Davida Wills Hurwin - Freaks and Revelations

On March 27, 1980, a horrible thing happened.

I know where I am by the sounds

that play rhythms like raindrops through tin pipes,

moonlight that falls in secret messages, and

echoes of invitations to places unknown.

I am strong here; I am the all of me,

the beginning and the celebration,

the promise and the reward;

I am not afraid, not now.

Not anymore.

I am a child and I believe.

I am a child and all things are possible.

Thoughts of a boy before sunrise

LOS ANGELES COUNTY

Mom and Carl are both in the kitchen when I get home from school. Moms grinning. Carl isnt.

They caught him, Dougie, Mom says. They got the bastard that shot our Carl. Finally. She hands me the Tribune. Look. Its all right there.

Carl doesnt seem all that happy about his name being in the newspaper, but Mom sure is. She rubs his shoulders and musses his hair, gives him a kiss on the back of his neck. He rolls his eyes and tries to shrug her away. She doesnt notice. He got his name in the newspaper. They caught the bad guy. This is what counts. She picks up the phone to call Chelsea. Carl ambles off to his room. I go to mine.

The only good thing about my sister moving out is that both us boys now have our own room. Carl put a black light up in his, with posters of Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin that change when its on. He locks himself in there whenever hes home, to play guitar or hang out with his friends. They smoke pot when Mom and Dad are out of the house, and wont ever let me in. He ignores me when his friends are around. Im just his stupid little brother. He makes fun of how tall and skinny I got. I dont care. Let him do what he wants, I can take care of myself. I have friends. Well, two. Besides, in seventh grade, you can get your own pot.

I miss Chels, but she likes living with her boyfriend better, anyway.

Turns out everybody at school saw the article. My homeroom teacher mentions it to me after class, asks if Carls okay. Kids are looking at me weird, though, so I try to get ready to stick up for him, if I have to. At snack, I wait to know which way its gonna go, when Evelyn Anderson and her friends crowd around.

Evelyn has tits already. Big ones.

Did he really get shot? she asks.

Uh-huh. Right by the heart.

Oh! Is he okay?

Yeah. Hes fine now. But he still has the bullet in him.

I like how the word makes a little explosion in my mouth as it comes out, how the sound of it makes people stand very still. Too close to his spine to operate.

I like the general ooooh that ripples through the group.

Oh my God, Evelyn Anderson says.

Yep, I answer. Im having a hard time keeping my eyes on her face. Now he has to go testify. In court.

Is he scared? her friend asks.

Nah, not my brother.

What if the guy gets off and comes after him again? Evelyn asks.

The guy who shot him? No way. Hell be doing some hard time. I heard my mom say this to my grandma, on the phone. She didnt know I was listening. Its not his first arrest, you know. That niggers got a record as long as your arm.

No one speaks. The air sizzles briefly and seems to take form around us; it feels heavier than a second ago. Evelyns eyes get real big; she looks back over her shoulder. I feel my cheeks get warm.

What? I challenge.

Nothing, she says, but she doesnt look in my eyes now.

You shouldnt say that word, whispers her friend.

What word? Nigger? Why not?

Because. Evelyn looks around. Who does she expect to see? Only white people go to this school. She whispers too. You just shouldnt. Its not a nice word.

Hes not a nice guy.

Still

So what should I call him?

I dont know, but not that.

Yeah, well, just wait till somebody shoots your brother. See how you feel then.

I dont know what else to do, so I walk away, my face red, feeling stupid, like I shouldve just kept my mouth shut. In math class, a couple of guys look at me funny, like they know something. Nobody else asks about Carl. At lunch, when I come around the corner to the picnic area with my buddy Glenn, a whole bunch of girls start giggling. Evelyn Anderson is one of them.

Just ignore them, Glenn tells me.

Easy for him to say. Hes not the one being laughed at.

After school, we go to Glenns but his grandma comes home early and makes me leave. Fine. Nobody wants me around, what do I care. I dont feel like going homeCarls probably thereso I head over to Carolines house.

Caroline Tuttle was the first person I met when we moved here. Shes one of my best friends even though she goes to Catholic school and lives down almost by Pomona. Im not supposed to hang around with her because her moms never home, just her big brother, Evan, who dropped out of school. We lounge around on their front lawn while he works on his motorcycle. Carld be jealous.

Want to go inside? Caroline asks. Usually, this means we can make out on the bed in her moms room.

Nah.

How come?

I tell her. She gets it.

I would have said exactly the same thing, she says. What do those stupid girls know, anyway? Huh?

Yeah. Their brother didnt get shot.

Thats right. Theyre just bitches. She leans over and kisses me right in front of Evan. He whistles.

Shut up! she says to him, but shes smiling. She kisses me again. Hey, you want me to make you a tattoo?

What?

You knowa tattoo. You said you wanted one.

Thats true, I had been talking about it for a while now. Shit yeah. I do.

Hey, Evan? she says.

Gotcha covered, Babygirl.

Evans got even more tattoos than Carl. He designs his own. He does all his friends. He got all the stuff, including the India ink. We go into the house. He boils a needle to sterilize it, and shows us how to strap it to a pencil with thread. You wind the thread around both the pencil and the needle, up to the tip almost, real tight.

It cant wobble, or you mess up, he says, then smiles and holds it up. Your rig. He sticks the point in a lighter flame, then wipes it with rubbing alcohol. No fun if it gets infected.

Evan hands me a Coors and tells me to chug it. I tried my first beer way back in fifth grade, so this is no big deal, but I usually dont drink this fast. I dont really like the taste. I get dizzy immediately. He hands me another. This one goes down real smooth.

You got a design? he asks.

Yep. I burp. Sorry. I want a 13 right here. I point to the top of my forearm.

Oh, perfect, Doug, says Caroline, exactly where your dad can see it. And your teachers. I was actually thinking of Evelyn Anderson, but I get her point.

Evan explains itll hurt less where its fleshy, though after that second beer, I doubt I could even feel pain. I decide across my stomachd be good. I lie down on an air mattress in the garage and Caroline draws a 13 in pen, right near my belly button. It looks fine and I nod. She takes her rig and dips the needle and the top of the thread wrap into the bottle of India ink. She pokes a hole. Then another. Evan watches, coaching her. She has to get under the top layer of skin but not go too deep or the ink could poison me. She dips and pokes again.

Im wrong about the beer. The needle hurts like hell, but with Evan standing there, grinning down at me, I just suck it up. Every few punctures, Caroline wipes off the blood. Tattoos bleed A LOT. It kinda makes me sick to my stomach.

Hey. Dont puke on the mattress, Evan says.

I wont.

Caroline finally finishes and pours rubbing alcohol directly on it.

Evan or not, I yell. He laughs.

Its done, little man, Evan announces. Now you just got to take care of it.