In the Nick of Time (4 page)

I didn’t want to do that shit. I thought I did, thought I could, but once I realized it wasn’t gonna be no damn cakewalk, I bucked up and got upset and, I hate to say this, but yeah… I cried a little, too. It was one of the worst and best things that ever happened to me, but I couldn’t have learned the tools to cope, to do what I needed to, had it not been for one woman, my flower… my Taryn. And yeah, she’s mine…

Taryn is one of those women you look at and say, ‘Holy shit.’ That’s all you can do. You’re like speechless for five minutes after that. She takes your damn breath away. Everything about her is on point. So, imagine my delight when I first saw her… I had plans for Taryn; big, seedy, nasty plans. And I saw nothing wrong with that. But, Taryn didn’t have the same ideas regarding
me
, and that kinda bruised my ego a bit. That was fine, though. I don’t mind a challenge, and shit, I had nothing better to do, nothing but time on my hands, so I simply strategized. That didn’t matter, either.

She is the type of lady that either wants you or she doesn’t. No song and dance will swing her your way. She turned me inside out; got into my system, infected me. She is the type of woman that, once you get to know her, you don’t want to let go. And if she looks like she’s tryna leave you, well, you might just get a little crazy about it and start doing and saying things that make no sense. I fell in love with her… I fell in love with her, hard.

I believe I’ve been in love many times, well, a few times—yeah, I’ve been in love a few times so it was nothing like that, but to this extent? Nah, that was
all
new. Taryn saved my life. Simple as that. And because of everything she was, is, and became, I needed her. Yeah… it feels good to be able to admit that now, to be able to say I needed someone who would be there for me, and I would be there for them, and I wouldn’t give a shit what anyone thought. And that’s cool; that’s all right.

It doesn’t make me soft or a punk; it just makes me real honest. So, this all happened to me, you know? Well, you don’t know, actually. A lot happened to me, and I’m about to tell you. I’m about to do what I couldn’t do before because I didn’t know how. I’m going to tell you my story, and I want you to listen to me, and to tell other people about this, because it’s important. I’m important, you’re important; we all can make changes and a difference, no matter what life has thrown at us.

This is a story about a monster, and his name is Nicholas Vitale. That monster falls in love with a warrior, and her name is Taryn Jones. Together they create their own world, a little kingdom…and they speak in a made-up language, and have their own rules. The warrior whipped out her sword and sliced the monster right down the middle…

She killed me… but she gave me life, too…

“Clock slays time… time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life.

—
William Faulkner

A
nother colossal brick
rained from the overcast sky, crashing onto Jonathan’s head like a goddamn boulder, and I swear I heard his skull shatter like a baseball bat hitting a fucking piñata. His knees gave way and he slowly tumbled forward like a row of dominoes kicked from the flick of a fingernail. His arms outstretched as his fingertips scraped the broken, uneven sidewalk. He lay amongst the old piss stains, childish and unskillful chalk drawings, and his legs were framed in spiky slices of broken brown beer bottle glass remains. I looked upward into the grayness and saw Santiago standing there with two more bricks, one in each hand, ready to launch a second round as he rocked back and forth like King Kong on the rooftop.

The shitface stood a distance away, almost like he was standing on the fuckin’ moon, but I’d make out those bowed legs and stark white jeans from anywhere. When I looked back down at Jonathan, blood was oozing out of his ears, pooling around his face, and collecting in his black hair faster than I could form a thought or speak a one-syllable word. His dark russet eyes were blinking real crazy, independently of one another, like something real fucked up was going on inside of his brain, shutting down and sparking within. I slumped to my knees in a panic, ran my hand over his trembling body and felt a warm wash of shame as my concern grew to my own need for survival.

What if Santiago throws those other bricks and takes me out, too?

What if the cops come and think I did this shit, huh? Like, maybe me and my boy had a disagreement and I went apeshit on his ass…

I pushed that shit away just as fast as it came as I heard a rasping whisper flow from between his twitching lips. Webs of coagulated spit collected between ’em, then leaked out onto the asphalt, filling in the concrete gaps, grooves, and severed veins of cement. I couldn’t believe my eyes, didn’t dare blink or even fathom the fact that my friend was dying, though the tick-infested vultures were already circling. Death has a smell to it and I knew it all too well. It never waited for its victim to fully expire, but would come right before that last breath was drawn… waiting close by, like a line of people lingering around to enter the soup kitchen for a much needed meal. Death was ready to feast… I just couldn’t accept it; though my mind knew the deal, my heart protested and yelled, ‘Hell, no!’ All I could do was keep staring, watching by best friend die, second by miserable second. Time had fucked me over once again…

“It’s going to be okay!” I lied and looked every which way, calling out for help as the crowd gathered, but no one did a goddamn thing. I wasn’t going to cry—no, I was going to be strong, at least to the naked eye.

“Somebody call the police!” I hollered out, my sixteen-year-old voice cracked and crowed from the strain, pressure, and hormonal imbalance of it all. I looked back up at the top of the crumbling building, the same one I used to steal lighters from when a little store was still being ran inside of the dilapidated thing, but by then, Santiago was long gone. He took the last of the stingy sunlight with him too, for the gray skies had turned almost pitch black, swallowing the moonlight and any shred of hope. I looked back down at Jonathan, and he returned the favor.

Yeah, he looked me in my eyes as he was slowly eaten up by the shadows; they wouldn’t get their murky hands off him and it seemed like it took all of him to look me in my eye as he strained against the pavement, swallowed, and choked on his own blood. My best friend blinked a thousand times, his thick lashes webbing with tears. And then his lids hooded like the freaks on methadone. It was like his brain had exploded, and he was losing his memory, his mind, his motor skills, and his machismo. He was trying to speak to me, trying to say something. His fingers twitched in strange ways, but he pushed forward, put his hand on my knee. I gripped it hard—gripped it like there were a hundred dollars balled up inside of it that he wanted me to have and to hold until death do us part, and he said, “Outlaws.”

That’s the last word I heard Jonathan speak. And then just like that… he was gone.

It was the last thing I heard pounding in my skull when the police came. Their blinding, flashing lights tore into the night, ripped the darkness away with their own special kind of illuminated crimson and azure mayhem. The cops got a hold of me, asked me a bunch of dumb shit, treated me like some punk as they pulled at my bloodied shirt, wet with what was left of my friend, and questioned me like some suspect. My greatest fears were materializing right before my eyes, and I regretted not running, not beating a damn path out of there. I had shame about that too, especially after they turned me loose.

It was the last time I felt so goddamn helpless and pusillanimous, too. I made sure of that. I would never let that happen again; no, I was going to be a brave heart until the day I died.

It was the last time I’d be a pussy, not do what was right under my own laws, rules and jurisdiction. I was going to be an outlaw, just like Jonathan, Antonio, and Liam when we made a pact when we were just some little ass hoodlums with no facial hair running up and down the streets in Brownsville. We were all blood brothers, growing down and tired in Brooklyn, instead of growing up and strong in the big, beautiful world.

Yeah, the day Jonathan died, a little bit of me died, too. That little bit was the last of my innocence. It was the last shred of hope I had, and the last bit of dignity, too…