Of The Body part 3

“I remember reading mythology in grade school and thinking how cool it was that people used their Gods in stories.”

Of The Body      part 3

No one is innocent.  No one is innocent.  No one is innocent.  He awoke, the bed was drenched and reeked of chlorine.  No more sleep tonight. Two hours had passed since he had laid down, it was getting worse.  He rolled over to get out of bed carefully, his ribs were sore, and movement aggravated them.  They always hurt after these dreams, nightmares to be more accurate.  God, Lucifer, they were supposed to be what you talked about in church, not seen in your sleep.  Lucifer, what a hot babe.  Wait a minute, let’s not go there, that will get you thrown in the nut factory.  Did God really save him? Why?  Seven years had passed since the supposed miracle, 72 dead due to a lightning strike in the pool, one survivor, him.  72 dead due to lightning, make that 71, one of those was mine.  He sat at the edge of the bed, wiping his forehead, some miracle kid I am.  Lucifer is right, I’m a killer.  Why would God save him only?  He rose to take a leak.
Shoes tied, he looked across the room, good, his brother hadn’t budged.  That boy could sleep through anything.  Quietly down the hallway passing his parent’s room.  How did mom sleep with all of that snoring?  Dad sounded like an eighteen wheeler.  Better go out the kitchen door, they might hear the front, he checked the clock, 1:30 a.m., good time for a walk.
The block looked abandoned, everybody inside.  The curfews had cut down on the late activity, but the gangs were still a problem.  Though still not in, time had helped in not being recruited, most of the members were younger and they all knew him as, “That quiet kid, you know that miracle kid, the one from the pool.” Just thinking about the pool made his side hurt and eyes water, stinging from the smell of chlorine.  Everything always smelled of chlorine.
“Yo man, get some of this,” just up the alley, shadowed by a garage, three kids huddled in a tight circle, smoke rising from the center.
No sense staring, he kept walking, crossing the alley.
“Yo man, get some of this.”
He looked over, the circle was broken, one of them held the joint out in his direction.  Nah, I better not.
They saw the hesitation in his step.  “C’mon man, don’t be a pussy all your life,” one of them stepped forward, the others smoked on, “I know you man.”
Stopping when he saw his face clearly.
“It’s cool.  What’s your deal anyway, don’t you like good shit?” he stepped back receiving the joint and held it out in his direction.  “Fuck it man,” taking a puff and turning away to rejoin.
“Ok, why not,” he let out quickly, before the opportunity was gone.
“Man, I didn’t think you could talk.  C’mon let’s spark a freshie.”
The four of them huddled up in the darkness of the alley, each keeping watch ready to split at any moment.  He hated the anxiety of these situations, but getting stoned always helped, and he had no cash for his own.  The joint came his way, he took a deep pull, offered it to the next kid.
“Go ahead man, we’re way ahead of ya.”
He exhaled slowly, enjoying the taste.  This was good, he took another hit and passed it on.
The laughter resonated in his head, that was some good shit.  Seven, eight blocks, maybe half an hour or an hour had passed, he wasn’t sure, he didn’t care, the buzz was good and getting better.
“Hey honey, you need a date?”
Stopping short of running her over, “What?” blurted out through the haze.
“What you on honey, got some for me?”  She placed a hand on his chest, “Show me something good, I’ll make you feel better,” placing her other hand on his hip, snaking toward his back pocket, drawing him in.  Her hand was deep in back pocket, dammit, nothing, she grabbed his ass as if it were her intention all along and pulled him close, pressing her chest and pelvis on him, front pocket, not an idiot but young, maybe easy cash anyway.  “You got what I need down there honey,” her hand flowing smoothly, chest, stomach, teasing the belly button ever so slightly, resting finally cupping his crotch.  She could feel him harden in her hand, “So I got your attention.”
Fire burned his eyes, his ears rang.  Why was he so hot?  “Get off me!” adding a swift push.  He watched the girl stumble back landing at the curb.  What the hell was going on, where had this little girl come from?
She moved toward him knife drawn, “You punk, I’ll gut you.”
Stepping back, “Wait, I…,” she wasn’t waiting.  A wild right got lucky, placing the girl where she had been before.  The bloodied knife bounced into traffic, followed by a blast of horns.  What was he doing in the red light — red, wet.  From the forearm through the palm, a deep slice, blood flowed easily, staining shirt and jacket sleeve and now his sneaks.  The red contrasting sharply at first, then overtaking the white.
“You’re dead you bastard!”
“No, I,” backpedaling with unsure balance.  He turned.  The concrete bit deeply into his cheek.  Blood and tears obscured his vision but not the sharp pain in his ribs.
“You stupid asshole,” from above, “mess with me and mine, I’ll fuck you up.”
A heavy voice, with a heavy hand, followed by an even heavier foot.  Air escaped past clenched teeth, ribs folded.
“Get up dumb ass.”
Choking and coughing gave him breath.
“You’re getting blood on my shit.”
To his feet, hoisted and controlled by a pair of large hands.
“Not so tough now,” she spit at him.
Fear, stronger than the hands that held, came in a rush as he twisted and turned to escape, kicking out, hoping to gain footing and some advantage.
The girl renewed her attack running in cursing.
“Get off me!”  bloodying the big man’s clothing with a hard shove.
The man stumbled backwards surprised by the force of the push.  “Come here motherfucker,”  he reached out, grabbing some jacket in an effort to regain his balance.
Arms flailing, the girl slammed into his side.
“Huh,” ribs compressed, the pain exploding.  He teetered under the assault, the weight of the big man tugging on his jacket.  His feet her feet his feet, tangled.  Three moved as one.
“Got you now asshole.”
“Stop it!” a desperate swing assured gravity’s assertion.  All would fall.
The smell of exhaust and chlorine.  Screams from the girl.  Threats from the man.  Blaring horns from the cars.  The jacket rode up, forcing his head down, he watched the curb go by and oiled blacktop approach.  Screeching tires punctuated their landing.  Pain and light penetrated his eyelids and was abruptly, gone.

©Ted Washington 2009