he would come by when they got back. “That’s o.k.” I mentioned, “I think I am going to sleep anyways, you don’t have to come over.” Quentin looked at me again with that same funny look, and said he would see me later. I nodded my head and watched him walk down my sidewalk and into the street. I did want to go to Nina’s, but not with them. Copyright 2008 Jack |
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