"Run Stevie Run"

“Run!  Run!  Run Stevie run!  See Stevie run!”

         “Keep your head up.  Your windpipe extended.  Breath deep.  Stretch!  Stretch!  Faster!  Faster!”

“God help me!  Please!  Please!

I was in good form,  my breathing was right, I was on the balls of my feet, my stride was long and fast.  I could feel my forward momentum speeding me along; Brother Brice, our track team coach, could be proud.  I turned my head and stole the forbidden quick glimpse behind.

“They’re gaining on me – maybe I should drop the money – Billy would kill me – I better hide – If I can just make it around the corner.”

I had about a half-a-block on the three boys in front; they were leading the crowd.

“Why did I have to stop by that school ?  I’ll get stomped if they catch me.”

The dam had broken.  The narrow little tenement cluttered street.  The dirty little river.  Ending.  Curving into its estuary.  The tide carrying the throng of wild desperate animals!    Dodging parked cars.  Clawing at each other.  Trying to be first to reach eternal wealth.  The boy with the bag of gold!

I turned the corner.  A stolen second glance told me I hadn’t lost much ground.  I was fast for my size,  nine and the only fourth grader on the track team – a sprinter able to outrun most of the juniors – but I was losing wind. 

The estuary was a short stretch and dumped me onto Boston Road, a fairly busy six-lane bus route with more run down tenements and speckled with black owned mom pop stores.  I rounded the corner and paused recognizing familiar ground.  My godmother worked in a beauty parlor around here “yeah, Marthena would make them leave me alone, but I wasn’t sure where she worked or which way.  I heard the roar of the of the oncoming violent wave and dodged into the nearest building.  I ran to the back of the narrow hallway and instinctively hid in the corner space under the staircase –the toilet – the dirty pissy-stinking toilet.  I squatted in the driest most remote corner making myself into a tight small ball – trying to catch my breath without making any sound.  My mind was still racing.

What am I gonna do if they find me?  If they take the money Billy is gonna kill me.

I could hear them outside.

“Did you see a little kid run by ere?”

“He got to be in one a dese  bil’ns”

“Maybe he lives in one a um!”

“No man!  Da kid don’ live roun ere.  I never saw um before.”

“Man, Boo, I hope you aint jivin’”

“Jivin shit!  You see I got eighty cents from um.  Um telln you the little nigger got a whole bag fulla money.”

I already realized my mistake – one those sudden intuitive leaps in understanding born of a striking commonplace occurrence from which point on you vow to never make the same error in judgment – I never should have stopped when that boy called me from inside the playground.

“Hey kid, com’ere!”

What made me go over to him – fear?  It may have been, but I never associated what he wanted with what I had in the bag. 

It was lunchtime and the playground was full.  Playground?  Zoo!  I went to a Catholic school where we all wore uniforms with shirt and tie, the kids here did not look like the kids there.  These faces were hard and angry, black and desperate looking.  They always seized any opportunity to pick-a-fight.  They looked like they could kill me.  Knock me down, kick the shit out of me, and beat me to death – then go home laughing and giving each other five -- talking about how they done fucked-me-up.

“com’ere kid I aint gonna bother you.”

I walked towards him trying to seem indifferent.

“wha’cha got in da bag?”

At St. Augustine’s play street signs blocked traffic from entering the school block and we played in the schoolyard and out on the street.  Many of the students walked home for lunch.  We all lived close by and some of the parents would even be out helping supervise the play.  This playground was surrounded by a ten foot fence and seemingly provided no way out for the kids inside.

“I aint got nothing in the bag.”

It was the size sack you would carry a small loaf of bread in, or even a lunch.  I did have the good sense to keep it rolled tight so the change could not jingle around.

“C’mon man, don’t tell me ya aint got nothing in’ere – wha da ya think I am stupit – I bet ya got cupcakes in’erer, c’mon gimmie some.”

The fence separated us and I figured he couldn’t get out so I started to walk away.

“Mother Fucker, you try to get away and I’m gonna call my boys and we gonna come out there and we gonna fuck-you-up.”

I was getting scared and began to realize I did not know where I was.  My mind was backtracking, searching, trying to remember the way I came into the block; I figured I’d have to run for it.  The boy behind the fence was about fourteen years old.  He sensed my apprehension.

“Jus’ gimmie some of what you got in da bag and I’ll leave you alone, I won’t call my boys.”

My eyes were scanning the playground – I could see we were attracting attention – one of his friends called out to him.

“Yo Boo wass-up.”

“I’m jus rappin” Boo yelled back, “aint nothing up.”  He snickered at me snaped his finger and said, “You see! What I tell ya!  All I have to do is say da word an da be here jus like dat.  “Now you gonna gimmie some uh dem cupcakes or do I call um?”

His friend’s curiosity had not been satisfied.  I could see then eyeing us suspiciously.  I could feel my body wanting to tremble.  Half of me wanted to just give him the bag and beg him to leave me alone.  The other half of me fought the trembling, struggled for calm and composure and hesitantly moved me towards the fence.  I tried to reason.

“If I give you a quarter you won’t say anything?”

“OK, gimmie a quarter.”

Trying not to reveal the contents, I carefully opened the sack and took out a small handful of change.  Boo’s eyes were bulging.  He was on his tip-toes trying to see in the bag.  I handed him a quarter through the fence.

“Le’me see was in dat bag.”

“No” my reflex fired!  My heart took off racing with the sound, each beat demanding, “what are you going to do?” I clutched the bag under my arm.  Boo was clawing the fence working up a frenzy.

“OK man, um gonna call um”, fired back his foreboding threat!

I still had some change in my hand.

“Here, if I give you this will you leave me alone?”

“Gi’it tu me!”

I gave him the rest of the change.  In the few moments it took him to count how much he had I rolled-up the bag and started to walk away.  There were a a few moments of silence and I was beginning to feel relieved – suddenly my peace was shattered.

“Hey, come back here.”

I picked-up my pace!  He called again at the top of his voice; The Tarzan shrill that on TV brought the animals to the rescue in fast motion.

“Hey!  Yooooooooo fellarrrrrrrrs, THAT LITTLE SUCKER GOT A BAG FULLaaaaaaaaaaaa MONyyyyyyyyyy!

I turned to look and saw Boo half way up the fence.  Every eye in the playground was focused our way.  There was another moments pause – a still frame – very vivid in my mind.  Boo was at the top of the fence one leg over.  He pointed at me and repeated.

“Thaaaaaat Kid Haaaaas a Baaaag Fullllllla Monyyyyyyyyyyyy!”
                   
The lion moves through the jungle.
The gazelle can jump ten feet in a single bound
The monkey can do it two.
A moment’s indecision
Can cost the lamb its life!

My body didn’t have time to respond before my eyes saw the gorillas and the baboons leaping for the fence.  They leaped from the treas – from across the playground they were leaping.

“Run!  Run!”

Now my legs were beginning to cramp.  It was a beautiful mid-Spring day near the close of the school year –probably – it was Ascension Thursday.  It was warm.  I thought of the White men on the roof across from the building I lived in flying their flocks of pigeons.  It was fascinating to see the way the men coaxed the hundreds of birds flying in V formation, making them circle and dive with only varying movements of their long flag sticks, and being able to coax them back to the coop with the spreading of feed.  The birds would return in unison and descend at once onto the roof of the coop to commence their feeding frenzy on the strewn-out grain.  I wondered why the did not just fly away or even get cold in the winter.  All I had on top of me was a T-shirt, and I was sweating.  I could taste the salty moisture around my lips.  The smell of urine was making me dizzy.  My eyes were burning.  My body was shaking.  I thought of the time Alice had played that trick on me and gave me that green 7UP bottle full of pee.  I wanted to spit and I was trying not to puke.

“He gotta be in one a dese buildings.  Les split-up and and find um.

The doorknob to the building turned – the door flung open and slammed the wall.  I made the ball tighter trying to forget where I was.

“How did I end-up here anyway?”

I was at least fifteen blocks out of my neighborhood and never had been so far away alone – but Billy told me not to go to the stores in our neighborhood because Gary’s father might ask questions.  After-all Mr. Downs was a Detective on the New York City Police Force.  If word got back to him that I was going around exchanging small change for dollars, he would trace it back to Billy.  Billy knew all the angles, he would never allow himself to be in this position.

“He gotta be in ere.”

They were listening for sounds, talking in whispers.

“He musta went upstairs.”

“I wonder where dat nigger got that money?’

“Prob’ly stole it from his moma.”

Boyish slapstick giggles broke – then struggled for suppression.  Serious business was at hand.  The whispers were coming closer.

“You think der’s a back door to dis bil’din?”

“Ya’ll go upstairs, we’ll see if der’s a back way.”

I heard their breathing as they drew nearer.  I could feel them.

“Here he go!”

“Git’um!”

There was a scuffle to get at me.  I was lucky the space under the stairs was small.  A few hands were on me none-the-less and it was taking an effort of balance and footing to stay tight in my corner.  I heard – or felt – a few thuds.  My foot slipped.  There I was On my back clutching the bag.  I could feel my body being maneuvered.  There were more thuds – to the arms – to the legs – to the body!

“Git’is feet!”

“Git’um in the side, He’ll let it go!”

“Don’t break da bag!”

“letigo!”

I was being pulled into the open.  The thuds were getting louder and more closely related to pain.  There was pulling at my arms.  Thuds to the head.  I squinched my eyes open and saw shadows coming fast towards my face.  A voice was telling me to give it to them.

“I got it, I got it!”

“C’mon less git out a here befor somebody comes!”

There was a scramble as they pushed to get out of the corner, then more slap-stick giggling and a rustle for room to run.  The door slammed again as the ecstatic pack made off with the booty.

For the next few moments I just laid there.  I can neither remember no imagine how I laid, but what was going through my mind is to this day still clear.

© 2008 Stephan P. Earl
www.maiohw.com