Who's to say what's for my own good?
Certainly not you.
My actions are my own, confined to a screen that flickers and flits.
I suffer not from the faces and spaces and ramblings and wit.
The information computes
Recognized by the reality of the 90's.
And only in rare circumstances do I sink that low
For perfection is an everyday occurence for me.
If they are led to distraction, it is only because they peek around corners and hide behind doors.
If they kept that which is meant to take in air between the covers
And those that are meant to read between the lines
Then just maybe they could keep up.
Yet I am punished.
My freedom to search is eliminated
Given up for the good of many--
For those who are either too foolish or unwilling to take charge of themselves.
No matter.
My loss is also my gain
For my frustration furthers me to greater heights
And I shall surpass them all.
My own good? I think not.
But I shall make it so.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Pressure
Dragging under the weight
Trying not to go crazy
Focusing still on the center
As the edges start to get hazy
Trying to order the chaos
Classify each little thing
Identify and prioritize
Consequences each one will bring
Headed into a new phase
Releasing the grip on the old
Freeing the bolt of the dead
Tracked by belongings untold
Hours slip by with much haste
And the sun persists in its set
But the checklist still overflows
With deadlines that haven’t been met
But worry is kicked to the curb
Stress released with a sigh
Recalling the end is in sight
A union beginning is nigh
So let it gather and build
I’ll thrive as I usually do
And as it dissolves into naught
I’ll end up right next to you
Trying not to go crazy
Focusing still on the center
As the edges start to get hazy
Trying to order the chaos
Classify each little thing
Identify and prioritize
Consequences each one will bring
Headed into a new phase
Releasing the grip on the old
Freeing the bolt of the dead
Tracked by belongings untold
Hours slip by with much haste
And the sun persists in its set
But the checklist still overflows
With deadlines that haven’t been met
But worry is kicked to the curb
Stress released with a sigh
Recalling the end is in sight
A union beginning is nigh
So let it gather and build
I’ll thrive as I usually do
And as it dissolves into naught
I’ll end up right next to you
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Intended Isolation
I do not hold the key to your relentless swell of queries.
Your interrogation gains you nothing.
My rights are understood and my qualifications allow my own counsel.
And so I shall remain silent.
For in a sea of cravings, nearness does not exist.
I do not desire to be held close, to be embraced in warmth and tenderness.
The only containment I require at this moment in time is my own.
For within the fortifications I have constructed sentiments flow freely,
Unhindered by the boundaries you have set.
Contemplation of concepts abounds and theories develop
And I forever consider my personal philosophies.
And as for your estimations, they fall short of their destination.
They collapse under the weight of my denial, crushed by the crashing waves of rejection.
They hold no sway.
Do not attempt to break down the barriers.
They were set with a purpose,
For I do not desire nearness.
I do not care to hear or speak or feel if it pertains to those outside.
I want solitary space inhabited only by myself.
For isolation is bliss.
Your interrogation gains you nothing.
My rights are understood and my qualifications allow my own counsel.
And so I shall remain silent.
For in a sea of cravings, nearness does not exist.
I do not desire to be held close, to be embraced in warmth and tenderness.
The only containment I require at this moment in time is my own.
For within the fortifications I have constructed sentiments flow freely,
Unhindered by the boundaries you have set.
Contemplation of concepts abounds and theories develop
And I forever consider my personal philosophies.
And as for your estimations, they fall short of their destination.
They collapse under the weight of my denial, crushed by the crashing waves of rejection.
They hold no sway.
Do not attempt to break down the barriers.
They were set with a purpose,
For I do not desire nearness.
I do not care to hear or speak or feel if it pertains to those outside.
I want solitary space inhabited only by myself.
For isolation is bliss.
Monday, January 4, 2010
winning story
So I haven't gotten a chance to post lately. Life's been full of changes, full of craziness. The holidays went well, got to spend some quality time with family and enjoy the snow that showed up. I enjoyed a week long break from school which was much needed. I also have been spending a good amount of time trying to nail down the final details for my wedding (January 30, 2010) and making preparations for the baby I'm expecting in August. :) Hence the not posting lately.
But I'm going to try to get back to it. This isn't technically a post, more of an update, but like I said, I'm going to get back to it. But speaking of updates, I got some good news a few days ago. I usually submit to the firstlinefiction contest every month and I did in December. Got an e-mail to inform me that my story took second this month!! Very excited!! It's such a thrill to know that other people read my work and enjoy it--that they like it enough to rank it above other work. It's such a high! Working on an idea for this month's now. The first line is interesting...I think I may have a lot of fun with this month's entry.
For those of you who'd like to read my second place story, here it is. It is entitled "His Boys." Enjoy.
For a long time they said we didn't need one, but then something changed and they said that we did. There were still days—a lot of them actually—when I wondered how I’d ended up with them. They were everything popular and hip and I…well, I wasn’t. I was that thin, gangly, wisp of a guy that faded into the chipped walls of Stanton High. Nine days out of ten, I was invisible. Unfortunately, that always left that one day when someone did pick me out of a crowd, usually to bloody my nose for committing some minor infraction like accidentally making eye contact with the wrong guy’s girl or tripping over my own two feet and knocking some jock’s books out of his hands.
It was a day like that, about three weeks into the fall semester of my senior year when they found me. Even though I’d been staring diligently at the floor as I headed to class, I still somehow managed to stumble over the sole of my shoe. And just my luck—I’d managed to run straight into Butch. Butch was every teacher’s pet and every girl’s dream. He oozed charm in the classroom as effectively as he dodged tackles on the football field. His hair was always perfect, his clothes always straight, his smile always ready with a wink. Well, almost always. At that precise moment in time he was glaring at me and I could nearly see the steam shooting out his ears. Because not only had I just run into him (which was mistake enough and worthy of a beating) but I’d also caused him to spill his lukewarm black coffee completely down his pristine white shirt. Nevermind that he wasn’t technically supposed to have it in school. I was still dead meat. Shit.
There was no point in trying to run. Even if there was no chance of me tripping…again…in my haste to get away, Butch could outrun me. I knew this perfectly well from a previous experience. There was no escaping the black eye I’d be sporting within the next 45 seconds. I braced for the attack and without further ado, the beating began.
I’d probably taken about four hits and was huddled into a ball on the floor, trying to protect my face and vital organs from Butch’s boots when I heard a series of shouts, followed by a couple grunts and then…the hits quit coming. I slowly uncurled my body and looked up. Holy shit. They’d ganged up on Butch. Frankie and his boys.
I stared in shock as they threw Butch up against some lockers. His nose was crooked and blood was gushing from his nostrils. He grunted in pain as one of their knees was rammed into his stomach. After another moment or two—by which time a whole crowd had gathered to watch the brawl, I noticed—they released Butch and he slid limply down the lockers and collapsed in a bloody and beaten heap on the floor.
As I stared at Butch from my almost identical position on the other side of the hall, a hand suddenly appeared in my line of vision. I glanced up and there was Frankie. “You ok?” he asked. I just stared at him, speechless, my lower jaw hitting the ground. Somewhere in the back of my head I was well aware of the fact that I probably looked like some sort of retarded fish. But Frankie Jones had just asked me if I was ok. Me. That so just didn’t happen.
“Yo, Danny. You cool, man?”
Oh my holy son of a bitch. Frankie Jones knew my name. That so just didn’t happen either. Somehow…and God only knows how, I managed to shut my mouth and grasp Frankie’s hand. He pulled me to my feet, steadied me when I swayed. He then turned to the gathered crowd and harshly uttered five words that changed my life at Stanton High: NO ONE TOUCHES HIM…EVER.
No one did after that. Butch may have been a popular jock, but Frankie Jones was a badass and his word was law. Period.
From that point on, I was no longer invisible. I was part of a group. And the more time I spent with Frankie and the boys, the more I realized that I was actually part of a family. Sure, they all put on a tough façade—they walked tall, talked loud, fought hard. But they were all a bunch of misfits, just like me. So naturally, I fit right in. And we all fit together.
Frankie was the brains of the group. He could have been a straight-A student if he’d put some effort into his studies. But Frankie didn’t care about school. He went for his ma. His old man was dead and Frankie’s ma had to work ten hours a day at the drugstore just to make ends meet. She wanted better for Frankie and in her mind the key to better was an education. But like I said, Frankie didn’t care about school. His street-smarts were sharp enough. He knew the ins and outs of Stanton, he knew who was his friend and who wasn’t. And he knew who was worth the deal. A few hits dealt and he was up some green. We all were. And that was the main reason Frankie didn’t bother with reading and writing and 'rithmetic. He knew he could make a hell of lot more cash the way he was doing. So he kept doing.
Johnny was the brawn. I mean, they all could fight, but Johnny was the one you didn’t want to mix with. Johnny fought dirty. Johnny was big and if you messed with one of the boys, Johnny would take you out, no doubt about it. He’d broken Butch’s nose before I was even one of “the boys.” Now that I was, the threat of Johnny’s fists was something to be avoided. And everybody knew it. Both Johnny’s parents had been killed in a car accident with a drunk driver, so he crashed at Frankie’s a lot. He took his “job” of watching Frankie’s back seriously because Frankie put him up. Frankie always told Johnny he shouldn’t worry about it, but Johnny wasn’t a moocher. He paid his own way, however he could.
Chuck was a sweet-talker. He kept us out of trouble, whether we were guilty or not. I always thought he’d make a great lawyer, ‘cause he always knew the right thing to say. His old man was a beat cop, which should have been a problem but in actuality made us damn lucky. Chuck’s dad knew what Frankie ran and he turned a blind eye. Dope wasn’t all that harmful, but it was sure profitable. And he loved Chuck way too much to drag us all in. As long as Frankie didn’t do anything stupid and no one got hurt, we were all home free.
As for why they kept me around, I was never sure. But the three of them always told me I was the calm in their storm. I managed to keep everybody cool. It was my logical nature. Or so they told me. They were grateful to have me around. Personally, I thought they had it backwards. I was the one who was grateful for them. They’d saved me from a lifetime of undeserved beatings. I didn’t walk around school invisible anymore. I walked tall as part of a group, always wondering why, but never doubtful of the fact that my boys had my back.
I remember sitting with Frankie in the park a few weeks after they’d taken their fists to Butch and staked their claim on me. I was sitting on a bench, elbows on knees, chin in hands. Frankie straddled the bench less than a foot away, facing me. Johnny and Chuck were tossing a football across the way. I’d been quiet, lost in my thoughts when Frankie had asked me what the deal was.
“Danny, what’s doing? Why you so quiet?”
I’d shrugged, then turned to face him. “Why me?” I’d asked. He gave me a funny look and asked what I meant. My face turning red as I confessed to Frankie what I’d been thinking. I'd been a nobody, a loser. And they'd picked me to run with them. “I don’t understand why you guys picked me, but I’m thankful you did. It’s nice to feel like I belong, to not feel obligated to try and disappear into the background. This is going to sound crazy, Frankie, but I think you might be my guardian angel.”
A flash of something, I’m still not sure if it was pride, understanding or maybe even love, crossed Frankie’s face before he just shook his head and grinned. “Nah,” he said. “We don’t need a guardian angel. We’ve got each other.” And then he’d punched my shoulder, stood up and walked across the park to make a deal with a regular. I’d joined in with Johnny and Chuck, dropping the ball more than I caught it, but they hadn’t cared. We’d laughed and joked and I’d felt like I was finally home. Frankie was right. We had each other.
The next few months had flown by and I’d spent them tight with my boys. Fridays in the fall had been spent hanging at the football bonfires. We’d steered clear of the stadium, but the bonfires were bright and hot and best of all, after the first kick-off, deserted. Winter weeknights were spent at each others' places. One night at Frankie’s, wolfing down Ma’s fried chicken (we all called her “Ma” now), another at Chuck’s, just hanging out and if we were lucky and caught his dad on a night off, playing poker. We even hung out at my place. My parents were thrilled that I’d found a crowd and as they weren't aware of Frankie’s extracurricular activities, in their eyes, my boys were sent straight from heaven. When my parents voiced their opinion one night, Frankie laughed and as he’d told me once before, told my parents, “We don’t need a guardian angel. We’ve got each other.” My guys and I had laughed and my parents had smiled and the evening rolled on.
It became our little joke, that we didn’t need a guardian angel. Frankie had told Johnny and Chuck what I’d said in the park that day and they’d both agreed with Frankie. That between the four of us, we had all we’d ever need. Brains, muscle, charm and logic. We’d laugh about it in school, or in the park, or out on the street. Any time I’d trip crossing the street and just miss being slammed by a car or after Frankie finished a tense deal or Johnny hit a guy just a little too hard for smarting off—anytime the situation may have possibly called for divine intervention, the joke came out. No guardian angels for us.
Graduation came and went that spring and the four of us, still as tight as we’d been since Butch’s broken nose, were set loose out on the streets as adults. Johnny and I both took jobs at the local meat market and I started attending some night college courses at the community college. Chuck decided to follow his old man and applied for the police academy. By the end of the summer he’d graduated and was working his own beat with his own heat.
And Frankie continued to do what he’d been doing. He’d moved up the ranks a bit in the world of dealers. At some point over the summer he’d quit limiting himself to just dope and was now selling crack as well. He figured he was golden considering that now not only his best friend’s pop but his best friend himself was working the streets. Nothing and no one could touch him. And we all believed him ‘cause it had always been that way. He was pulling in the dough—Ma only had to work three days a week now. She’d quit asking him where he got the money. I think she’d finally decided it was better if she just didn’t know…or at least pretended not to.
So there we all were, doing our things, doing just fine, best friends for life. No worries.
And then everything changed.
The park had never ceased to be our local hangout. One humid August evening, we made plans to meet up there around seven or so. Chuck worked a swing shift and had the day off. Johnny and I were off at six. And Frankie made his own schedule so timing was never an issue for him.
The meat market was only a few blocks from the park so Johnny and I left work together that night and headed out to meet Chuck and Frankie. We were nearly there when we heard the shots. One, followed by a close second. And after a moment, a third. After a quick glance at each other, Johnny and I took off toward the sounds, Johnny quickly leaving my clumsy ass in the dust.
When I caught up with Johnny, I saw the same horrible sight he did. Frankie was lying on the ground, blood gushing from his chest. Chuck was leaning over him, trying to apply pressure and call his squad for back-up. His gun lay next to Frankie on the ground.
After finishing his call, Chuck glanced up at Johnny and me, tears in his eyes. “The guy just popped him,” he said. “Twice. Didn’t have enough to pay for his fix. When Frankie wouldn’t hook him up, he just shot him. Took the shit and split. I was too far away to stop it. I tried…I tried to take him down after he shot Frankie but I was too far away.” Chuck started sobbing as he continued to try and stop the torrential flow of blood coming from Frankie’s chest.
Johnny and I both fell to our knees and as I reached over and grabbed Frankie’s hand, he turned his head towards me, opened his eyes and stared into mine. “Danny boy,” he whispered, trying to smile. “What’s doing?” He started to cough and a trickle of blood came from the corner of his mouth.
“You’re gonna be ok,” I told him. “We’ll get through this. You’re gonna be fine.” I tried to put some toughness into my words, trying to convince both him and myself.
“Nah,” he said quietly, wincing through the pain his speech caused him. “Danny…I think we finally need one. You guys are gonna need one. So is my ma.”
“Need what?” I asked, tears welling up in my eyes. Frankie was going to die. Somehow I knew it and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I glanced at Chuck and Johnny. They knew it too. The knowledge was in their eyes, wet like mine.
“A guardian angel,” he whispered.
My heart stopped at his words. “No!” I yelled. “We don’t need a guardian angel. We have each other. We’ve always had each other! Frankie, you can’t die!” I sobbed desperately, watching the life drain out of the face of the guy who’d taken me in, watched my back, been a best friend and brother.
“I’m sorry, Danny,” Frankie whispered. “So sorry. I should have stopped. Should have known this was coming. You three have to watch out for each other now. And for my ma. Promise me you’ll take care of her. Promise me.”
“I promise,” I told him. I heard the echoes of my promise drifting down, uttered by Johnny and Chuck.
Frankie struggled to speak, his breaths shallow and harsh. He managed to grip my hand tightly. He pulled me towards him and I put my ear next to his mouth, trying to hear the words he was trying so desperately to say. “You were right in the beginning,” he said. “I was wrong. I was your guardian angel. And I will be. I’ll be watching out for you guys from heaven, waiting for you. I'll be waiting...”
His hand went slack in mine and I watched his eyes roll back into his head. I heard the sirens in the distance but they were too late. Frankie was gone.
A few days later Johnny and Chuck and I lowered Frankie’s casket into the ground. Standing together as we watched the dirt cover him, we were quiet, lost in thought. But our thoughts were the same. Frankie had watched out for us. He really had been the one in charge, the guardian, so to speak. Now he was gone.
We left soon after and headed for Frankie’s. As I walked the streets with Johnny and Chuck, still clumsy as always, I thought of what Frankie had said to me. He’d told me that I’d been right, that he was my guardian angel. The thing was, he’d been right too. We'd always had each other. Funny how we’d never figured out they were one in the same.
Ma was waiting for us when we got there. As we stepped up on the porch, her eyes filled with tears and she held out three chains, each dangling with a small figure of St. Joseph, the patron saint of families. “He’ll watch out for you,” she said. I just shook my head though. I looked up to the sky, thinking of Frankie and what he'd said before he died. “Thanks ma,” I said. “But we don’t need him.”
But I'm going to try to get back to it. This isn't technically a post, more of an update, but like I said, I'm going to get back to it. But speaking of updates, I got some good news a few days ago. I usually submit to the firstlinefiction contest every month and I did in December. Got an e-mail to inform me that my story took second this month!! Very excited!! It's such a thrill to know that other people read my work and enjoy it--that they like it enough to rank it above other work. It's such a high! Working on an idea for this month's now. The first line is interesting...I think I may have a lot of fun with this month's entry.
For those of you who'd like to read my second place story, here it is. It is entitled "His Boys." Enjoy.
For a long time they said we didn't need one, but then something changed and they said that we did. There were still days—a lot of them actually—when I wondered how I’d ended up with them. They were everything popular and hip and I…well, I wasn’t. I was that thin, gangly, wisp of a guy that faded into the chipped walls of Stanton High. Nine days out of ten, I was invisible. Unfortunately, that always left that one day when someone did pick me out of a crowd, usually to bloody my nose for committing some minor infraction like accidentally making eye contact with the wrong guy’s girl or tripping over my own two feet and knocking some jock’s books out of his hands.
It was a day like that, about three weeks into the fall semester of my senior year when they found me. Even though I’d been staring diligently at the floor as I headed to class, I still somehow managed to stumble over the sole of my shoe. And just my luck—I’d managed to run straight into Butch. Butch was every teacher’s pet and every girl’s dream. He oozed charm in the classroom as effectively as he dodged tackles on the football field. His hair was always perfect, his clothes always straight, his smile always ready with a wink. Well, almost always. At that precise moment in time he was glaring at me and I could nearly see the steam shooting out his ears. Because not only had I just run into him (which was mistake enough and worthy of a beating) but I’d also caused him to spill his lukewarm black coffee completely down his pristine white shirt. Nevermind that he wasn’t technically supposed to have it in school. I was still dead meat. Shit.
There was no point in trying to run. Even if there was no chance of me tripping…again…in my haste to get away, Butch could outrun me. I knew this perfectly well from a previous experience. There was no escaping the black eye I’d be sporting within the next 45 seconds. I braced for the attack and without further ado, the beating began.
I’d probably taken about four hits and was huddled into a ball on the floor, trying to protect my face and vital organs from Butch’s boots when I heard a series of shouts, followed by a couple grunts and then…the hits quit coming. I slowly uncurled my body and looked up. Holy shit. They’d ganged up on Butch. Frankie and his boys.
I stared in shock as they threw Butch up against some lockers. His nose was crooked and blood was gushing from his nostrils. He grunted in pain as one of their knees was rammed into his stomach. After another moment or two—by which time a whole crowd had gathered to watch the brawl, I noticed—they released Butch and he slid limply down the lockers and collapsed in a bloody and beaten heap on the floor.
As I stared at Butch from my almost identical position on the other side of the hall, a hand suddenly appeared in my line of vision. I glanced up and there was Frankie. “You ok?” he asked. I just stared at him, speechless, my lower jaw hitting the ground. Somewhere in the back of my head I was well aware of the fact that I probably looked like some sort of retarded fish. But Frankie Jones had just asked me if I was ok. Me. That so just didn’t happen.
“Yo, Danny. You cool, man?”
Oh my holy son of a bitch. Frankie Jones knew my name. That so just didn’t happen either. Somehow…and God only knows how, I managed to shut my mouth and grasp Frankie’s hand. He pulled me to my feet, steadied me when I swayed. He then turned to the gathered crowd and harshly uttered five words that changed my life at Stanton High: NO ONE TOUCHES HIM…EVER.
No one did after that. Butch may have been a popular jock, but Frankie Jones was a badass and his word was law. Period.
From that point on, I was no longer invisible. I was part of a group. And the more time I spent with Frankie and the boys, the more I realized that I was actually part of a family. Sure, they all put on a tough façade—they walked tall, talked loud, fought hard. But they were all a bunch of misfits, just like me. So naturally, I fit right in. And we all fit together.
Frankie was the brains of the group. He could have been a straight-A student if he’d put some effort into his studies. But Frankie didn’t care about school. He went for his ma. His old man was dead and Frankie’s ma had to work ten hours a day at the drugstore just to make ends meet. She wanted better for Frankie and in her mind the key to better was an education. But like I said, Frankie didn’t care about school. His street-smarts were sharp enough. He knew the ins and outs of Stanton, he knew who was his friend and who wasn’t. And he knew who was worth the deal. A few hits dealt and he was up some green. We all were. And that was the main reason Frankie didn’t bother with reading and writing and 'rithmetic. He knew he could make a hell of lot more cash the way he was doing. So he kept doing.
Johnny was the brawn. I mean, they all could fight, but Johnny was the one you didn’t want to mix with. Johnny fought dirty. Johnny was big and if you messed with one of the boys, Johnny would take you out, no doubt about it. He’d broken Butch’s nose before I was even one of “the boys.” Now that I was, the threat of Johnny’s fists was something to be avoided. And everybody knew it. Both Johnny’s parents had been killed in a car accident with a drunk driver, so he crashed at Frankie’s a lot. He took his “job” of watching Frankie’s back seriously because Frankie put him up. Frankie always told Johnny he shouldn’t worry about it, but Johnny wasn’t a moocher. He paid his own way, however he could.
Chuck was a sweet-talker. He kept us out of trouble, whether we were guilty or not. I always thought he’d make a great lawyer, ‘cause he always knew the right thing to say. His old man was a beat cop, which should have been a problem but in actuality made us damn lucky. Chuck’s dad knew what Frankie ran and he turned a blind eye. Dope wasn’t all that harmful, but it was sure profitable. And he loved Chuck way too much to drag us all in. As long as Frankie didn’t do anything stupid and no one got hurt, we were all home free.
As for why they kept me around, I was never sure. But the three of them always told me I was the calm in their storm. I managed to keep everybody cool. It was my logical nature. Or so they told me. They were grateful to have me around. Personally, I thought they had it backwards. I was the one who was grateful for them. They’d saved me from a lifetime of undeserved beatings. I didn’t walk around school invisible anymore. I walked tall as part of a group, always wondering why, but never doubtful of the fact that my boys had my back.
I remember sitting with Frankie in the park a few weeks after they’d taken their fists to Butch and staked their claim on me. I was sitting on a bench, elbows on knees, chin in hands. Frankie straddled the bench less than a foot away, facing me. Johnny and Chuck were tossing a football across the way. I’d been quiet, lost in my thoughts when Frankie had asked me what the deal was.
“Danny, what’s doing? Why you so quiet?”
I’d shrugged, then turned to face him. “Why me?” I’d asked. He gave me a funny look and asked what I meant. My face turning red as I confessed to Frankie what I’d been thinking. I'd been a nobody, a loser. And they'd picked me to run with them. “I don’t understand why you guys picked me, but I’m thankful you did. It’s nice to feel like I belong, to not feel obligated to try and disappear into the background. This is going to sound crazy, Frankie, but I think you might be my guardian angel.”
A flash of something, I’m still not sure if it was pride, understanding or maybe even love, crossed Frankie’s face before he just shook his head and grinned. “Nah,” he said. “We don’t need a guardian angel. We’ve got each other.” And then he’d punched my shoulder, stood up and walked across the park to make a deal with a regular. I’d joined in with Johnny and Chuck, dropping the ball more than I caught it, but they hadn’t cared. We’d laughed and joked and I’d felt like I was finally home. Frankie was right. We had each other.
The next few months had flown by and I’d spent them tight with my boys. Fridays in the fall had been spent hanging at the football bonfires. We’d steered clear of the stadium, but the bonfires were bright and hot and best of all, after the first kick-off, deserted. Winter weeknights were spent at each others' places. One night at Frankie’s, wolfing down Ma’s fried chicken (we all called her “Ma” now), another at Chuck’s, just hanging out and if we were lucky and caught his dad on a night off, playing poker. We even hung out at my place. My parents were thrilled that I’d found a crowd and as they weren't aware of Frankie’s extracurricular activities, in their eyes, my boys were sent straight from heaven. When my parents voiced their opinion one night, Frankie laughed and as he’d told me once before, told my parents, “We don’t need a guardian angel. We’ve got each other.” My guys and I had laughed and my parents had smiled and the evening rolled on.
It became our little joke, that we didn’t need a guardian angel. Frankie had told Johnny and Chuck what I’d said in the park that day and they’d both agreed with Frankie. That between the four of us, we had all we’d ever need. Brains, muscle, charm and logic. We’d laugh about it in school, or in the park, or out on the street. Any time I’d trip crossing the street and just miss being slammed by a car or after Frankie finished a tense deal or Johnny hit a guy just a little too hard for smarting off—anytime the situation may have possibly called for divine intervention, the joke came out. No guardian angels for us.
Graduation came and went that spring and the four of us, still as tight as we’d been since Butch’s broken nose, were set loose out on the streets as adults. Johnny and I both took jobs at the local meat market and I started attending some night college courses at the community college. Chuck decided to follow his old man and applied for the police academy. By the end of the summer he’d graduated and was working his own beat with his own heat.
And Frankie continued to do what he’d been doing. He’d moved up the ranks a bit in the world of dealers. At some point over the summer he’d quit limiting himself to just dope and was now selling crack as well. He figured he was golden considering that now not only his best friend’s pop but his best friend himself was working the streets. Nothing and no one could touch him. And we all believed him ‘cause it had always been that way. He was pulling in the dough—Ma only had to work three days a week now. She’d quit asking him where he got the money. I think she’d finally decided it was better if she just didn’t know…or at least pretended not to.
So there we all were, doing our things, doing just fine, best friends for life. No worries.
And then everything changed.
The park had never ceased to be our local hangout. One humid August evening, we made plans to meet up there around seven or so. Chuck worked a swing shift and had the day off. Johnny and I were off at six. And Frankie made his own schedule so timing was never an issue for him.
The meat market was only a few blocks from the park so Johnny and I left work together that night and headed out to meet Chuck and Frankie. We were nearly there when we heard the shots. One, followed by a close second. And after a moment, a third. After a quick glance at each other, Johnny and I took off toward the sounds, Johnny quickly leaving my clumsy ass in the dust.
When I caught up with Johnny, I saw the same horrible sight he did. Frankie was lying on the ground, blood gushing from his chest. Chuck was leaning over him, trying to apply pressure and call his squad for back-up. His gun lay next to Frankie on the ground.
After finishing his call, Chuck glanced up at Johnny and me, tears in his eyes. “The guy just popped him,” he said. “Twice. Didn’t have enough to pay for his fix. When Frankie wouldn’t hook him up, he just shot him. Took the shit and split. I was too far away to stop it. I tried…I tried to take him down after he shot Frankie but I was too far away.” Chuck started sobbing as he continued to try and stop the torrential flow of blood coming from Frankie’s chest.
Johnny and I both fell to our knees and as I reached over and grabbed Frankie’s hand, he turned his head towards me, opened his eyes and stared into mine. “Danny boy,” he whispered, trying to smile. “What’s doing?” He started to cough and a trickle of blood came from the corner of his mouth.
“You’re gonna be ok,” I told him. “We’ll get through this. You’re gonna be fine.” I tried to put some toughness into my words, trying to convince both him and myself.
“Nah,” he said quietly, wincing through the pain his speech caused him. “Danny…I think we finally need one. You guys are gonna need one. So is my ma.”
“Need what?” I asked, tears welling up in my eyes. Frankie was going to die. Somehow I knew it and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I glanced at Chuck and Johnny. They knew it too. The knowledge was in their eyes, wet like mine.
“A guardian angel,” he whispered.
My heart stopped at his words. “No!” I yelled. “We don’t need a guardian angel. We have each other. We’ve always had each other! Frankie, you can’t die!” I sobbed desperately, watching the life drain out of the face of the guy who’d taken me in, watched my back, been a best friend and brother.
“I’m sorry, Danny,” Frankie whispered. “So sorry. I should have stopped. Should have known this was coming. You three have to watch out for each other now. And for my ma. Promise me you’ll take care of her. Promise me.”
“I promise,” I told him. I heard the echoes of my promise drifting down, uttered by Johnny and Chuck.
Frankie struggled to speak, his breaths shallow and harsh. He managed to grip my hand tightly. He pulled me towards him and I put my ear next to his mouth, trying to hear the words he was trying so desperately to say. “You were right in the beginning,” he said. “I was wrong. I was your guardian angel. And I will be. I’ll be watching out for you guys from heaven, waiting for you. I'll be waiting...”
His hand went slack in mine and I watched his eyes roll back into his head. I heard the sirens in the distance but they were too late. Frankie was gone.
A few days later Johnny and Chuck and I lowered Frankie’s casket into the ground. Standing together as we watched the dirt cover him, we were quiet, lost in thought. But our thoughts were the same. Frankie had watched out for us. He really had been the one in charge, the guardian, so to speak. Now he was gone.
We left soon after and headed for Frankie’s. As I walked the streets with Johnny and Chuck, still clumsy as always, I thought of what Frankie had said to me. He’d told me that I’d been right, that he was my guardian angel. The thing was, he’d been right too. We'd always had each other. Funny how we’d never figured out they were one in the same.
Ma was waiting for us when we got there. As we stepped up on the porch, her eyes filled with tears and she held out three chains, each dangling with a small figure of St. Joseph, the patron saint of families. “He’ll watch out for you,” she said. I just shook my head though. I looked up to the sky, thinking of Frankie and what he'd said before he died. “Thanks ma,” I said. “But we don’t need him.”
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