Sunday, August 11, 2013

Vignette


     Franklin James Stein sat on the curb holding his ice cream to his face. The unopened wrapper clung to his dark skin, and the cool water condensed along the seam between the frozen treat and his overheating cheek. Franklin closed his eyes.

     Donald Batista saw that little bastard Frankie across the street doing something stupid with his Popsicle. He decided that Freaky Frankie needed another beating, so he started closing the distance between them with (what looked to the world like) a rhythmic saunter. In reality, as he was crossing the street, Donald was trying to free his right testicle from the elastic leg opening it had been trapped under for the past few minutes.  It was uncomfortable, but there were too many other kids around to just reach down his pants and do something meaningful about it.

     Franklin sat, cooling his face with his ice cream. He could feel it melting, but he didn’t care. It felt so cold on his skin.

     Donald gave up with his ball. He broke into a half-run, wanting to beat Freaky before he ran away. He balled up his fist and wound up as he got closer. Other kids stood, staring at the impending beat-down with a mixture of morbid fascination and pity. Donald was at least twice the size of Freaky, and in the past had beaten the smaller black kid so badly that he had to stay out of school for a week, unable to see.   Freaky never told who did it, though. Probably would have ended up dead if he had.

     Donald was now close enough to Franklin to say something before hitting him and not worry that he was going to get away if he ran.  “Hot, Freaky?” he yelled as he swung his fist downward towards the exposed right side of Franklin’s face.  The other kids watched the almost comically slow-motioned arc that Donald’s fist made through the air. The trajectory lined up nicely with Franklin’s cheek bone, and would surely crush it down into his upper jaw, breaking it and lining up another extended stay at home.

    Franklin turned on Donald with alarming speed, ducking just as the fist screamed past his face. Donald was off balance and spun wildly out of control. He counted on his momentum driving him onto and through Franklin’s body, his intention to spill the boy and his Popsicle into the gutter.  Instead, it was Donald himself careening into the gutter, littered with hot trash baking in the summer sun. The other kids were horrified at first, then began laughing uncontrollably as Donald tried to stand, covered in hot, damp litter, and now nursing a bloody elbow and knee.  His face was screwed up into something that resembled hate, if a kid his age really understood hate. “You little motherfucker” he spewed from his dirty mouth. There was a used gum wrapper dangling from his lower lip.  “You’re fucking DEAAAAAAAD”

     Franklin stood up and laughed at the larger boy. He grabbed his knees and doubled over for just a second, his laughter making his sides hurt, and tears form in his eyes. Donald turned redder as he realized that he was being laughed at AND the other kids were joining in. He balled up his fists again, bloody knuckles leaking onto the curb. He rushed the smaller boy hard, intending on pummeling him into the sidewalk. Again, Franklin dodged at the last second, sending Donald face-down again. He rolled over; his shirt now torn and hanging open, exposing his soft, white belly. His forehead was bleeding from a scrape, and his eyes were narrowed like a reptile. Franklin stood as tall as he could, flipped Donald off, smiled, winked, and ran easily down the street, waving to the cheering crowd as he did. Donald stood up and leered through welling tears. He took two steps towards Franklin, who was, incredibly, approaching at a jog.  “DONNY DONNY DONNY! Fall-Donny!” he chanted as he approached, his eyes bright and triumphant.


     There was a loud noise and the crowd silenced behind it. Franklin fell in a slump, the crimson stain spreading across his back. He would miss his12th birthday next week.

Donald smiled over the body at his older brother Raymond.

One of the girls in the crowd screamed.

2 comments:

  1. Bleak, but now that I look at it again, my brain is oddly fascinated with the fact that the kid's name is "Frankie Stein". o_O

    ReplyDelete
  2. There is always more to the story...

    ReplyDelete