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bars, and from my inverted angle I saw a pale

orange basketball bounce into the air from

outside the bars. Now it seemed like my new

white shoes had attracted every child from all of

the surrounding buildings, though I knew it was

me that had attracted them. Scanning the area, I

saw no trace of Matthew, and I knew I was on my

own. I could hear the familiar song over and over

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as the boys approached and circled around

beneath me.

BoBos, they make ya feet feel fine,

BoBos, cost a dollar ninety-nine,

BoBos, even the welfare will provide!

A small gang of black and Latino boys rallied in a

circle and sang their rhyme over and over, as they

taunted me in my new shoes. Being one of only a

few white children in the Village, I was a frequent

target of attack by the other children.

“Man, you see those shoes, they almost as white

as he is,” jeered one of the boys, as he slapped my

dangling bruised arm. I was hanging upside down

when they had approached, and I was trying

without much success to pull myself up to a seated

position at the top of the monkey bars. My body

was sore from the previous day’s beating, and I

had been enjoying my rare time outside of the

apartment. Blinded by the sun, I swung back

down to shield my eyes.

42

Some of the boys had climbed through the

monkey bars and began slapping and tugging at

my arms. I braced my feet against my thighs,

trying to steady myself as I hung upside down.

The boys were trying to pull me down, and they

held my arms despite my flailing.

“Man look at dis sucker’s bobos. You get dem

today?” one of the crew chided.

“Yeah, my mom got ‘em for me,” I announced

proudly.

“Yo momma? Yo momma’s a hooker. My

momma say she seen her hookin’ all night,” one

of the boys accused.

“She’s trickin’, not hookin’” I retorted, knowing

the proper term for what my mother did for

Bobby.

“What da shit, yo momma a magician with her

tricks?” The boys laughed as they made mock

magic trick gestures in the air.

“No, she
turns
tricks, that’s what it’s called, not

hookin.” I was indignant and not willing to back

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down when these boys didn’t even know what

tricks were. Momentarily I thought I had the

upper hand, as the boys looked at me in disbelief.

I was wrong.

“And yo daddy her pimp!” someone exclaimed,

and the gang began laughing harder.

“And a thief,” another boy interjected through

his laughter.

“He’s not my daddy!” I screamed, still trying to

keep my legs wrapped around the thin steel bar I

hung from.

“You aint got no daddy, bitch,” a voice yelled

back.

“My momma says my daddy’s in prison. Bobby

aint my daddy!” I shot back sharply, doing my

best to sound confident in the face of the

unrelenting attacks.

“He aint yo daddy? We know he aint yo daddy.

We all know him, and he aint got no white kids.

Your momma just one a his bitches he stay wit.

Ya’ll don’t even belong here, ya honkey bitches!”

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An especially sweaty boy standing right in front of

me added.

The largest boy stepped forward, “I don’t give a

shit where yo daddy is. He aint here and we

gonna kick yo ass,” and he punched me in the

head. My legs gave out from the sudden pain and

I fell head first to the ground.

As I drew my limp body into a familiar fetal

position, the beating began and the chanting

resumed.

BoBos, they make ya feet feel fine,

BoBos, cost a dollar ninety-nine,

BoBos, even the welfare will provide!

Kicks and punches landed on my back and legs.

My body scraped against the ground, and I felt

asphalt tearing into my skin. Someone was

pressing my feet into the hard ground and I could

feel the sneakers ripping apart. Realizing my

shoes were being destroyed, I knew this beating

would be nothing compared to the one I would

get when I got home. Suddenly I started to cry.

45

The crowd heard my sobs and beat me harder. I

could feel their heavy breathing as they crouched

down to punch me. Their sweat dripped onto my

face and mixed with my tears.

My right side ached with road rash as I lay on the

scorching hot ground. Immobilized beneath the

monkey bars, the kicks and punches suddenly

became less intense and less frequent. The

chanting and laughing had stopped, and I heard

yells and screams that weren’t my own. The

beating stopped. I moved my arms from my head

and opened one eye. I could see Matthew wildly

swinging a large piece of wood. He was hitting

the boys as he climbed inside the monkey bars.

Bleeding and burning, I watched as he slammed

the splintered wood with as much force as he

could into the heads of each of the boys who had

not run away. When the crowd scattered and we

were left alone beneath the hot bars, Matthew

reached down and jerked me from the ground,

46

not in tenderness but embarrassment. I stood up

the best I could.

He looked down at me, my head hanging but my

eyes glued to him. He spoke without a hint of

irony, “You know you gonna be in trouble?”

I rubbed my arms trying to shake off the beating.

“They won’t know if you don’t tell,” I said

sheepishly.

“Know? Everyone knows. How do you think I

got over here? I was playing over there,” he

pointed into the distance but I knew where he

meant, “and some kids started yelling about a

fight and I grabbed a piece of wood to come join

the fight. I didn’t know it was you getting beat up.

Why did you let all those guys hit you? Why

didn’t you go home?” He was angry with me, and

he reached back like he was going to smack me

with the piece of wood he still carried, but instead

he threw the wood behind us and walked me

home in silence. Battered and bruised and

steadying myself for what was to come, I walked

47

home slowly, soaking in what I could of the sun as

we walked between the buildings. I knew it would

be a long time before I was let out of the house

again.

When we reached the open doorway, Matthew

did hit me. We stood side by side in the musky

hall, as I waited for him to go up the stairs first.

He smacked me hard on the back of the head and

snarled, “What are you waiting for? Get up there.

You already know what’s gonna happen.” His

words hurt more than his hand. He had learned

so much from Bobby. Matthew idolized Bobby as

if he was his own father, and Bobby treated him

with the same admiration. Matthew was a little

version of Bobby.

Stumbling forward, I grabbed the railing and

pulled myself up onto the stairs. Taking each step

carefully, as though I might fall down, I only

moved along because Matthew was behind me,

pushing me up the stairs. I was sore, bleeding,

and panicked from what awaited. I didn’t know if

48

Bobby was there, but I knew he’d be there

eventually. We got to the landing between the

second and third floors faster than I wanted. I

froze in place. Matthew pushed me to move on,

and I fell forward. I threw my hands out in front

of me to break my fall but still banged my chin on

the step.

“Go on.” Matthew sounded tired and

unconcerned.

I remained on the ground as long as he’d let me.

He yanked me from the ground again, and I

walked up the last few steps to the door. Again I

froze in place; again Matthew prodded me

forward by reaching over me and turning the

knob. The door swung open, and I thought I was

safe until the door bounced shut almost

immediately. Matthew knocked on the door, and

a voice boomed from the other side.

“Who da hell is it?”

“It’s me dad. And Greg.”

49

There was some noise from behind the door

before it opened wide. I was still frozen in front of

the door when it swung open.

“Get da fuck in here you two.” He reached his

arm out and pulled Matthew into the apartment.

Bobby stared down at me and growled, “Get in

here!”

I shuffled into the apartment. I saw Debbie sitting

with her back to the door. Bobby turned to

Matthew. “What happened to him?”

“Some kids were beating him up on the

playground when I got there,” Matthew began

but he was interrupted.

“I know dat. I saw dat from the street. I wanna

know what happened to the gotdamn shoes.”

Matthew began again and was interrupted again.

Bobby waved him away and Matthew went to the

couch, threw himself down and stared at the

television.

“Boy, what happen ta yo damn shoes?”

50

“I, I was, I was outside on the playground and

some kids came and started hitting me and

stepped on my shoes.” I couldn’t look at him as I

spoke, and I tried to look at the ground without

looking at my shoes. My new shoes were ripped,

dirty and unsalvageable. Distracted by my shoes,

I had not noticed Debbie’s crying until she turned

around to face us. Her makeup was running

down her face in a familiar tear-stained pattern.

Her voice was choked through her tears.

“Baby, I’m sorry about the money. I didn’t know.

I swear it was only ten dollars.” At the sound of

Debbie’s voice, I stood up straight and turned

toward her. She was shaking as she sat in the thin

kitchen chair.

“Why you gonn take my money for dis mufucka

anyway? I told you I don’ want you spendin’ my

money on dis asshole. An’ what dis boy doin out

the gotdamn house anyway? I told you ‘bout

dat,” he cocked his head toward me, “and
you

know better.” With the final word Bobby

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unbuckled his belt and pulled it free from his

pants. He reached forward with his free hand and

grabbed my hair. He stepped toward Debbie,

pulling me with him. Turning to look at me he

began again, the thick leather belt dangling from

his right hand.

“You gon’ go outside an tear up dem new shoes
I

bought fa ya?” He held me at arms length away

with my hair firmly in his hand. His large right

arm whipped back then forth and the belt came

down wrapping across Debbie’s back. Her

whimper became a shriek.

“Now you care bitch? Now you think dis mufucka

needs some shoes? You like dat? You buy dis

bastard shoes wit my gotdamn money and he

goes an’ gets dem all torn up before I get home,”

his voice was rising as he whipped the belt back

and forth across Debbie’s back again. She drew

her legs up into the chair and cradled her head

between her knees. Her back began to swell

52

beneath her thin blouse when the belt came down

again.

“I’m su, su, sorry baby. I’ll get it back.” Bobby

pulled the belt back

I stood there at the end of Bobby’s arm waiting

for the beating to begin. Bobby faced me and

smiled.

“So ya wanna fight? Ya like ta fight, ya little

faggot? I taught ya all about it, yer brother know

how ta fight. Shit, he had ta come an’ get yer ass.

I saw dat from da window.” He shook me by my

hair and threw me at my mother. I skidded across

the linoleum floor, knocked my head against the

seat of the chair and fell at Debbie’s feet.

“You two little bitches belong together.” Bobby

snarled in disgust.

“Matt, who taught you ta fight?” Bobby asked the

air as he stared at the ceiling. I reached up from

the floor and grabbed Debbie’s shins for comfort.

“You did daddy,” Matthew sang from the living

room.

53

Separated by a couch, the living room and the

kitchen were one large room at the front of the

apartment. I could see Matthew sitting on the

couch from my spot on the kitchen floor. I stared

at the back of his head as he watched “The Six

Million Dollar Man” on the TV that sat against

the far wall.

“Now boy, if I taught him ta fight why didn’t you

learn nuthin’?” He didn’t wait for me to answer.

He folded the belt in half and held it with both

hands. Pushing the ends together, he pulled the

looped belt taut ferociously. Debbie and I leapt at

the terrifying snap of the leather.

“I’ma toughen you up boy, I’ma make you a man

like yo brotha ova’ ere.” He knocked his head to

the right indicating Matthew reclining on the

couch without a care.

Hatred welled up inside me as I cowered at my

mother’s feet while she cried. My hatred grew as

Bobby prowled around the kitchen and living

room. My hatred for Bobby spawned from his

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beating Debbie and me while treating Matthew

like a king; my hatred for Matthew spawned from