“Where should we park?” Porsche asked my sister Brooke which by the sound of her tone was a gigantic question. “Over there, I think?” My sister muttered to the finish line of her response, devoid of conviction before continuing “No, right there, wait, maybe?” Porsche responded, “not by G housers Brooke.” “Wait who do you thinks hotter, Seth or Brendan, seriously?” “Ethan is seriously so much way hotter than both of them.”
The girls were always talking about boys. “Totally!” Porsche high fived in true 90210 fashion my sister. Wheezer was blasting. It was deafening and giving me panic. I looked at Magic he was soaking it all in as we rolled into the mouth of our new lives. In fascinating alignment we see the student parking deployed in all of its rugged decadence. I realize I was probably over dressed instinctively hiding the cane under my legs. This was it. I don’t give a fuck Sprawls of good-looking clicks sauntered about looking to be seen and or preying on victims. The upper class guys were dressed in what appeared to be pajamas.
Anyway we’d heard too many stories at Upper Hayden about classic things that happened in this parking lot not to be excited. I was involved. “This is sick.” Magic was content. “I know.” The only response I could come up with. We had waited for our first day of high school like parents anticipate grandchildren. We had skills. I was about to go crazy.
“Mike look! Peri, there he is, chilling the man.” Peri knew both Magic and I, he was a basketball captain and legit prospect. Peri was six three, point guard, handled the ball on a sleepy string with great instincts. He knocked down deadly eighteen-footers and was a scoring machine. We watched him kill kids in Junior High and when he was a Sophomore. he started. This was a rarity next to our idol and then senior Lloyd "Lizz" who was a Mcdonalds All American. And Peri had game. And he was the man.
“Wow.” I was day dreaming out loud. “Look at that rack!” But I couldn’t, I had to make a decision on the cane. I could tell Magic was happy with his dressing strategy. “I might not be able to walk into high school for the first time with you if your really going to take that cane out of this jeep.” “Yeah.” I respond drifting like I’d just taken a muscle relaxant. Now I was definitely going pull it out and strut. “Carl we’re about to park, remember what we talked about.” Brooke floated back a stern look of cool affection.
“People will like you Carl if you don’t show off so much.” Brooke flaming the fans of my own insecurity right before we exit our module was the first mistake. Girls that actually spoke to me like Porsche and my sister always pleaded with me to tone it down. My best girl E Double from 3rd grade at Hastings never said it though. She was my biggest fan. She wanted Showtime with a blistering, catastrophic anger. I can’t believe Brooke said that in front of MAgic and Porsche “Yeah she’s right buddy, you want to keep riding in with us right? And don’t act so black, I mean a little is OK, but you go overboard.” “Porsche fuck you, you’re a loser here just like Junior High.”
“your in store for a big wake up call Carl!” “Fuck you ho and fuck guitars” ”You’re going to fail here kiddo.” ”That’s it!” I was done. I grabbed my cane; fuck it and jumped out the jeep. Porsche held her hand to her mouth like a southern women sneezing politely, “oh my god this is like what I was totally afraid of.” “By Carl.” My sister slammed the jeeps small door. “What’s up Mike?” But before I even look over he had walked away. With my cane in tow and new Adidas Carolina blue Adidas Sky Jackers with the powder blue slips, I was all of a sudden alone on the really tip. Reverting back to the animalistic detail that separated and defined me in many ways I climbed on top of Porsche’s Jeep (which I now wanted to key) and smiled, “Yeah boy! What’s up high -”
Instantly I was harshly interrupted by a bunch of nearby coffee drinking braided belt wearing pajama rocking senior football players, I didn’t think they started. Abjectly I looked down while contemplating my abjuration for I’ve never to this day had an affair with braided belts.
Everyone had a soft spots and “wiga” was mine. If Magic was my best friend, Lamont was my brother. I’d watched the civil war films with my father after my accident. And Lamont gave me not only a brother from Dorchester but also a unique lense in which to see a very difficult reality continually absorbed. A reality that spawned a hundred questions that no one it seemed carried the confidence to honestly address. The guys in Pajama’s and or jeans with braided belts and Doc Maarten’s, they were racists. I’d hear them in the Hayden locker-room. And kids are kids and kids are like that but the legends we honored never were racist. And my heart was again pounding, a massive amount of adrenaline made eye contact, “what?” “Ha, ha, ha Carl fucking Easton in high school. He’s a (pause for game show effect) Wiga look at the fucking cane! Go home you retard!” “Fucken Wiga.” Another voice another chuckle. “Carl Easton, keep talken wiga!” Everyone lost it right away after that. And in fairness it was a relatively just off the press type of term at that point. My heart sunk.
I knew the last voice right away. Tyler Hodgkin. I know his fat mom too. He was wearing the aforementioned skids and Bart Simpson T-Shirt. Guys and girls laugh alike as the spotlight expanded. I was nervous and needed to get angry. I hate rich kids. I hate white people. And suddenly I was there. I could play comedy. “Hey Tyler, your weight belt at Hayden has fake girls in bikini’s on it, you have no neck and walk around with your arms out like you haven’t showered since the last bench press you benchwarmer!” I’d crossed the line, his eyes dropped down and towards each other, he was shocked, “What did you fucking say to me punk?” “Look at how fat your chin is boy!” I got my first high school crowd laugh. That was big. I was turning this thing around. “Yo, I see your mom and shit at the skating rink and her body isn’t medium it’s fucken large G!” A small and growing chuckle ensued. “Hey everyone look at Tyler’s gay champion sweatshirt and faggy braided belt! I only wear Adidas people!”
As I jumped back off the Jeep Tyler and two of his buddies accompany him to stomp out this public threat and retain the faith in there average upper class images on the very first day of their senior year. As a freshmen with theses clowns, I thought to myself, I have nothing to lose. After all there were hot girls with big boobs, bank accounts and zilla like tendencies everywhere watching, high school in Astori. They were probably wearing black sunglasses with curvy white signatures in the corner as well. I don’t give a fuck In the moment, I’m ready, it was a fast market and I now had the jitters. I forgot my books fuck
I laughed at ADD. I grinned slyly. I shrugged my shoulders. Suddenly Tyler stepped on my brand new Carolina blue Adidas Sky Jacker with the blue slips shaking his head and lightly salivating. Pointing his finger directly into my bone dominated nose his spit was crystal clear, “I’ll fucking break you in two. You little dysfunctional spaz.” As his friends laughed, I began mentally preparing my next statement. It’s just a movie. “Yo, I can see like you being mad n shit that I being a freshman gets up and just starts screaming stupid shit. I’m sorry yo. I had a rough morning with the family, you know.” I hit him so lightly on the shoulder, “ And I have bad ADD yo.” If you build it, it will come.
Miraculously no one had verbally intervened and I became pumped that an audience of this magnitude remained quiet while I spoke. Silence persisted another four seconds until I softly uttered, “Yo MO, Tyler, I was serious about what I said though?” Tyler responded tough cutting threw the cluttered silence. “What’s that?” A deep breath “your mom,” my voice slowly rising to a scream “has a serious fucking weight problem!” Immediately Tyler that of superior height and strength hang 10’d me with a double fist strangle lock. Oh fuck I was fucked, and boy was he angry. You could see it in his neck veins people were loving it. My face turned purple. I dropped my cane. I can’t breathe. Help Jesus. It was scary. Laughter was the only audio playing. Different colors appeared, hundreds of tears flowed down my face. I can’t breath. I can breath. I see Security. I was dropped. I was inhaling air so fast and furiously because air tasted so good on my gums. Better than oranges at halftime of youth soccer games on hot summer days. I lay feebly all alone on my knees emotionally shaken. I’m OK. I finally tune back into the real world. Anger rallied me to my feet and I quickly felt for the small butterfly knife I tucked inside my jeans this morning for a situation just like this. My first thought was to run up and put two-thirds of that blade in the back of his neck. Then I would feel better. I carry a “doink” to school because I’m an aspiring rap star. TR was so shocked the first time he saw that knife Freshman year. “Ain’t no half steppen” I’d tell him in all seriousness.
As I watched Tyler high five his dimwitted running mates a newly instated student parking lot security guard wanted answers. “What the hells the problem here kid?” I couldn’t believe that toy boy / women was actually asking belligerently what had happened with me when the true felons were just seconds away! “Yo, just step away cracka.” I love callen white people crackers I wiped the last tear from my eye, heard the bell ring, regrouped and thought, “dam.” Also I’m thinking that if my mother had ever just witnessed how I just acted during my first thirty seconds of high school? That might’ve been it. I promised her on my grave this morning that I would be good this year, a whole new Carl I’ve moderately breached. An older girl walked by and I shouted, “yo Erica!” She stopped and thankfully responded, “yes Carl?” I seriously counter with terse quickness. “Yo chunks where am I supposed to go yo?” I was trying to regain my toughness on a fat girl that was friends with my sister in the 4th grade. “Homeroom loser.” She flew around and walked away trying to look mad at me. I wonder what that snotty little face would look like with moms Kawasaki high speed massager between her legs.
I straightened my shirt, which was dope, picked up my cane, turned my chain, pull downed my jeans, and headed towards homeroom pissed. My head was down and shaking from side to side in unison with my strut. It may look funny to some but I warn everyone I will do something stupid to you for my rap career.
And GDD Song of the Day, rest in peace NateDog, a classic.