bars, and from my inverted angle I saw a pale
orange basketball bounce into the air from
outside the bars. Now it seemed like my new
white shoes had attracted every child from all of
the surrounding buildings, though I knew it was
me that had attracted them. Scanning the area, I
saw no trace of Matthew, and I knew I was on my
own. I could hear the familiar song over and over
41
as the boys approached and circled around
beneath me.
BoBos, they make ya feet feel fine,
BoBos, cost a dollar ninety-nine,
BoBos, even the welfare will provide!
A small gang of black and Latino boys rallied in a
circle and sang their rhyme over and over, as they
taunted me in my new shoes. Being one of only a
few white children in the Village, I was a frequent
target of attack by the other children.
“Man, you see those shoes, they almost as white
as he is,” jeered one of the boys, as he slapped my
dangling bruised arm. I was hanging upside down
when they had approached, and I was trying
without much success to pull myself up to a seated
position at the top of the monkey bars. My body
was sore from the previous day’s beating, and I
had been enjoying my rare time outside of the
apartment. Blinded by the sun, I swung back
down to shield my eyes.
42
Some of the boys had climbed through the
monkey bars and began slapping and tugging at
my arms. I braced my feet against my thighs,
trying to steady myself as I hung upside down.
The boys were trying to pull me down, and they
held my arms despite my flailing.
“Man look at dis sucker’s bobos. You get dem
today?” one of the crew chided.
“Yeah, my mom got ‘em for me,” I announced
proudly.
“Yo momma? Yo momma’s a hooker. My
momma say she seen her hookin’ all night,” one
of the boys accused.
“She’s trickin’, not hookin’” I retorted, knowing
the proper term for what my mother did for
Bobby.
“What da shit, yo momma a magician with her
tricks?” The boys laughed as they made mock
magic trick gestures in the air.
“No, she
turns
tricks, that’s what it’s called, not
hookin.” I was indignant and not willing to back
43
down when these boys didn’t even know what
tricks were. Momentarily I thought I had the
upper hand, as the boys looked at me in disbelief.
I was wrong.
“And yo daddy her pimp!” someone exclaimed,
and the gang began laughing harder.
“And a thief,” another boy interjected through
his laughter.
“He’s not my daddy!” I screamed, still trying to
keep my legs wrapped around the thin steel bar I
hung from.
“You aint got no daddy, bitch,” a voice yelled
back.
“My momma says my daddy’s in prison. Bobby
aint my daddy!” I shot back sharply, doing my
best to sound confident in the face of the
unrelenting attacks.
“He aint yo daddy? We know he aint yo daddy.
We all know him, and he aint got no white kids.
Your momma just one a his bitches he stay wit.
Ya’ll don’t even belong here, ya honkey bitches!”
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An especially sweaty boy standing right in front of
me added.
The largest boy stepped forward, “I don’t give a
shit where yo daddy is. He aint here and we
gonna kick yo ass,” and he punched me in the
head. My legs gave out from the sudden pain and
I fell head first to the ground.
As I drew my limp body into a familiar fetal
position, the beating began and the chanting
resumed.
BoBos, they make ya feet feel fine,
BoBos, cost a dollar ninety-nine,
BoBos, even the welfare will provide!
Kicks and punches landed on my back and legs.
My body scraped against the ground, and I felt
asphalt tearing into my skin. Someone was
pressing my feet into the hard ground and I could
feel the sneakers ripping apart. Realizing my
shoes were being destroyed, I knew this beating
would be nothing compared to the one I would
get when I got home. Suddenly I started to cry.
45
The crowd heard my sobs and beat me harder. I
could feel their heavy breathing as they crouched
down to punch me. Their sweat dripped onto my
face and mixed with my tears.
My right side ached with road rash as I lay on the
scorching hot ground. Immobilized beneath the
monkey bars, the kicks and punches suddenly
became less intense and less frequent. The
chanting and laughing had stopped, and I heard
yells and screams that weren’t my own. The
beating stopped. I moved my arms from my head
and opened one eye. I could see Matthew wildly
swinging a large piece of wood. He was hitting
the boys as he climbed inside the monkey bars.
Bleeding and burning, I watched as he slammed
the splintered wood with as much force as he
could into the heads of each of the boys who had
not run away. When the crowd scattered and we
were left alone beneath the hot bars, Matthew
reached down and jerked me from the ground,
46
not in tenderness but embarrassment. I stood up
the best I could.
He looked down at me, my head hanging but my
eyes glued to him. He spoke without a hint of
irony, “You know you gonna be in trouble?”
I rubbed my arms trying to shake off the beating.
“They won’t know if you don’t tell,” I said
sheepishly.
“Know? Everyone knows. How do you think I
got over here? I was playing over there,” he
pointed into the distance but I knew where he
meant, “and some kids started yelling about a
fight and I grabbed a piece of wood to come join
the fight. I didn’t know it was you getting beat up.
Why did you let all those guys hit you? Why
didn’t you go home?” He was angry with me, and
he reached back like he was going to smack me
with the piece of wood he still carried, but instead
he threw the wood behind us and walked me
home in silence. Battered and bruised and
steadying myself for what was to come, I walked
47
home slowly, soaking in what I could of the sun as
we walked between the buildings. I knew it would
be a long time before I was let out of the house
again.
When we reached the open doorway, Matthew
did hit me. We stood side by side in the musky
hall, as I waited for him to go up the stairs first.
He smacked me hard on the back of the head and
snarled, “What are you waiting for? Get up there.
You already know what’s gonna happen.” His
words hurt more than his hand. He had learned
so much from Bobby. Matthew idolized Bobby as
if he was his own father, and Bobby treated him
with the same admiration. Matthew was a little
version of Bobby.
Stumbling forward, I grabbed the railing and
pulled myself up onto the stairs. Taking each step
carefully, as though I might fall down, I only
moved along because Matthew was behind me,
pushing me up the stairs. I was sore, bleeding,
and panicked from what awaited. I didn’t know if
48
Bobby was there, but I knew he’d be there
eventually. We got to the landing between the
second and third floors faster than I wanted. I
froze in place. Matthew pushed me to move on,
and I fell forward. I threw my hands out in front
of me to break my fall but still banged my chin on
the step.
“Go on.” Matthew sounded tired and
unconcerned.
I remained on the ground as long as he’d let me.
He yanked me from the ground again, and I
walked up the last few steps to the door. Again I
froze in place; again Matthew prodded me
forward by reaching over me and turning the
knob. The door swung open, and I thought I was
safe until the door bounced shut almost
immediately. Matthew knocked on the door, and
a voice boomed from the other side.
“Who da hell is it?”
“It’s me dad. And Greg.”
49
There was some noise from behind the door
before it opened wide. I was still frozen in front of
the door when it swung open.
“Get da fuck in here you two.” He reached his
arm out and pulled Matthew into the apartment.
Bobby stared down at me and growled, “Get in
here!”
I shuffled into the apartment. I saw Debbie sitting
with her back to the door. Bobby turned to
Matthew. “What happened to him?”
“Some kids were beating him up on the
playground when I got there,” Matthew began
but he was interrupted.
“I know dat. I saw dat from the street. I wanna
know what happened to the gotdamn shoes.”
Matthew began again and was interrupted again.
Bobby waved him away and Matthew went to the
couch, threw himself down and stared at the
television.
“Boy, what happen ta yo damn shoes?”
50
“I, I was, I was outside on the playground and
some kids came and started hitting me and
stepped on my shoes.” I couldn’t look at him as I
spoke, and I tried to look at the ground without
looking at my shoes. My new shoes were ripped,
dirty and unsalvageable. Distracted by my shoes,
I had not noticed Debbie’s crying until she turned
around to face us. Her makeup was running
down her face in a familiar tear-stained pattern.
Her voice was choked through her tears.
“Baby, I’m sorry about the money. I didn’t know.
I swear it was only ten dollars.” At the sound of
Debbie’s voice, I stood up straight and turned
toward her. She was shaking as she sat in the thin
kitchen chair.
“Why you gonn take my money for dis mufucka
anyway? I told you I don’ want you spendin’ my
money on dis asshole. An’ what dis boy doin out
the gotdamn house anyway? I told you ‘bout
dat,” he cocked his head toward me, “and
you
know better.” With the final word Bobby
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unbuckled his belt and pulled it free from his
pants. He reached forward with his free hand and
grabbed my hair. He stepped toward Debbie,
pulling me with him. Turning to look at me he
began again, the thick leather belt dangling from
his right hand.
“You gon’ go outside an tear up dem new shoes
I
bought fa ya?” He held me at arms length away
with my hair firmly in his hand. His large right
arm whipped back then forth and the belt came
down wrapping across Debbie’s back. Her
whimper became a shriek.
“Now you care bitch? Now you think dis mufucka
needs some shoes? You like dat? You buy dis
bastard shoes wit my gotdamn money and he
goes an’ gets dem all torn up before I get home,”
his voice was rising as he whipped the belt back
and forth across Debbie’s back again. She drew
her legs up into the chair and cradled her head
between her knees. Her back began to swell
52
beneath her thin blouse when the belt came down
again.
“I’m su, su, sorry baby. I’ll get it back.” Bobby
pulled the belt back
I stood there at the end of Bobby’s arm waiting
for the beating to begin. Bobby faced me and
smiled.
“So ya wanna fight? Ya like ta fight, ya little
faggot? I taught ya all about it, yer brother know
how ta fight. Shit, he had ta come an’ get yer ass.
I saw dat from da window.” He shook me by my
hair and threw me at my mother. I skidded across
the linoleum floor, knocked my head against the
seat of the chair and fell at Debbie’s feet.
“You two little bitches belong together.” Bobby
snarled in disgust.
“Matt, who taught you ta fight?” Bobby asked the
air as he stared at the ceiling. I reached up from
the floor and grabbed Debbie’s shins for comfort.
“You did daddy,” Matthew sang from the living
room.
53
Separated by a couch, the living room and the
kitchen were one large room at the front of the
apartment. I could see Matthew sitting on the
couch from my spot on the kitchen floor. I stared
at the back of his head as he watched “The Six
Million Dollar Man” on the TV that sat against
the far wall.
“Now boy, if I taught him ta fight why didn’t you
learn nuthin’?” He didn’t wait for me to answer.
He folded the belt in half and held it with both
hands. Pushing the ends together, he pulled the
looped belt taut ferociously. Debbie and I leapt at
the terrifying snap of the leather.
“I’ma toughen you up boy, I’ma make you a man
like yo brotha ova’ ere.” He knocked his head to
the right indicating Matthew reclining on the
couch without a care.
Hatred welled up inside me as I cowered at my
mother’s feet while she cried. My hatred grew as
Bobby prowled around the kitchen and living
room. My hatred for Bobby spawned from his
54
beating Debbie and me while treating Matthew
like a king; my hatred for Matthew spawned from