THE BIG FIGHT

So, now I have the black clothes, the Isaac Hayes pimp glasses, the platform shoes, and the gold Italian Horn chain. It’s the first day of 10th grade at the notoriously violent Roselle High, me, Skinny and Ricky begin our tenuous trek into the unknown - it feels like we are walking to Vietnam. The tension is dizzying. I don’t know what to expect upon my entrance, but I’m bracing myself. At first it’s as if nobody even recognizes me - like I’m a whole new person - but I know this can’t last for long.

As if on cue, it happens. I’m opening up my locker at lunchtime, ready to grab my brown paper bag, when I feel a presence behind me. I instinctively turn around, and - who is it - but my arch nemesis. My Lex Luthor. David White.

“Yo, you ain’t even playin’ me, mo’fucka - just ‘cuz you gots a new haircut and shades. That ain’t shit. I still own your bitch ass, punk!”

He goes to grab my lunch, but this time I grab his arm. He looks shocked.

“Leggo my arm, white boy.”

“I’m Sicilian.”

I don’t care what mofuckin’ religion you be - you ain’t black, punk.”

I am not going to let it go, either. No fucking way. I push him back. Uh oh. White kids begin scrambling - they want no part of this. It’s just me and him - in the moment. I stare into his bloodshot eyes, and now I’m in another body, another life. I’m still clenching his arm with all I’ve got, and I’m walking this tightrope between my old feelings, the person who wanted to cringe and cave in, and this new unknown person. Feeling this strange power welling up inside of him. This new person is winning though, with every second that passes. I’m living right now. A precarious bridge I’m perched on. A line that could go either way.

“I’ll fuck you up, mo’fucka, I’ll fuck your pussy ass up,” he threatens.

He throws a left at my head, his free hand - I put my forearm up - and to my surprise - I block it. He follows with another one - and I block that one, too! Man, his eyes light way the hell up - for a second his whole swagger disappears. I could practically feel the momentum switching now. Hey, this boxing stuff must really work! A slight smile crosses my face, even though I’m kind of shaking inside. Shaking with delight. Adrenaline. Fear. What a rush!

A crowd starts gathering around us. A noisy black crowd.

“Oh shit, that mo’fucker be playin’ my man!”

“Kick his mo’fuckin’ ass, David!”

“Yo, smoke that mo’fucka!”

“Who that mo’fucka be, anyway?”

Surrounded. I recognize the voices of The Orange Face brothers. They want the kill.

But instead of folding, of giving in, a surge bursts through my body, a feeling of being locked in. David White comes around, tries to give me a roundhouse kick, some kind of bogus Green Hornet move. I grab his leg and push him. He goes down - hard. Now, for a second, it looks like he’s going to cry. I quickly pull off my pimp glasses, and place them safely in the pocket of my silkscreen shirt.  Instantly, Garland Daniels (Half of the Orange Face brothers) lunges at me while I’m putting my glasses away, sneaking me in the face. I only get madder. I don’t flinch. I get furious! I start yelling:

 “Come on! Come on!”

It’s a different voice, though, a growl that I don’t recognize. Then, this sense of totally letting go. I throw out a jab that grazes his chin. My blood is hot! It’s heating up by the millisecond - my body is scalding. I charge him, ramming him squarely in the stomach and knocking him to the floor. I’m freakin’ rabid now. I want to tear his Adam’s apple out with my teeth, and devour it. I’m screaming and crying at the same time, tears and sweat flicking off my face.

“Fucking motherfucker, go head!! You own me?! You own me, motherfucker?!”

I’m screaming in a satanic pitch. He’s punching the side of my head, pounding my ears. A huge crowd is around us now. Every ounce of pent-up, suppressed rage I’ve ever had explodes in a murderous fury. I have his throat tightly gripped around my hands, and I’m not relinquishing. I’m gonna kill this bastard - then I’m gonna eat his fucking Adam’s apple. Yeah.  Black kids start jumping on me, battering me with fists. Chaos reigns, as all the teachers come running from the classrooms. The gym teachers come flying down the hall with Hoss, the new security guard, right alongside them. Somebody gets me in a headlock, but I’m in another dimension now, I think I actually hiss at them, like a fucking vampire. They pull me off him, but I’m kicking, spitting, foaming from the mouth, the nose.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him! Lemme kill him!!”o finally pull me off him; I’m still flailing, gyrating, cursing, and crying. They drag me and David White down the hall in headlocks, into the principal’s office, the others are escorted a minute later. Kindly old Mr. Rice, who looks like the guy on the box of Quaker Oats Cereal. After much posturing and fierce glowering among us, Mr. Rice tells us to all “Shake hands and forget about it.” Shake hands and forget about it? Is he senile? We’re not in Kansas anymore. If anything, I am convinced this would only strengthen their resolve to obliterate me. To me, it’s obvious that it’s going to come down to one, or more of us, getting executed. That’s the only way this is going to shake down.

We all wind up getting suspended for three days, really just a token suspension, because Mr. Rice has to set some kind of example.