Fresh Off the Boat (25 page)

I saw pork so we bucked and jumped in the whip. Muschewske got us the fuck out of there before we could get arrested. Me, Cra, Muschewske, Harris, and this chick Jerry all got away.

“Damn, son, why you didn’t get Eddie’s back!”

“Yo, I might have killed one of them, man. I can’t get involved like that.”

“Dead ass, you really gonna stick with that bullshit Israeli street fighting story? No one fucking believes you, dude. If you gonna bitch out, at least lay the fuck all the way down and stop frontin’ like you’ve ever done the damn thing.”

“Eddie, you’re bleeding everywhere!”

“For real, Jerry?”

“Take your shirt off, I’ll stop the bleeding.”

I took my shirt off so that she could press it against my face. The shit was dripping blood everywhere, but I really didn’t feel shit ’cause I was on bars.

“A’ight, so, I need to know, y’all saw me knock that motherfucker out the box, right?”

“Ahhh, you definitely got him, b! Most definitely got him.”

“Yeaaah, I been waitin’ years to hit that motherfucker, man.”

“Are you idiots serious? You’re missing half your face right now!”

“Yo, it’s worth it, though. That’s the only L I ever took.”

“Uhhh, I don’t know what kind of crazy math you guys are running, but this whole situation on your face is definitely an L.”

“Ha, ha, Jerry, you wildin’!!! This is nothin’. Plus, I got hit from behind, this isn’t on my scorecard.”

“Yeah, all I see is W’s today!”

“Let’s go to the 7 and get some more beer.”

“Dude, you are GIVING blood right now, we’re going to the hospital.”

“Naw, naw, naw, I can’t go to the hospital. I got pills in my system. We can just put neosporin on this.”

“Hell no!”

“Jerry, for real, we can’t go to the hospital.”

“Um, no, we’re going to the hospital.”

Eventually, Jerry won out and we went to the hospital. But, first, I chilled out in the Chick-fil-A parking lot down the street, had some food, drank some water, and brushed my teeth at a gas station so I didn’t have alcohol on my breath. Jerry and Muschewske checked me into the hospital and told them I hurt myself skateboarding. We both had Etnies on and shit so it made sense. They bought the story, didn’t bother with blood tests, didn’t notice my breath, and took care of my injuries.

I wasn’t mad at all. Whether I was missing half my face or not, it always bothered me I never swung on those kids in ninth grade, and now I did it. Revenge is always expensive, but you get what you pay for. Everything was roses sitting there on the hospital cot when I realized I forgot about my coming-of-age novel class.

“Fuck!”

“What? We’re good.”

“Naw, my
Huckleberry Finn
paper is due tomorrow!”

“Yo, fuck school, man, you can turn it in later.” That night, I made a decision.

I made Mike take me back to school and drop me off in my dorm room, and I wrote my paper on
Huckleberry Finn
for Dr. Jones’s class. It finally became clear. There was no ending! Twain copped out. He didn’t finish! As much as I loved the book, I couldn’t let him get away. Where was my ending? More important, I looked myself in the bloody-ass face and said to myself: “What’s your ending, asshole?”

The next day, I rolled into Dr. Jones’s class about fifteen minutes late. Considering everything that had happened, I figured she would cut me some slack. I opened the door, walked in, and kids literally puked in their mouths. I stunk like weed, I had bandages all over my face, and my elbow was still bleeding. I tried not to make a commotion, but Dr. Jones stopped and just stared at me walking in.

“Eddie, are you OK?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m totally fine. Sorry I’m late.”

She didn’t want to get too personal in front of the whole class, but she gave me the concerned screw face. I sat in my seat next to Connie and pulled out my paper. After a few minutes, I was comfortable enough to look around the room and realized something.

“Yo, Connie, is this family day or some shit?”

“Uhhh, yeah, Dr. Jones has been talking about it for weeks, remember? She brought her kids to class today …”

“Fuck, are you serious?”

“Look in the back, dude.”

“I’m cool, though, right? I fell off a skateboard.”

“Eddie … I don’t know how to tell you this but you are really really not cool right now.”

And she smiled. I loved Connie. She was judgmental, but never acted on her judgments. She’d tell you you were an asshole. She’d tell you what she thought, but she’d still kick it with you. Connie wasn’t one of those people that operated on stigmas and stereotypes; if she saw something that seemed off, she’d dig deeper where others would run. She was mad understanding and whether she’ll admit it or not, probably also just liked being around random ignant shit like me.

“Connie, I don’t think I’m gonna make it. I gotta fuckin’ puke. Can you give my paper to Dr. Jones?”

“Yeah, but I’m calling you after class.”

“Gimme a few hours. I gotta take a nap.”

“Whatever.”

I got back in my room and passed the fuck out. I woke up five hours later to a full voicemail box:

“Eddie, it’s Dr. Jones. I need to talk to you.”

“Umm, dude, are you really going to leave your paper with me and then not pick up when I call to see if you’re OK? Call me …”

“Ay yo, it’s Chew. You got that motherfucker last night, son. Let’s get it innn tonight!”

I called Dr. Jones.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Dr. Jones, it’s Eddie.”

“Eddie … Nice to hear from you. I have a bone to pick.”

“What happened?”

“It’s about your paper.”

“You don’t like it?”

“No, I haven’t been able to read it.”

“Why? It’s all there.”

“Well, I’m looking at your paper and there’s freaking blood all over it!”

“For real? Oh, should I bring you another copy?”

“Yes, yes, Eddie, you should bring me another copy. But I don’t want it right now, bring it to the next class, and by the way, what the heck happened to you?”

“Uhhh, you really want to know?”

“You can tell me.”

“I saw this kid that I got in a fight with in ninth grade so I hit him, but his friend kicked me in the back of the head so I hit the parking lot with my face.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah.”

“Eddie … I don’t know if you think this is funny or OK, but it’s not. You can’t keep doing this. You know I love you, you’re a smart kid, but it’s one or the other. You can’t have it both ways.”

“I know. I mean, yo, you won’t believe me, but I left the hospital just so I could write that paper and turn it in this morning.”

“Of course I believe you! I can’t believe you came to class! It’s insane. You have this dedication, but then you do these crazy things. You make money writing papers for other kids,
^‖
you hit someone in a parking lot, then you hit the parking lot with your face. What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know, Dr. Jones.”

BEFORE IT GOT
better, it got worse.

“JARED! WHAT THE
fuck, son?”

“Fuck these bitches. What are they gonna do?”

“It’s just unnecessary, b.”

“Let’s bounce, man, someone’s gonna see this.”

At the end of my first semester at Rollins, Jared and Ben came through one night. Jared had too much to drink and bashed out the front window in the middle of a roiling frat party that we’d crashed for the free drinks. Ben and I were drinking in the stairwell when we heard the glass shatter and then saw Jared coming up to us with a silly grin and a fast walk.

We all hustled outside and got about fifty feet down the sidewalk when we turned back to see sixteen frat guys rushing through the door like some kind of clown act at the J. Crew circus. The main dude came out, chest puffed, screaming.

“Which one of you assholes broke that window?”

We didn’t trip. The three of us had been through so much shit before, we knew the drill.

“What window?”

“The fucking window that’s on the sidewalk now!”

“Yo, man, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Eddie, we know you, man. Which one of your boys broke the window?”

“Son, I have no idea what you’re talking about. No one broke any window.”

I remember that “Late Registration” was bumpin’ through the Chi Psi window. My boy Jacob always played that shit “Two Words” and it was coming through that window like theme music. “We in the streets playa getcha mail / it’s only two places you’ll end up: either dead or in jail.” Sixteen angry frat boys were tightening their semicircle around us, but for
some weird-ass reason all I heard was Yeezy until I realized people were still barkin’ at me.

“Dude, you go to school here, just tell us which one of these assholes broke the window and it’s not a problem.”

“Yo, I’m not saying it again. We’re walking this way. If y’all have a problem, come with it.”

Jared, Ben, and I started to walk off and the frat boys looped around us to form a circle. Sixteen of them punk motherfuckers and not a nann one of them swung on us. Everyone was waiting for someone to throw the first punch and we weren’t about to, ’cause we were outnumbered. Then Ben bucked. He broke the line around us and started running down the street.

“Where you going?!”

“He’s probably getting the gat, son.”

We didn’t have a gun. There was no reason. None of us were into shit that deep but the frat boys didn’t know. At the time, I thought I was playing it smart, making them think Ben had the ratchet. It worked because a few of them fell back. Jared and I stood our ground still surrounded by the remaining mob of frat guys, who were now crowding us even closer, starting to push us around a little. There was a lot of bullshitting, but we figured that by the time Ben came back with the car, we’d just jump in and be out.

After about five minutes, Ben pulled up in his Mitsubishi Montero. I dived into the passenger seat but Jared stayed on the street.

“Jared, get in the car, man!”

“Naw, fuck that.”

“I’ma go get him.”

I stayed in the passenger seat while Ben tried to get Jared, but he wouldn’t move. Jared was a stubborn motherfucker. He never ran, never backed down, and even though we didn’t have a move, he wanted to have it out right there on the street. There was this big juicehead named Keith that came up to Jared—easily three times his size. Real talk, Keith was about six foot three, 225, all muscle, but if they fought, I still would’ve bet on Jared. It’s not about size in a street fight; whoever throws first wins and Jared always threw first. I stayed in the car waiting for Ben to get Jared out
of there, but he stayed in Keith’s face. After a few minutes, I got out and took the driver’s side and honked the horn in Jared’s ear but he didn’t even turn. I had a feeling this fool was really gonna try to fight sixteen people solo. I was proud of Ben. He was actually making peace that day telling the frat dudes that we’d pay for the window, that Jared was drunk, apologizing for him, trying to get us all out of there without a fight. Right when Ben was about to resolve the situation, though, I saw Kaywan creepin’ toward Ben’s left side with a tire iron.

“BEN! TURN! TURN!”

By this time people were yelling and screaming on the street, Kanye was at full pitch from the window, and half the school had poured out onto the sidewalk from a house party on the block.
Still nowhere to go
.

“BEEENNNN!!!” Kaywan reared back with the tire iron, aiming at Ben’s head. I had no choice. I stepped on the gas.

VRRROOOMMM! BAM!

“What the fuck!”

I drove the Montero into the crowd as Kaywan dived out of the way and hit Keith. Jared and Ben got loose, the other kids ran, but Keith jumped onto the side bumper of the car and tried to punch me through the window.

“You fucking chink!”

I raised the window, but his arm was still in the car. This fool just wouldn’t let go. One arm was in the window grabbing at my face and the other grabbed the rail on top of the SUV. In those situations, some people can’t see straight. Everything starts to blend together, but I was different. Things always came clear to me. I could see a way out. There were people everywhere, but I had to get Keith off. I stepped on the gas, went toward a spot with no bystanders, spun the car 360, and threw Keith off the car. His ass went tumbling into the street like flaming goat shit.

I turned the whip around to pick up Ben and Jared. Finally, Jared got in the fucking car.

“What the fuck was that, man? I was about to calm that situation!”

“Son, that A-rab was about to whomp you with a tire iron!”

“Just go, man, just go!”

I jetted down Holt Avenue, but before I could make the left out of school grounds we heard jake.

WHHHHRRRRRRR WHRRRRRRR WHRRRRR!

“Step out of your vehicle!”

“Why the fuck is the SWAT team here?”

Three cop cars swerved in front of us with SWAT logos and barricaded the SUV in a triangle. Two squad cars slid in parallel and a third came up the middle facing us head-on. Immediately I put the car in reverse and stepped on it. Before I could back into another street, three more cars blocked us from behind.