Benji stuck out his hand, and Johnny slapped it in a display of misbegotten solidarity. Benji narrowed his eyes in dramatic fashion and addressing the current situation, said as hip as possible, “Ain’t nothin’ to it, J. D.—let’s do this. In and out.”
Benji’s words did not betray his true feelings…he was terrified.
And for good reason. I saw clearly where the aftermath of this crossroads would lead. Maybe not specifically but it was clear to me no good would come from the path Benji was about to choose. I literally screamed at Benji, “No! You don’t even need me to know THAT this is a huge mistake!”
I saw in Benji’s eyes that he knew what I knew—I’d gotten through to him.
And yet…he was going to do it anyway.
Johnny slapped Benji’s hand, gave a quick nod, and disappeared around the cornet at the speed of light.
Benji took a deep breath and glanced up and down the street— there was no one to be seen. Even the birds seemed to have stopped chirping, and to Benji, it seemed as if their eyes followed his every move. It was as if the entire neighborhood was frozen for this moment in time…completely motionless in fascination and anticipation as to what Benji would do next.
Benji glanced at his house to get a sense of whether or not his mama was passing by the window and possibly noticed her stationary middle son NOT on his way to school. Benji delayed a second; his feet seemed stuck to the ground. I knew in Benji’s mind, it seemed like he delayed for an hour…and I knew why. Benji was unconsciously hoping his mother would come by the window, notice him, and scream for him to get to school, or maybe Nikki would come out on her way to school, a car would turn down his street and drive by, or anything would happen…anything that would halt the freeze, resume the flow of time, and disrupt the flow of events Benji and his delinquent neighbor were about to set in motion.
But fate was determined not to rescue Benji on this day. Benji looked after Johnny Davis and quickly followed him to his now inevitable destiny. He forced his feet into motion and willed himself to move faster…the sooner the deed was started, the sooner it would be done.
As soon as he was out of sight from the main street, he put his books down and turned his attention to the wannabe hoodlum who initiated this mess. Johnny was at the window but was standing there lingering until his accomplice came into view. Once the boys locked eyes, they both appeared to be silently telling each other the next step they took meant there was no turning back.
The boys looked up at the window, and Johnny silently looked at Benji, then imperceptibly at the ground, psychically indicating to Benji what he needed him to do. Benji wordlessly dropped on to all fours, and Johnny stepped on to his back and went to work on the window. Johnny teetered to balance on Benji’s back as he began to work on the window’s screen, which, though it was invisible to Benji on all fours, was bent nearly to the point of being severed. To get to the window, which was slightly ajar, Johnny expertly slid his fingers into the screen to gently dislodge it from the window frame; this was an extremely important detail, since if the screen was forcibly removed, it might not fit again when the boys tried to reinsert it into the frame.
Johnny maneuvered the screen with the skill of a professional and popped the screen out so easily, Benji instantly knew he’d done this before— probably numerous times. Johnny dislodged the screen and wordlessly handed the screen to Benji, who balanced on his knees and one arm to take the screen from his cohort and place it gently on the ground beneath him. I noted with frustration the boys seemed to be in sync.
It did not take much for Johnny to open the window wide enough for him to slither in and disappear from view. As he vanished, Benji stood up; he heard the sounds of steps and voices coming closer and closer. Not directly to where he was…he could tell there was a group of people walking down the sidewalk outside the house. He distinctly heard girls’ laughter…girls his age…probably on the way to school. He remained frozen in place as he waited for the voices to pass by or indicate they knew he was there and up to no good. He secretly wished it was Angela…or even Nikki. He wished his sisters’ eyes were drawn directly to him and they started screaming, “Benji! What are you doing! I’m gonna tell!” But they were nowhere to be found.
As the group of girls who were not his sisters wandered aimlessly by, Benji noted he had seen them in school, but he couldn’t remember their names. He thought he’d seen one of them— the most beautiful girl in the group with the dark hair. Maybe at a dance or something, but he couldn’t focus— his mind was solely dominated by his fear and the irrational belief that if he remained immobile, he would somehow become invisible. But too engrossed in their own conversation and each other, the teenage girls did not see Benji as they passed by the residence on their way to school.
Just like Benji should have been doing.
In the aftermath of nearly being discovered, Benji remained nearly motionless as he seriously contemplated a thought: Why didn’t he just leave? He didn’t want to go in; he had assisted his neighbor, but— it wasn’t like Johnny would snitch on him because doing so would involve admitting his own involvement. Neither boy was able to snitch on the other, no matter what, not for any reason. Of course, Johnny might want to fight him if he did as he was considering— but after humiliating Tootie Mo, Benji was unconcerned with fighting Johnny Davis. So Johnny Davis might have gotten angry, but Benji’s reputation after that fight might have tempered any aggressive feelings on Johnny’s part. That…plus his newfound friendship (kind of) with Nick Thomas. So Benji deliberated his new idea: Why didn’t he simply go? He stared at the open window for what seemed like an eternity, and for a moment, I thought he might just leave Johnny Davis with his criminal ideals alone in AP’s house.
I wanted Benji to leave, but truthfully…I didn’t know if leaving would have altered the chain of events that had been already set in motion. I know every decision results in an altered future state, but for some reason, I was not permitted to see or even sense what the result would be or even could be if Benji simply decided he would leave. But even without my guardian insight— leaving had to be preferable to entering a dangerous man’s home…right?
In an instant, Benji resolved any conflicting ideas he had on the matter. I don’t know why he made the decision he made, but with a deep breath and a little leap, he and after a minor struggle to get his footing and pull himself up, Benjamin Frazier crawled through AP’s window, and slipping in headfirst as Johnny did, he stealthily entered the home of the notorious Arthur Parker.
Benji crawled through the window on his stomach, and since his eyes were not yet adjusted to the darkness, he stuck out his hands to find the floor and support his weight. Once his vision cleared, he could see his hands were a few inches from the floor, so he realized he would have to fall in and swing his feet away from anything he might disturb or break upon landing. Once he was comfortable he devised a landing strategy, he let his body drop to the floor, using his arms to cushion the landing and guide his feet and body to a safe space. The entry was perfect. Nothing was broken, and he landed a pile of clothes laying haphazardly on the floor.
He was in.
Benji stood and surveyed his surroundings.
It was obvious he landed in the bedroom, darkened and smelling faintly of cigarettes, incense, and some other weird, thick smell. The bed sat low to the floor…in fact, it was on the floor and ruffled. Benji saw pictures of beautiful semi-naked women hanging on the wall, a dynamite “Velvet Smooth” poster was on the wall too, an ashtray by the bed that hadn’t been emptied in about a year, it seemed, some kind of mirror with what looked like baby powder on it, and as his vision cleared, Benji saw a girl’s wrinkled yellow panties on the bed.
There was a low music sound playing from an eight-track somewhere in the room. It was the People’s Choice, over and over with a mesmerizing, thumping bass line Benji was familiar with. He almost forgot where he was as he listened to the almost- hypnotic beat in the semi-darkness. Hearing Johnny Davis’s movement in the next room awakened him from his stupor.
He was keenly aware he wanted to get out of there.
Benji walked through the beads that hung from the door frame into the sparsely furnished living room. There was an explosion of color in the living room, but even Benji realized the furniture was old and faded. The furnishings consisted of a bright blue couch that used books to prop it up instead at least one of the legs and a green beanbag chair that was ripped and fixed with some kind of tape. The television looked kind of like the one Benji watched at home, but older—a big brown bulky box with the knobs missing and aluminum foil on the antennae. Benji literally tip toed through the living room as if he was afraid he would break something if he moved too fast. Johnny Davis came out of another room and glanced at Benji as he darted past and made his way into the bedroom to look for AP’s gangster treasure. Benji thought, “We’re here checking how AP is living, but the truth was, there was not much to check.” It was like a normal house…kind of. It smelled different, for sure, and Benji was fairly certain there were some kind of drugs in the bedroom, and there were the panties, of course. Benji almost wanted another look at those, but he had seen panties before, normally when he was sneaking to put peanut butter on his sisters’ panties because he thought it was funny. But Benji imagined he was going to see piles of guns and drugs and tons of alcohol and fur coats like in The Mack or maybe the last vestiges of a crazy, wild party…something like in Super Fly. But for the most part, it was just…a simple house like a bunch of houses he’d seen before.
The knowledge had Benji in a daze as he wandered from the living room into the kitchen, where sunshine was streaming through the window and was well lit— pretty much like any other kitchen he’dbeen in. There was a small table with two raggedy chairs off to the side by the kitchen door, and Benji sat, though he jumped up immediately as he heard the chair scrape against the kitchen tile. Curious, he opened the refrigerator and examined its humble contents— a half gallon of milk, ketchup, a pan with some kind of leftover food in it, a block of cheese, and a carton of eggs. As Benji slowly closed the refrigerator door, a thought crept into his consciousness: he was not going to take anything from this house. He didn’t want to look for anything to take. He just wanted to leave.
Johnny Davis entered the kitchen, and he looked a little frustrated, probably because he had come to the same realization Benji had come to— there was nothing there to steal.
“Man, this mother fucker ain’t got nothing in here.”
Johnny sounded almost disappointed as the two boys stood in the kitchen waiting to make their next move. Benji felt relieved the ordeal appeared to be coming to an end and that they would soon be leaving.
“What’d you get?”
“Now Johnny is the one asking questions?” Benji thought ironically. But Benji was not in the mood to answer any of Johnny’s questions. He was tired of being in this place. And even more than that— he was tired of being around Johnny Davis. Rather than answer, Benji elected to stare at Johnny with dead eyes…dead eyes didn’t answer the question or even acknowledge a question had been asked. Dead eyes make a questioner feel stupid for asking a question or even speaking. They were dead eyes— dead eyes can’t be faked. It was what Benji truly felt.
Johnny shrugged, and after looking around the kitchen for a minute, the self-described leader proclaimed, “Well, we gotta do something…we can’t just come up in this mother fucker and leave.”
Without a word, Johnny began opening cabinets until he found two bowls, and he placed both on the table, one in front of Benji. Next, he went and presented a box of Waffelos and filled each bowl nearly to the top with sweet, maple-flavored cereal. As he moved to the refrigerator, presumably for milk, he spitefully muttered, “This mother fucker ain’t got shit, so we gonna eat his food.”
What did he mean…we?
Benji’s disbelief was now threatening to turn into full- blown rage. “I was on my way to school,” he silently fumed. “We break into AP’s house… I almost get spotted…we walk around…there’s nothing here…and now we’re eating cereal I could eat at home…so…we broke in here for nothing!”
Johnny Davis was busy slurping sweet Waffelos out of his bowl, and Benji literally had to hold himself back from smacking the spoon out of his hand and choking him with his bare hands . He stared at Johnny Davis and thought, “Why am I here? I got my own friends…I even been to parties at Nick’s place where I ain’t gotta sneak in. He can’t beat me up…and he’s always talking about what girls I talk to, and I never even seen him with a girl!! What am I doing?”
But just then…Benji has a thought that pushed away his escalating rage. A terrifying notion. A moment of chilling reality.
There was milk in the refrigerator.
Milk.
In the refrigerator.
Milk spoils.
If AP was going to be gone for a week, why did he leave milk in his refrigerator?
And as a matter of fact…why was the People’s Choice tune “Nursery Rhymes” now humming from the eight-track in the bedroom? Why hadn’t AP turned it off if he was going to be gone for a week?
AP wasn’t gone. He was coming back. He could be back any moment.
Benji knew he had to go. And right now.
Johnny was leisurely finishing his cereal and looked like he was prepared to go for a second bowl when Benji, with absolute steel in his voice, commanded the room saying, “Check this out - you one stupid mutha fucka - for real. How AP gonna be gone for a week leaving milk in the mother fuckin refrigerator and music playing and shit?? He ain’t doin no 7…he probably at work. You do whatever you want. I’m ‘bout ta book, catch you on the flip side.”
As Benji spoke, the look on Johnny’s face slowly changed from one of complete scorn to a mask of pure horror as he realized his next- door neighbor was right. He jumped up almost whispering to himself, “Yeah…shit! We gotta go! C’mon, Doo—help me wash these dishes real quick!”
All the cool had been drained from Johnny’s voice, attitude, and mannerisms. The pleading look in his eyes told the entire story. The boys stared at each other, but Benji didn’t care…Benji again contemplated simply leaving. He wanted to. Being in Johnny’s presence only threatened to further enrage him, but even through his anger, Benji felt a just a small hint of sympathy for the petrified young boy Johnny had turned into in front of his very eyes.
“C’mon, hurry up then.”
“And stop calling me Doo.”
Benji was in command now.
The boys hurriedly dumped the cereal, washed out the bowls, and returned the bowls and utensils to where they got them. After a quick inspection and confirming the kitchen looked as it was, the boys reversed their steps through the living room and back into the bedroom to depart. With the work done, Benji considered just leaping through the window first and leaving Johnny to get out the best way he knew how, but remembering the panic- stricken look on his face, he looked back assertively and quickly motioned to for him to get through the window. Johnny leaped up and through the window, seemingly in one motion, and just like that, he was out of the house.
Benji followed suit, and he noted it was much easier getting out of the house than it was to get in. As Benji climbed through the window, he realized Johnny had left him— he made it enough of the way through the window to see Johnny disappear around the corner, running as fast as he could in the opposite direction of their school.
“I don’t need that sucka anyway,” Benji thought sullenly to himself. He marveled he wasn’t nervous even a little bit as he shimmied through the window and on to the ground below. As he dropped to the ground, he felt strong. Powerful. He didn’t feel like running. He had a clear mind— if he ran, someone would notice him running. Or worse…he wouldn’t notice someone who was noticing him. He had to be smart now…stay focused and aware. He took three or four steps toward the street when his newfound awareness served him well.
He hadn’t put the screen back.
And without Johnny to stand on—there was no way to get it back inside the window frame.
Benji walked back to the window and looked up at the screen and quickly realized there was no way to put it back the way it had been before. So Benji held up the screen as close as he could to the window and let it drop. Then he did it again…then he did it again. He wanted to see where the screen might land if it just happened to fall from the window…maybe AP would believe the wind blew it off. Or a bird landed on it…or some other random occurrence caused the screen to inexplicably fall out of the window frame that normally held it in place.
Maybe, I thought. It’s possible.
“But what would he think about the open window behind the screen?” I called out to Benji as he smugly sauntered away in the direction of the school.
But Benji didn’t hear me. He never could. It would be so much easier, but…unfortunately…it just didn’t work that way.
Benji went to school as if nothing of consequence had happened that day, but as the day wore on, the confidence and strength he initially felt slowly evaporated as the weight of the morning’s events became increasingly burdensome. As the day progressed, he almost felt as though he were walking through a dream sequence and everyone was talking and moving in fuzzy, super slow motion.
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.
I moved in closer to comfort Benji. I knew he needed me more than ever now.
When Benji regained consciousness a short time later, he could hear cars driving by and music playing in the distance…but his vision began to fail him. Thankfully, the pain started to subside…but his stomach still felt very hot.
So very hot. But not painful anymore. Just blazing hot. Like his stomach was on fire.
Benji could smell the blood which started to pool around him in larger and larger quantities. Though barely hanging on to consciousness, he thought his blood smelled almost…like metal? He tried to open his eyes to look at his wounds, to see if it was really his own blood he was smelling, but…his vision was rapidly deteriorating…he couldn’t see anything now. He could still hear— but his world had gone dark.
Even though the pain subsided a little, Benji found himself panicking as the sounds of the world around seemed to begin to drift away as well. He was aware that he was panting harder and harder…breathing faster and faster. He tried catch a single breath to control it, but he couldn’t. He thought to himself that he needed to get up…but as he tried to will his body to rise, he could only manage to wiggle a single toe…and there was no one there to hear him whisper “I need to go home now…”
No one…except me.
Benji felt a sense of comfort as his panting finally slowed…and he was thrilled when he saw his mother approaching him. His eyes opened wide as he looked at her and thought, “Mama has come to rescue me…she’s come to take me home.” But his mother did not rescue him. She sat by his side, just as she sat by him in the car in those younger days…and they sang together. Benji’s voice was no more than a whisper as he sang along with Mama and waited for his favorite part…Mama’s favorite part…the part his mama always thought was so cute…
Benji did not have the strength to lift his finger to his lips, but he looked at his mama and whispered, “Shhhhh.”
Mama smiled…like she always did at that part.
Benji was getting cold…he began to shiver uncontrollably…he was really, really tired now…he wanted badly to sleep…and he almost did. But his mother continued singing, and Benji’s eyes jerked open as she got to the point of the song Benji wanted to finish… the part that asked for forgiveness. He tried in vain to mouth the words to their song.
Mama tilted her head, nodded and smiled at her beloved Benji again. He smiled back…comforted in knowing he was forgiven.
Benji saw the face of the beautiful, dark-haired girl who’d passed by AP’s house that fateful morning; the girl he’d been going to visit…and she sat by his mother. What was she doing here? She was smiling too.
Benji looked directly at me and whispered to me, “I know her.”
He could see me now.
For Benji, his world of darkness changed into a world of blinding white light now, the brightest light he’d ever seen. Benji didn’t even realize lights could be that bright— whereas at first he could not see because of the darkness…now he could not see because of the light. As the light got increasingly brighter, it was accompanied by a roar— a sound as if every loud noise that had ever been made from the beginning of time all decided to play at maximum volume simultaneously. Then the entire area began to vibrate uncontrollably like the whole world was gripped by the same violent earthquake. The scene become brighter…louder…with ever more furious vibrations…until the whole scene seemed to meld into a single all-out combination of brilliance, clamor, and movement—and in the uproar, I lost Benji…I couldn’t see him anymore. And then…
It all stopped.
Now, people in white were hurriedly rushing toward us as Benji, in a state of total calm, smiled at me. Even his eyes smiled. I knew he was tired, but he wouldn’t close his eyes. He wouldn’t because he could still see me, his mama, the dark-haired girl…and also a sweet, comforting presence that had just emerged from what seemed like chaos just a few moments previous.
Benji was determined to see us, to keep looking at us all…so he refused to close his eyes. He fought the urge. He kept looking at all of us with a hint of a smile in his eyes.
The people in white came close enough to touch Benji. They were talking to him now, trying to make sure he stayed awake…they were treating his wounds, doing everything possible to stop the flow of blood. They began giving him oxygen to help his breathing. Everyone was working on Benji… furiously…almost frantically…determinedly…and hurriedly…but ultimately…and finally…
Benjamin Frazier Jr., just fifteen years old…with eyes wide open…slept.