Crossroads, p.19
Crossroads, page 19
When he finally returned home after what had become the longest day ever, he went straight to his room and lay down to contemplate what had transpired. Shante called but he told his sister he was sick. He didn’t want to talk; he wanted to disappear…stay home from school, never go out anywhere, and never be heard from again. He wondered aloud why it was unreasonable for the entire family to move away as fast as they could…he internally debated ideas he could present to Pops later to justify why the family should move.
The door opened— and there was Marcus standing in the doorway. He stood there for a minute, and though Benji did not make eye contact, he knew Marcus was looking at him…staring at him…studying him as if trying to figure put a complex puzzle.
“We got McDonald’s.”
Benji smelled the food; he wasnt hungry so he didn’t answer and chose to continue to lay on his bed with his back to his older brother.
And Marcus knew then that something wasn’t right.
“What it is, young blood?”
It was not just the words; this was how Marcus spoke to his friends or to other guys on the football team. But it was more than the words…it was the tone. It was more of an adult tone; it was an inviting tone, and it was sincere. Benji turned and opened his eyes just wide enough to see his older brother gazing at him with actual interest…and waiting tolerantly for how Benji would respond. As the brothers exchanged glances for a time than seemed much longer than it actually was. And looking at Marcus, Benji knew…
He knew…that Marcus knew.
He probably didn’t know the specifics…no, he definitely didn’t know the specifics…but he knew something was up.
Benji looked at his brother and genuinely wished he could tell him what was going on; if he could tell him, he knew that Marcus would know what to do. He wanted to tell his brother how he had done something stupid; he wanted to tell his brother how he had been weak and listened to their stupid neighbor even though they both knew how much of a loser he was. He wanted to tell his brother how he had done something he truly did not want to do, how scared he had been when he did it, how they had done it for no reason at all, and how panicked he was now because it seemed like everyone he saw knew exactly what he had done. He wanted his brother’s advice…he wanted his brother’s comfort…he wanted his brother to say something to make him laugh…he wanted his brother to walk with him for the rest of his life now and to protect him. Because that’s what his brother would do.
But he just couldn’t say the words. He wanted to…he almost did. But when he opened his mouth to speak, what came out with a forced but practiced smile did not demonstrate his true feelings:
“It’s all due to the extract.”
It was a phrase both boys had heard from their father when he was talking with his friends…or sometimes with Mama. It was an expression normally uttered when the men were drinking, and it meant…well…everything, but at the same time, absolutely nothing. It was just a funny thing to say to lighten a debate, provide comic relief to a more serious topic, or make a point without making a point. None of the Frazier brothers ever heard anyone else use the term. Benji thought it was something his father brought with him from Memphis, Pops’s hometown. But it was definitely a Pop-ism and a Frazier family trademark.
Marcus looked quizzical for a moment, then grinned at the explanation; his response was also a Pop-ism and the only acceptable response:
“What you know ’bout that doo bob quiver, black?”
The men never failed to bellow in absolute joy at this. It never occurred to Benji that perhaps the men were usually drunk and would probably laugh at anything during these lighthearted moments. But what did occur to Benji was the interaction had done with Marcus exactly what it did with Pops and his friends.
It disarmed the conversation and changed the topic.
The brothers shared laughter, and after sitting with him for a little while longer, Marcus slapped him five, and after looking back and peering at his little brother one last time, he left and closed the door behind him.
And once again…Benji was alone with his thoughts. He couldn’t go to the party; that’d be dangerous now. He didn’t sleep well that night.
But by morning’s light, Benji felt much better. He was determined to feel better…because after all, nothing was missing, right? Nothing was broken, right? And nobody saw him anyway, right? He’d been extra careful…nothing was going to happen! He had dodged a bullet though, because what if AP had caught them in his house? Or if he or one of his friends had been coming down the street when they left? That would have been bad, but since none of that happened, it was a lesson learned— a lesson Benji silently vowed to always remember, and a lesson he promised to himself he would never repeat. Kind of like never waving to girls he didn’t know.
That kind of stuff can blow up in a young blood’s face. That’s why he promised himself to never do it again. And he kept that promise.
Over the next few days, things began to return more and more to normal for Benji. He saw Johnny Davis playing street football while on his way to Brian’s house and to show his contempt, he watched with sincere disinterest until Johnny dropped a sure touchdown pass (past the old raggedy red car with the taped up windows) and got savaged without mercy by the quarterback in front of everyone for the fumble.
“Doo Doo, you wanna get down? Take this soft ass nigga’s place. Mother fucker scared to catch the rock even when ain’t nobody hittin’ his ass!”
Everybody on both teams laughed. Benji looked right at Johnny Davis and laughed too. “That pitiful look ain’t gonna save you this time, sucka,” Benji thought derisively. Benji continued to chuckle to himself at Johnny’s misfortune before declining the invitation with a wave and heading over to Brian’s house.
Talking without saying a word—another one of Marcus’s “Frazier Man” rules. But the fact Benji remembered and did it so naturally meant that he was starting to feel better again.
It was a good time at Brian’s house. Spring vacation was almost over, and when school started again, Benji would have to be inside before the street lights came on—which Benji thought was kind of silly since he was already fifteen. But since everyone was still out of school, Mama was relaxing a little bit and letting Benji spend the night at Brian’s so they could go to the skating rink later. Benji loved hanging out with his funny, artistic friend. Brian would normally practice his guitar, which was cool because Brian also had this new handheld electronic football game for Benji to play while Brian practiced…and Brian’s mom always kept the snacks coming. Brian loved to play the guitar and he was already writing songs that he always wanted to try out with his friends first. Benji thought Brian’s songs were OK— he even wrote one real funky song with no words yet, but Brian called it “French Toast Movie”…french toast…it figured Brian would name a song after the thing he liked next best after music. Benji liked to hear his friend play, but he really liked hearing Brian play songs he recognized and sometimes sang along with; Brian could play the bass line to “Brick House,” and Brian was getting really good at playing the funky parts on “Slide.”
But tonight? No time for cool new handheld football games and definitely no time for guitar practice. Tonight…it was all about the skating rink.
Benji loved the skating rink. He couldn’t really skate too well like some of those cats he saw skating backward and doing circles, but he could skate around and around in a circle, holding a girl’s hand, without falling; he loved the colored lights and the music, and everyone always seemed to be there, laughing and cutting up. But tonight he loved it for a different reason—that dark- haired girl wasn’t going to the skating rink. She was staying home; Benji didn’t think she went out very much. Shante was going, but he planned to ditch her to go over to that dark-haired girl’s house. So Benji hatched a plan: once Brian’s mom dropped them off, he was going to sneak over there. He’d finally talked to her a few times since seeing her in front of AP’s house; he’d needed to check to see what she saw. Or maybe he just thought he saw her…she’d never said anything about it.
Anyways —she laughed a lot when Benji was around, and their interactions seemed easy. So that dark-haired girl said something about watching television. Wonder Woman and The Incredible Hulk were on since it was Friday night. That would normally be copacetic, but watching television would take too long; he had to be back at the skating rink. Beside, she had sisters and brothers. Too crowded. Benji wasn’t interested in TV. He wanted to hang out on her porch with her then head back…maybe see if he could find Shante and skate around a little bit. If he felt like it.
Because he was going see if he could kiss that dark-haired girl…even on the cheek. Even on her hand. “Tonight’s the night,” he thought elatedly with a huge smile. He wasn’t exactly sure how he was going to get her to want to kiss him though. Maybe he’d quote some song lyrics at her, real super smooth-like; that would definitely be player-style, especially if he quoted song lyrics that had her name in it. That was one of the benefits of occasionally listening to pop tunes and folk music; when he quoted the lyrics to sound like a player, nobody ever recognized the words.
Once they were dropped off, Benji waited until he was sure Brian’s mother was gone. Brian knew where he was going, but he didn’t care…he was going to meet Ricky to hang out anyway. Benji just knew he had to get there and get back. Brian’s mom always came back early, even before she told the boys when they had to be ready to get picked up; she would come back early and wait in the parking lot. Sometimes she would get out of the car, go looking for the boys, want to hug them once she found one, then make the boy she found stay there until she found every child she was giving a ride to. Brian didn’t mind—and honestly, Benji didn’t mind either. He might have considered it annoying coming from someone else, but hey…this was Brian’s mom, and that’s just the way she was. Kind of like…a black Carol Brady. That lady on the funny show with all the kids.
But it meant Benji had to get going. He momentarily considered asking his friends to go with him. Brian would probably go after some prodding; Ricky would agree immediately just to see if he could kiss one of the dark- haired girl’s sisters. But if they went, his kissing plan was sunk—so dismissing the idea almost instantly, he decided to head over alone. He figured he’d have about an hour to try to make her laugh some more and sneak a kiss in before he had to get back to the skating rink.
So the journey began.
The area outside the skating rink was an even tougher part inside a tough part of San Diego. Even so, Benji proceeded unconcerned…he’d walked these streets numerous times, going to parties, playing ball, and just hanging out. He’d sneak over here when he was younger…kind of like now. When he was younger, sometimes he and his friends used to just start running for no reason when they saw cops. The game was to see if they could make the cops chase them…just because they thought it was funny. Another time, just last year, he was shocked to see his friend “Little Charles” driving a car. Little Charles was not much older than Benji, but though I told him he shouldn’t get in the car…as usual Benji did it anyway. The too-young-to-drive teens sped around the neighborhood at extremely high speeds until they caught the attention of a policeman who did give chase…Little Charles was doing eighty miles per hour or more in the residential neighborhood; Benji had been scared that night…but scared like he was scared on the roller coaster. The boys were laughing and yelling and bouncing around in the car…until they crashed into a ditch. Benji thought for sure the gig was up, but the car was covered by shrubs and small trees. The boys sat still and hunched down on the floor but amazingly, two policemen drove up real slow, got out and seemed to shine the light right on them…and they didn’t see them. Apparently unconcerned with wreckage, the policemen didn’t investigate further and just backed up, then drove away. The boys got out laughing and giving each other dap…and they weren’t even hurt.
I may have had something to do with that. I’m not an angel, but…sometimes I get lucky with my guardian powers.
So for those reasons and many others, Benji was unconcerned as he made his way through the streets outside the skating rink. He was more focused on practicing and repracticing his strategy on kissing and getting kissed. Mental rehearsals took a lot of his focus, and as he walked, he thought himself practiced enough to pull off his plan and make it seem natural.
Which explains why he did not notice the dark-colored Chevy Impala until it passed by him slowly for the third time.
When he saw it, Benji immediately sensed the danger. They called the area down the street from the skating rink “the zoo”: there were bars, domino clubs, prostitutes, drug deals going down, people just hanging out; music seemed to come from every direction at once…but nothing normally happened this early. Any car slowing down while going in the direction Benji was walking and then speeding up again, then repeating the action, was more than a little bit odd.
Benji was tempted to peer inside the car in hopes of seeing Little Charles or some other acquaintance—even though he may not know them very well, he hoped whoever was in the car would not represent danger. But Benji knew that if he did not know the occupants, they would likely consider staring inside the car an act of aggression; additionally, since he was not wearing his glasses, he wouldn’t be able to see who was inside anyway. So Benji almost instantaneously decided to just maintain a calm exterior and continue walking. “I need to just chill out,” Benji quietly mused.
And then the car stopped. Right in the middle of the street.
Four men got out of the car, and now their intentions were crystal clear. After exiting the still- running vehicle, the four men headed straight for where Benji was standing.
Benji had never been through this before…not even when he’d been jumped by the Mexicans or chased home by the Filipino gang. He always escaped before, but those were boys, and though it was dangerous, Benji never had this sense of foreboding. Because these were not boys…they were not teens…these were men who were coming toward him now with obvious malice. And though Benji did not have his glasses on, there was one thing he could clearly see.
One of the men was Arthur Parker.
Benji slowly retreated when he recognized the feared gangster while keeping his eye on the rapidly advancing men. He turned halfway around to see what was behind him—it was his instinct to immediately assess the situation for an escape route so he could run but he saw that he was cornered in a closed lot with no alley for him to escape.
He was trapped.
“You been in my house, motherfucker.”
Oddly enough— it was the first time Benji had ever heard the man speak. Arthur Parker was an almost mythical figure in Southeast Dago, and to hear him speak in that low- pitched, ominous rumble of a voice was almost enthralling in its own right…if Benji had not been paralyzed by intense fear. Benji immediately understood AP’s declaration was not a question. It was a statement of fact and given in the malicious tone that served as an advance explanation as to what was getting ready to happen.
And through the lights of the street lamps, Benji saw the gleam of a knife in Arthur Parker’s hand.
His instinct was still to run, but he knew he was trapped and was aware that three of the men moved to cut off any possible escape. Then they closed in on Benji, and forming a human wall between Benji and the street, they turned to face the street while shielding a still advancing Arthur Parker.
As he continued to retreat, thoughts flooded Benji’s mind. He wondered if what was coming would hurt very much. In that moment, he saw his father looking stoic, lost and trying hard not to cry. He saw his mother screaming inconsolably and his sisters both holding her, each of the Frazier women sobbing uncontrollable tears. He saw his brothers standing off to one side in matching suits, stiff, sad, and unsure what to do, and he saw Marcus wipe at his eyes and grab Sid’s hand to hold it…and Sid let him. He saw himself lying in the dirty cold lot with only empty liquor bottles, trash, used needles, spoiled food, and broken glass for company.
Arthur was close now, and Benji looked him in the eye. He was so close, Benji could see the redness in his tired, wild eyes; he could almost taste the smell of alcohol coming from his breath, and his nose was assaulted by the thick smell of cigarette smoke, weed, and incense trapped in his clothes.
It didn’t occur to Benji to beg for his life or cry out. Strangely, he felt a sense of pride for not doing so…it was as if he was almost happy to know what he was inside. He thought back to the fight with Tootie and the confrontation with Topaz; he stood a little taller knowing even under stress or threat of physical danger, he would not break. He just stared at all four men with the cold eyes of the fearless. But Benji knew— even if he started crying like a baby or begged for his life on his knees, he knew it would make no difference at all.
Or would it?
But then without a word, holding Benji tight with one hand, he pulled Benji in close, seemed to snarl, and held him there while he punched him hard in his stomach— not only once…not twice…not three times…but four times, and upon the impact of the final punch, Benji slumped to the ground. But it didn’t hurt, and Benji marveled at that. Even though he’d been punched four times by Arthur Parker and was on the ground, he was shocked that he was in no pain and felt a sense of gratitude realizing Arthur had only punched him.
But then it came.
Hot, searing, pain…
Benji grasped at it in his belly and found it was accompanied by a warm, red slickness that washed over Benji’s teenage hands as Benji felt compelled to play with the warm slickness flowing between his fingers. The pain washed over Benji like a slow wave…and I knew if he could catch a breath, he would have had no choice but to cry out, but the pain was so intense it literally took his breath away. All his energy and focus were on breathing…but each breath increased Benji’s agony until he started to lose consciousness from the intensity of the pain.
