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Chippin Cleats
(4th-8th Grades, Some Mature Themes)
(c) 2012 D. Ed. Hoggatt
Sunday
I could tell Shawn had been up late the night before. I was still blurry-eyed myself. We bumped fists as a greeting, and Shawn went directly into a hyperactive rant account about what had happened.
“Yo, man, I thought dat kid was gonna fight back," he said. "When Teddy popped im with da pipe, D, I coulda swore da boy was dead.”
We both had watched as Teddy had picked the argument with a group of three boys we’d never seen before. Shawn and I just watched as he had done it. We knew we might have to jump their tails to help Teddy, but two of the kids dropped their purchases and ran to their mommies, crying for help. I guess they never even realized their friend had stayed to fight. I don’t know what the cleat was thinking.
As unfair as it was – three against one – that didn’t stop Teddy from coaxing the kid into the side alley behind the gas station. It was still in view of the street and part of pump number one, but only if someone was looking for trouble to happen there. Besides, it was after one o’clock in the morning; no righteous, upstanding citizens would be out at that time. Especially in our neighborhood.
Now, with just a few hours since the event I tried to change the subject with Shawn but to no avail. He was high on the events of last night, and to talk him down would probably take the rest of the morning. What am I talking – rest of the morning? It was 11:30 already. Talking Shawn down from his high would take most of the afternoon, as well. I’m not even sure that he had even been home since the incident. After all, Teddy was his brother and more importantly, his hero.
In the single light of a yellow porch bulb, Teddy had been relentless. First was the war of words – the name calling. The kid hadn’t a chance to beat our boy. The cut came when Teddy blew the signal that the words were through and the real violence would begin. It was something I had noticed before – that Teddy was done talking when he started using the word cleat. Cleat was our slang for jock, which is the more well-known slang for a student athlete. And Teddy did not like athletes.
“Ya cleats comin ta our neighborhood ta buy ya stuff, man? Whatcha do wid yo brains, cleat?” Shawn was right behind him, scrunching up his face to mimic his brother’s. His nose flattened with the rest of his face so it looked more like a set of wrinkles where his nose should have been. His lips puckered out in a non-kiss sort of way, putting his face farther forward as if to say, Take da first shot, punk! Give me a excuse ta jump ya!
To tell you the truth, I was into the situation, too – It fueled my adrenaline – but I can’t imagine my face looked as savage as my boys’. The smell of the grease and oil in the alley combined with the scent of the three days of garbage in the nearby dumpster; with every breath, I was more and more resolved to fight.
Turns out, Teddy was the only one to drop blood, and it wasn’t any of his own. I’m not sure what the kid said – I don’t even think it was real words – but that was when Teddy cut loose on him. There was no turning back after that. Teddy, Shawn, and I were in the zone. The punishment zone. And we were sending those boys a message. This was our turf, and they should’ve known it. Never would they see the need to set foot in our neighborhood again.
I squinted as Shawn and I turned toward the morning sun. Shawn suddenly stopped me as we walked along the cracked and uneven sidewalk. “Hey, manslave, you awright?” he asked. “You seem quiet.”
I held my hand up to block the sun. “Naw, I’m OK,” I told him. “You’re wired, dat’s all. I just thought I’d let ya wind down a bit.”
Tough talk even amongst friends. We were all about it – callin’ each other by names we’d never allow others to call us. If the boy from last night had called us those names, he would’ve died sure thing. As it was, we just left him in the alley with some broken bones and blood all over his face.
Teddy had started with a straight up punch to the boy’s nose. The immediate cracking sound of the bone there made it sound like a special effect in a movie. It was made all the more dramatic, because Teddy wore a two-finger ring on his middle fingers. When the ring contacted the kid’s nose, the crack was explosive, but at the same time, the slice through the kid’s face was nice and wide, and first blood had indeed arrived. I bet if you looked in that alley today, you’d probably find a nice hunk of the kid’s nose lying in the weeds that grew amongst the oily trash that was heaped there.
I don’t know where Teddy got it, but suddenly he had a piece of pipe. He held it over his head in his right hand, and wiggled the fingers of his left hand as if to say, Stand up straight, momma. Ya gotta fight a little ta gain my respect. He was inviting the kid to join in – to fight back – but we all knew that wasn’t going to happen. The expression of fear on the kid’s face told us his whole story. Back down to the ground, blood caking on the left side of his head and his body bent in all sorts of unnatural directions, the kid looked up at Teddy. In the amber light, Teddy musta looked like some kind of Greek god – Thor maybe – with a golden spark reflecting off his teeth. Another beaming from the pipe. Truth be told, the boy was already defeated. Stupid kid was beat when he walked into our neighborhood in the first place. I don’t think he ever got a single shot in on Teddy.
In the shine of the morning, Shawn looked like a wild man. With his straw hair stuck up in all different directions, and the grease marks on his face, he looked like a headhunter in full regale. He started telling me about the plans for the next week.
“Word is some of da hammaheads is workin closer to da backstreets before Fridy’s game. Dey’s gonna have a brouhaha at Jimmy’s on da east side. Teddy says da gang’s gonna in-fil-trate Jimmy’s and chip da cleats so’s dey cain’t play.” A jagged smile formed as he explained it.
“Man, D, dem pig-chuckin bums is in fo a real treat. Teddy’s bringin da heavies with im. Da big guns, man. Marvin and Benny and dat dude dey call Sparrow. When da team spots all us wolvies comin, dey’s gonna brown-streak dey pants, man.”
Shawn never thought about the idea that he, too, could be scared or hurt. Or killed. He was just like those other boys in the group. They were all tough, troublemaking juvenile delinquents, and Shawn wanted to be right in the middle of them. Shawn and me was just ten, but the older members welcomed us in the ranks like we was one of them. Even though some of them were as old as sixteen or twenty themselves.
I guess that’s what made last night such a cool time. There was no gang; it was just the three of us – Shawn and Teddy and me – and Teddy had made us feel like we were a part of the pounding. After he’d pounded the boy in the alley, Teddy had taken us down the street to where a bunch of the gang was hanging out. And then, he’d told them how we’d all – not just him, but all three of us – busted that cleat and sent the others running. We’d gotten a great deal of respect from the members then, and we’d spent a couple of hours there before the party broke up. I’d gone home, but I suppose Shawn and Teddy stayed up discussing what would go down Friday. Once those fellows get something in their heads, they’re not likely to let it go easily.
“I’s down with dat, Shaw,” I told him now. Neither of us could pass on the invitation to roll with the bigger boys on such a major mission. “Ya betta get some z’s dhough. Ya cain’t…”
“Naw, dog. It’s awright, man. Deuce slip me some proper stuff when we left, last night. I’s good for a while, D.” I wasn’t sure exactly what he meant by that.
“Whatever ya say.” I left it at that. “I’m gonna choke on some grub. Comin?”
He looked at me, scanning me from head to toe. “Yo, D. You’re lookin a bit fat dese days, man. Me, I don’t eat no mo, man. I’s a lean machine.”
“What’re ya blowin bout, dude? You weigh more dan I do, chunk!”
“Dat may be true, but ma figure is better dis-tri-bu-ted, man,” he came back. “The heffas is lookin at me a lot closer dan you. Dey wanna piece of dis pie, D.” We both knew if he believed what he was saying, he was wrong. Shawn was one of your homlier homeboys in the neighborhood – not one that the girls took a lot of interest in. And me? I wasn’t looking to hook up any time soon anyhow.
We were across the street from the gas station where Teddy’d taken down the cleat last night. A yellow police barrier tape was blowing in the breeze that had come up earlier in the morning. The tape was only attached to the corner of the building, already having come loose from the fence it was tied to on the other side, already fraying in the wind. It was like the cops had come, picked up the boy and sent him to the emergency room, taped the place to make it look official, and then abandoned the area. Again. They didn’t like coming to our neighborhood, and when they did, they didn’t linger long. Another racial beating, they would assume, not even investigating the scene. Little did they know, it wasn’t about color for us. It was more about the haves and the have-nots; it was the privileged angels versus us demons from the inner city.
And those cleats had started it all by invading our area. They should have known we’d fight them if they came here. They were just asking for it, flaunting their lily white shoes and their pro-team jerseys to us who couldn’t afford the same. Buying the same junk food and sodas they could have bought in their own neighborhood. They were trying to be tough like us. Must have thought it would be cool to cross lines and live to tell about it.
Besides, if we’d wanted to, we could’ve chipped that cleat. That’s what we said, when we meant killing. Chipping was our word for murder. It made it sound more like we was just taking a piece, when in fact we was really taking the whole thing. It didn’t make killing seem so bad. Shawn and I hadn’t chipped anyone yet, but I was sure Teddy had – and several of his buddies. We’d heard many tales since we started hanging around with the older boys.
At the gas station, neither of us had much to say. We both knew the facts of the situation, but it hadn’t made either of us sad or any angrier than we already were. So what if the cops didn’t investigate. It just meant that we were free to make our own rules and live in our own culture. Fact is, we didn’t want them down here anyhow. In their dry-cleaned uniforms with their nightsticks and their two-ways clipped on their shoulders. The only thing cops were good for was an occasional pegging with a rock when they weren’t looking. That was really worth some points with the boys in Teddy’s group.
They only came through when they needed to make a showing anyhow. They’d drive through with their windows up and their eyes forward like they didn’t want to see what bad stuff was happening on the sides of the street. Whenever they did get out of their cars, they always kept their hands on their belts as if they were always ready to fling out their guns. They always expected us to be wild. Like savages or animals. They always assumed us to be angry.
And in that, they were usually right. Shawn and I were proof of that. After all, why’d the rich kids get more benefits in life than we did? Why’d they hate us so much? They liked to keep us fighting so’s we’d look like the bad guys and they could keep being the heroes. They looked down upon us like we were street people, somehow not as valuable as they were. They liked to portray us as hoodlums and crooks. And the cops were just one way they could do that.
After Shawn explained the plan, I knew this week would be another big chance for us to make our statement – that we weren’t so oppressed after all, that we weren’t going to keep getting beaten down by the richies. Unfortunately, Friday night would also be their chance to see that they were right – we were like animals in that we liked to bare our teeth at the weak so we could look tough and make them feel vulnerable (though I know that’s not how it would be framed on the Saturday morning TV news).
(4th-8th Grades, Some Mature Themes)
(c) 2012 D. Ed. Hoggatt
Sunday
I could tell Shawn had been up late the night before. I was still blurry-eyed myself. We bumped fists as a greeting, and Shawn went directly into a hyperactive rant account about what had happened.
“Yo, man, I thought dat kid was gonna fight back," he said. "When Teddy popped im with da pipe, D, I coulda swore da boy was dead.”
We both had watched as Teddy had picked the argument with a group of three boys we’d never seen before. Shawn and I just watched as he had done it. We knew we might have to jump their tails to help Teddy, but two of the kids dropped their purchases and ran to their mommies, crying for help. I guess they never even realized their friend had stayed to fight. I don’t know what the cleat was thinking.
As unfair as it was – three against one – that didn’t stop Teddy from coaxing the kid into the side alley behind the gas station. It was still in view of the street and part of pump number one, but only if someone was looking for trouble to happen there. Besides, it was after one o’clock in the morning; no righteous, upstanding citizens would be out at that time. Especially in our neighborhood.
Now, with just a few hours since the event I tried to change the subject with Shawn but to no avail. He was high on the events of last night, and to talk him down would probably take the rest of the morning. What am I talking – rest of the morning? It was 11:30 already. Talking Shawn down from his high would take most of the afternoon, as well. I’m not even sure that he had even been home since the incident. After all, Teddy was his brother and more importantly, his hero.
In the single light of a yellow porch bulb, Teddy had been relentless. First was the war of words – the name calling. The kid hadn’t a chance to beat our boy. The cut came when Teddy blew the signal that the words were through and the real violence would begin. It was something I had noticed before – that Teddy was done talking when he started using the word cleat. Cleat was our slang for jock, which is the more well-known slang for a student athlete. And Teddy did not like athletes.
“Ya cleats comin ta our neighborhood ta buy ya stuff, man? Whatcha do wid yo brains, cleat?” Shawn was right behind him, scrunching up his face to mimic his brother’s. His nose flattened with the rest of his face so it looked more like a set of wrinkles where his nose should have been. His lips puckered out in a non-kiss sort of way, putting his face farther forward as if to say, Take da first shot, punk! Give me a excuse ta jump ya!
To tell you the truth, I was into the situation, too – It fueled my adrenaline – but I can’t imagine my face looked as savage as my boys’. The smell of the grease and oil in the alley combined with the scent of the three days of garbage in the nearby dumpster; with every breath, I was more and more resolved to fight.
Turns out, Teddy was the only one to drop blood, and it wasn’t any of his own. I’m not sure what the kid said – I don’t even think it was real words – but that was when Teddy cut loose on him. There was no turning back after that. Teddy, Shawn, and I were in the zone. The punishment zone. And we were sending those boys a message. This was our turf, and they should’ve known it. Never would they see the need to set foot in our neighborhood again.
I squinted as Shawn and I turned toward the morning sun. Shawn suddenly stopped me as we walked along the cracked and uneven sidewalk. “Hey, manslave, you awright?” he asked. “You seem quiet.”
I held my hand up to block the sun. “Naw, I’m OK,” I told him. “You’re wired, dat’s all. I just thought I’d let ya wind down a bit.”
Tough talk even amongst friends. We were all about it – callin’ each other by names we’d never allow others to call us. If the boy from last night had called us those names, he would’ve died sure thing. As it was, we just left him in the alley with some broken bones and blood all over his face.
Teddy had started with a straight up punch to the boy’s nose. The immediate cracking sound of the bone there made it sound like a special effect in a movie. It was made all the more dramatic, because Teddy wore a two-finger ring on his middle fingers. When the ring contacted the kid’s nose, the crack was explosive, but at the same time, the slice through the kid’s face was nice and wide, and first blood had indeed arrived. I bet if you looked in that alley today, you’d probably find a nice hunk of the kid’s nose lying in the weeds that grew amongst the oily trash that was heaped there.
I don’t know where Teddy got it, but suddenly he had a piece of pipe. He held it over his head in his right hand, and wiggled the fingers of his left hand as if to say, Stand up straight, momma. Ya gotta fight a little ta gain my respect. He was inviting the kid to join in – to fight back – but we all knew that wasn’t going to happen. The expression of fear on the kid’s face told us his whole story. Back down to the ground, blood caking on the left side of his head and his body bent in all sorts of unnatural directions, the kid looked up at Teddy. In the amber light, Teddy musta looked like some kind of Greek god – Thor maybe – with a golden spark reflecting off his teeth. Another beaming from the pipe. Truth be told, the boy was already defeated. Stupid kid was beat when he walked into our neighborhood in the first place. I don’t think he ever got a single shot in on Teddy.
In the shine of the morning, Shawn looked like a wild man. With his straw hair stuck up in all different directions, and the grease marks on his face, he looked like a headhunter in full regale. He started telling me about the plans for the next week.
“Word is some of da hammaheads is workin closer to da backstreets before Fridy’s game. Dey’s gonna have a brouhaha at Jimmy’s on da east side. Teddy says da gang’s gonna in-fil-trate Jimmy’s and chip da cleats so’s dey cain’t play.” A jagged smile formed as he explained it.
“Man, D, dem pig-chuckin bums is in fo a real treat. Teddy’s bringin da heavies with im. Da big guns, man. Marvin and Benny and dat dude dey call Sparrow. When da team spots all us wolvies comin, dey’s gonna brown-streak dey pants, man.”
Shawn never thought about the idea that he, too, could be scared or hurt. Or killed. He was just like those other boys in the group. They were all tough, troublemaking juvenile delinquents, and Shawn wanted to be right in the middle of them. Shawn and me was just ten, but the older members welcomed us in the ranks like we was one of them. Even though some of them were as old as sixteen or twenty themselves.
I guess that’s what made last night such a cool time. There was no gang; it was just the three of us – Shawn and Teddy and me – and Teddy had made us feel like we were a part of the pounding. After he’d pounded the boy in the alley, Teddy had taken us down the street to where a bunch of the gang was hanging out. And then, he’d told them how we’d all – not just him, but all three of us – busted that cleat and sent the others running. We’d gotten a great deal of respect from the members then, and we’d spent a couple of hours there before the party broke up. I’d gone home, but I suppose Shawn and Teddy stayed up discussing what would go down Friday. Once those fellows get something in their heads, they’re not likely to let it go easily.
“I’s down with dat, Shaw,” I told him now. Neither of us could pass on the invitation to roll with the bigger boys on such a major mission. “Ya betta get some z’s dhough. Ya cain’t…”
“Naw, dog. It’s awright, man. Deuce slip me some proper stuff when we left, last night. I’s good for a while, D.” I wasn’t sure exactly what he meant by that.
“Whatever ya say.” I left it at that. “I’m gonna choke on some grub. Comin?”
He looked at me, scanning me from head to toe. “Yo, D. You’re lookin a bit fat dese days, man. Me, I don’t eat no mo, man. I’s a lean machine.”
“What’re ya blowin bout, dude? You weigh more dan I do, chunk!”
“Dat may be true, but ma figure is better dis-tri-bu-ted, man,” he came back. “The heffas is lookin at me a lot closer dan you. Dey wanna piece of dis pie, D.” We both knew if he believed what he was saying, he was wrong. Shawn was one of your homlier homeboys in the neighborhood – not one that the girls took a lot of interest in. And me? I wasn’t looking to hook up any time soon anyhow.
We were across the street from the gas station where Teddy’d taken down the cleat last night. A yellow police barrier tape was blowing in the breeze that had come up earlier in the morning. The tape was only attached to the corner of the building, already having come loose from the fence it was tied to on the other side, already fraying in the wind. It was like the cops had come, picked up the boy and sent him to the emergency room, taped the place to make it look official, and then abandoned the area. Again. They didn’t like coming to our neighborhood, and when they did, they didn’t linger long. Another racial beating, they would assume, not even investigating the scene. Little did they know, it wasn’t about color for us. It was more about the haves and the have-nots; it was the privileged angels versus us demons from the inner city.
And those cleats had started it all by invading our area. They should have known we’d fight them if they came here. They were just asking for it, flaunting their lily white shoes and their pro-team jerseys to us who couldn’t afford the same. Buying the same junk food and sodas they could have bought in their own neighborhood. They were trying to be tough like us. Must have thought it would be cool to cross lines and live to tell about it.
Besides, if we’d wanted to, we could’ve chipped that cleat. That’s what we said, when we meant killing. Chipping was our word for murder. It made it sound more like we was just taking a piece, when in fact we was really taking the whole thing. It didn’t make killing seem so bad. Shawn and I hadn’t chipped anyone yet, but I was sure Teddy had – and several of his buddies. We’d heard many tales since we started hanging around with the older boys.
At the gas station, neither of us had much to say. We both knew the facts of the situation, but it hadn’t made either of us sad or any angrier than we already were. So what if the cops didn’t investigate. It just meant that we were free to make our own rules and live in our own culture. Fact is, we didn’t want them down here anyhow. In their dry-cleaned uniforms with their nightsticks and their two-ways clipped on their shoulders. The only thing cops were good for was an occasional pegging with a rock when they weren’t looking. That was really worth some points with the boys in Teddy’s group.
They only came through when they needed to make a showing anyhow. They’d drive through with their windows up and their eyes forward like they didn’t want to see what bad stuff was happening on the sides of the street. Whenever they did get out of their cars, they always kept their hands on their belts as if they were always ready to fling out their guns. They always expected us to be wild. Like savages or animals. They always assumed us to be angry.
And in that, they were usually right. Shawn and I were proof of that. After all, why’d the rich kids get more benefits in life than we did? Why’d they hate us so much? They liked to keep us fighting so’s we’d look like the bad guys and they could keep being the heroes. They looked down upon us like we were street people, somehow not as valuable as they were. They liked to portray us as hoodlums and crooks. And the cops were just one way they could do that.
After Shawn explained the plan, I knew this week would be another big chance for us to make our statement – that we weren’t so oppressed after all, that we weren’t going to keep getting beaten down by the richies. Unfortunately, Friday night would also be their chance to see that they were right – we were like animals in that we liked to bare our teeth at the weak so we could look tough and make them feel vulnerable (though I know that’s not how it would be framed on the Saturday morning TV news).
