You Were Born Of… – Part Three
Running, running, running, bile rising at my throat’s base, I paused to panNJt with my friends.
Genises’ finger pointed out the running, screaming, scattering people.
They were ducking and wildly
fleeing, some hid in doorways and others behind those plexiglass bus shelters.
Genise asked , “What, what’s happening?
‘Why are people running ?
What are they running from?
What’s going on?”
It was cold in that summer heat.
Something was wrong, very wrong.
“Turn around don’t go any further,” that little voice inside of me warned but I didn’t know how.
Back then I only knew two speeds, forward and stop.
Head down , Genise asked,”What’s this?
Pointing to something on the ground,
she picked it up and just as quickly
A small caliber bullet in the center of
some strange graffiti script.
Today, it’s known as a tag.
There in large, black letters was
scribbled, “Decepticon “
“R.I.P. to the tribe.”
In my mind I asked, “What the heck is Decepticon?”
The answer came like a finger snap, like a sudden winter tempest, “War!”
War had come and I was still playing with jacks.
I was afraid then in my confusion, in my denial, in my false innocence and in the
depths of war’s possiblities.
Turning to Genise and the other girls, I said, “Go back and find out what, who, when and why someone had picked Mickey for this, this dirt.
I told them to find me in the yard of I.S.222 in two hours.
That was all that I needed to say
as they knew that a fork, a point of turning or not beaconed and that
this thing that happened was serious, deadly and beyond our ability to reason
out its purpose or its conclusion.
It occurred to me that Genise and the others girls were not safe there so
Telling them to turn back towards home,
Long after they had left I stood and wished that I had gone with them but at that time, I needed space and time to think things out.
When I got to the school yard and sat on the swings but try as I might I couldn’t
fathom the why of this trouble so I sat and worried and worried some more.
After a while, I felt the pressure to use the bathroom.
Knowing that there was a bathroom in the back of the yard that the neighborhood used but that was always filthy, I tried not to think about having
to pee but I couldn’t hold it.
Looking round to see if anyone was in there and not seeing anyone I went in
and was just finishing when I heard voices at the bathroom entrance.
Immediately, locking the bathroom stall and placed my feet against the stall door,
outside there were men’s men’s voices.
Panick and fear filled the room, as I tried to control my breathing without moving.
Scurrying back to the group, that familiar voice demanded that someone stand guard outside while he questioned the others.
Question and more questions spattered out,”Did you did this, did you do that?
What happened when you shot off the
Did you replace the lock on the roof
and wipe the gun off?
Did you put it back in JoJo’s crib?
He doesn’t know that it gone, right?
A pause before an answer came.
Then in between the pauses, I heard
him coolly ask, ” Where are your gloves, asshole?
“I told you and I gave you gloves to wear.”
Again he asked,”Where are the fucking
gloves I gave you?
Someone struttered and almost answered before a sharp slap was administrated to his face.
“Boy when I tell you something, you do that something down to the smallest
Do you understand me, fucker? ”
Mess up one more time and I have no
further use for you, no ugh said.
More questions to his men followed.
Did everyone know who did?
“You let Lightboy go, right? ”
Did you see the whites of their eyes?
Were they scared?
Everyone answered in unison,”Yeah,
We scared the shit out of them, right?
I bet they didn’t know what hit them or which way to turn?
Or who is doing who?”
They are a bunch of idiots, that’s
why we are taking over!”
Then I heard the familiar voice say,
“They won’t know who or what hit them.
When we are through with them, everyone will know who the boss around here!”
With that they cheered or more like
previous: You Were Born Of… – Part Two
more by DEBRA BISHOP
photograph by Gabor Monori