Worlds Apart (35 page)

I gazed upward, and in the distance, towering above the trees, was Delancey’s apartment building. I couldn’t help but miss her.

We kept walking, and I felt the presence of others behind us. “I think we are being followed.” The three of us glanced over our shoulders.

There were five teenaged hoodlums lurking behind us. I didn’t want to get into a fight, and neither did Sam, so we ignored them. Carlos was a different story. The hoodlums quickly moved closer to us. As they moved closer, I noticed their clothing, and the bandanas tied around their faces. They were Deceptors.

They teased Sam about his crimson Harvard t-shirt. One of them kept shouting “How do I get to Harvard?” while the others laughed.

They moved closer, more methodical, in Delta formation: one in the lead, two behind, and the other two on the perimeter. The park was desolate, rare for a Sunday in April; the rains were to blame. I didn’t see any policemen.

One of the thugs asked Sam if he was smart. Sam ignored the question and kept walking. Carlos remained silent. The five of them quickly surrounded us and I prepared for a fight, clenching my fists. The adrenaline was rushing throughout my body; my heart was pounding faster and faster. My breathing was quick and short.

“I asked you if you were smart,” their leader shouted to Sam.

“Smart enough,” Sam said.

“What do you want?” I said.

“That Harvard T-shirt,” one of them shouted back, “And your tuition money.” They were guffawing. Carlos started laughing as well. The Deceptors found Carlos amusing.

Carlos was laughing louder than everyone. The Deceptors smelled like pot, and their eyes were red. The five thugs stared at Carlos as he continued to laugh long after they had stopped. Carlos sounded maniacal. I wondered how long he had spent with Brass outside my house. Maybe Carlos was high as well. The thugs were no longer amused. One of them pulled out a knife. Sam stepped back, and was pushed to the ground.

“These Harvard boys can’t seem to fight,” said one of the Deceptors hovering over Sam.

Carlos glanced at me. In these situations, it’s better to be decisive. I recalled the rules about street fights; the guy that lands the first punch wins the fight. I nodded at Carlos, and then clenched my right fist, and took a deep breath. My goal was to be swift and powerful, and if I broke every bone in my hand, so be it. I widened my stance, shifting all the weight to my right side. I took a full swing at the hoodlum hovering over Sam.

I hit him in the jaw, as hard as I could, and he fell down, stunned and delirious. I turned to pick up Sam and a punch landed on my head. I swung back but missed. I braced myself for a maelstrom.

All I could think about was my father being attacked and robbed. Anger grew inside of me, my blood boiling. But when I looked around, no one was moving or throwing any punches.

Carlos had pulled out a big gun from his backpack. Carlos pointed the gun at one of the hoodlums, the one who demanded the money and the tee-shirt. The hoodlum was pointing his gun back at Carlos. I recognized the gun that Carlos was holding, it was Brass’s gun. I walked to Carlos’s side, and Sam followed. The five thugs stood next to their leader with the gun. He was holding a .22 caliber, a much smaller gun, but at such a close range, equally deadly.

Carlos stared at the lead Deceptor in the eye, and with his other hand, threw me his backpack. Carlos motioned to the backpack, and I opened it. I pulled out another gun and handed it to Sam. Sam declined, and I held the jeweled gun in my hand. This was likely Delancey’s gun, the one her father had bought her, the one that was stolen from her bag. This was the gun that Sam had bought after exchanging a bottle of perfume for cash. One of the Deceptors pulled out a gun from his oversized black coat.

Now, although they outnumbered us, we were even, two guns each.

I was breathing heavy, and beads of sweat formed on my forehead. I continued to hold the gun, standing next to Carlos.

The next few seconds felt like Chernobyl’s nuclear reactor about to meltdown. No one moved; no one backed down. I was breathing harder. Sam was sweating. One whole minute went by, seeming like an hour. The five of them stood across from us, staring us down. No one spoke, no one moved a muscle. My heart was pounding; my throat was out of air. Carlos had a devious grin on his face. I was nervous and afraid, but not Carlos. He looked like he wanted to pull that trigger. Sam’s hands were shaking.

I held my gun out with both hands, my arms fully extended. I had never fired a weapon before, and felt scared, but also I had mixed emotions.

Sam shouted, “Shoot ’em! Shoot ’em before they shoot you! These are probably the same guys that assaulted your father. They robbed him, took his money. Do the world a favor and kill these bastards. Avenge your father. Where’s your family loyalty? Where’s your honor?”

Could Sam be correct? Is this the same group that robbed and assaulted my father? I looked at their dirty fingernails, their dirty eyes, and could even feel their dirty hearts. How many other people had they had robbed this week? How many more people would be better off if I pulled the trigger? My heart pounded louder, and my throat became drier.

I would have loved to blast one, right in the chest. I pictured his friends running away and I pictured myself shooting them in the back as they tried to run off. I was so angry about my father. I was angry about so many things, including not helping Eddie Lo in the pool hall or the ski trip. I was angry about not helping Mr. Zoose who had come to my defense. I was breathing heavy, and couldn’t get enough air. My hands were trembling, but they were tight around the handle of the gun.

When you are in a gun fight, the guy who fires first could also fire last. Would they shoot first? Would Carlos shoot first? Would I shoot first or would I be lying dead with Carlos. I wanted to shoot first. I could not afford to miss; I might only get one shot. My hand was starting to dip, from the weight of the gun, and from holding my arm extended for as long as I had. At least three minutes had now passed.

I was pumped up with adrenaline and had a lot of crazy thoughts in my head. I thought about college, and going away. I thought about Svetlana, and how beautiful she was. I thought about Delancey, and how I was such an idiot to ruin our friendship by kissing Svetlana in front of her. I thought about my father, and how he was barely able to walk. I thought about my mother, and pictured myself crying at her funeral. I thought about my grandfather, and remembered that he said to make good decisions. By holding this gun, by shooting one of these thugs, would I be making a good decision? The life map was in my wallet. By shooting first, would I stick to my plan? What if I was arrested? Instead of going off to college, I would be going off to Sing Sing.

Then I had another thought. After Halloween, Carlos had said that the gun that I was now holding did not have any bullets. But that was five months ago, I’m sure he must have bought bullets by now. I looked at the gun. Here I was in Central Park, surrounded by thugs, two of them with guns, Carlos with his gun, and I may not have had any bullets. How dumb would it look if I pulled out the cartridge to check for bullets? How dead would I be if there were no bullets in the gun I was holding?

I had to look confident. I had to remain looking like I could pull the trigger and think nothing of it.

“You don’t have the guts…come on, pull that trigger boy,” said one of the thugs holding a gun. His voice broke the silence, and I instantly knew he was from the Bronx, by the nasally way he spoke.

“You have Stanton and Harvard to think about, and tests, and graduation,” the lead Deceptor said. “We have nothing to think about, nothing to lose.”

“I’ll pull this trigger five times and never look back,” I replied, my voice full of anger. “There’s no one around. I’ll be on the subway in ten seconds, and I won’t leave any witnesses.”

“You won’t do it, because you’ve never shot anyone before. You don’t have the
cajones
,” said another Deceptor.

“I’ll be doing the world a favor if I shoot the five of you today, right here in Central Park,” I said grinding my teeth.

“You’re no Bernie Goetz,” he said. The reference was to a famous subway vigilante.

“This is what it comes to,” said Carlos. “Manhattan isn’t big enough for the both of us. Your group and my group. Criminals and regular people. We are high school students, in New York City, the center of the universe. We go to the best high school in the state, and we have to put up with animals like you guys everyday of the week. On the subways, in our neighborhoods, everywhere. We go to school, study hard, trying to make it to college. Our parents try to make a decent living, and you jerks do the opposite. You drop out of school and expect us to pay for your welfare, your food stamps, your prison stays, even your rent. And how do you thank us? By robbing us, assaulting our parents, and holding us at gunpoint. And my friend is right; we’d be doing the world a favor.” Carlos remained cool; his voice never quivered.

“If you want to do the world a favor, go ahead. Shoot me right now,” said the smaller Deceptor with a gun. “I’m not asking you to do me any favors. I don’t need your handouts. I’m not going on welfare or public assistance. I’ll shoot you in the head. And I’m not going to prison. It’s people like you, that act that you’re entitled to everything, that you own the entire city, and only your kind matters. You think you can look down on the rest of us. Maybe I’m the one doing the world a favor, by just pulling this trigger. It’s the haves versus the have-nots, and I’m tired of being on the short end of that equation. You guys think you’re so cool, so privileged. You think you’re the golden boys, but all you ever do is ruin life for everyone else. This could be payback time.”

Another minute went by, absent of dialogue, and one of the hoodlums started walking backwards. Then another followed. We took a few steps back, not turning our backs on them for a second. The Deceptors were retreating, and I was relieved when their leader put his gun down. They continued to walk backwards, staring us down, and yelling expletives. I put my gun down, but Carlos still held the Magnum. He finally put it down a few minutes later after the Deceptors were gone.

Carlos took a deep breath, gave a sigh of relief, and put both guns in his backpack. We walked in silence to the subway station, and entered the A-Train. No one said a word.

Carlos smiled. “I like your cousin Brass. I think we reached an agreement today.”

“Be careful with Brass – he’s got a very short fuse.” The least I could do was to warn him. Carlos was not concerned.

“Did my gun have bullets?” I asked.

“It doesn’t matter. Maybe it did, and maybe it didn’t. The question is whether or not you would’ve pulled the trigger,” Carlos said. “Well?”

“I came pretty close to pulling the trigger. After what happened to my father, and Eddie Lo, I came pretty close,” I said.

“That’s why I gave you the gun,” Sam said.

“Because you wouldn’t have pulled the trigger?” I said.

“No, because I would’ve pulled the trigger the second I had the gun in my hand,” Sam confessed. “I’m not into the think first and shoot after thing; I’m the opposite.”

“Did it have bullets?” I asked Carlos.

“No, it didn’t. Neither did my gun. Brass took the bullets out before he gave it to me.” I looked at Carlos’s Stanton gym tee-shirt, wondering if he had given something away and if the Deceptors would come looking for us.

Chapter 18

The next day at school, Svetlana said that it was urgent that we have lunch together. Delancey sat nearby, glancing at us every few seconds. I felt terrible doing this to her, but I needed to continue the cover up for Mr. Zoose.

Svetlana was amazing. Everyday that I grew to know her, I grew to like her, and I was being hypnotized by her Russian accent.

“The cops have been asking about you and me, if we are really dating,” she said. “I don’t want anyone to know about me and Mr. Zoose.”

“Everyone thinks we are dating. Don’t worry about that.”

Svetlana did not seem to have many friends, especially female friends. While we were eating, I noticed that hardly anyone came over and said hello to her. It was the opposite of sitting with Delancey. She ate in a hurry, hardly chewing her food. She placed her hand gently on my leg. It caught me off guard, but I reciprocated. I placed my hand on her thigh, then pulled away realizing that Delancey might see.

After lunch, we saw a flyer posted for the April dance. It was being called the Coca-Cola Dance, sponsored by the famous soft drink company. Svetlana read the flyer.

“Well…what do you think?” she asked.

“About the dance?” I asked. I thought about Delancey. I hated dancing, but I wondered if Delancey would want to go.

“Yes, the dance. I would really like to go. I studied dance my whole life.” She smiled.

“You want to go to the dance?” I asked, regretting I said it before I could finish the sentence. I was asking her if she was intimating that, and not actually asking her to go with me.

“I thought you’d never ask. The answer is yes!” She laughed and headed to her next class.

Now I was really stressed out. I was a terrible dancer, and had never been to a school dance before. What would Delancey think? Would she be angry? I was breathing…no…I was panting. I inadvertently had made a date with Svetlana.