The Poe Consequence

by Keith Steinbaum

  Seth resented Clearpoint Elementary School for another reason, they had Mexican kids there. He never knew a lot about them before, never gave them much thought. But he did now. They were mean people and killed his dad. The lesson he learned from that night, one he would never forget, is that he would always fight back—something he had already done once since his return to school.

  On his second day back, Seth shot baskets by himself near the main court where a game took place.

  “Hey, Palmer! Palmer!”

  Seth turned and realized the group of boys from the basketball game were all looking his way. He felt a knot tighten in his stomach as he heard Lorenzo Gonzalez, a Mexican kid from the other sixth-grade class, calling out to him.

  “Hey, Palmer,” Lorenzo shouted again, “this ball sucks.” Bouncing the ball several times to show Seth the problem, he said, “Let us use yours. C’mon, game’s tied.”

  Seth took a deep breath and decided to refuse. Maybe if one of the other kids, someone who wasn’t a Mexican, had been the one to ask, he would have agreed. But there was no favor granting for Lorenzo Gonzalez!

  “No!” Seth answered in a firm voice.

  “Oh, come on, Palmer!” Lorenzo shouted, followed by outcries from some of the other players.

  “I said, no!” Seth repeated. Turning his back on them, he resumed shooting at his own basket.

  “You suck, Palmer!” Lorenzo exclaimed. “You little baby!”

  Seth stopped dribbling and stood motionless, squeezing the ball against his chest as if he were trying to pop it like a balloon. Lorenzo’s insult shook him to the core, lifting him by the collar of his memory and slamming his emotions against the wall.

  “Hello little baby.” “Watch this, little baby.” “Are you gonna cry again, little baby?”

  That gangbanger, Luis, had called him “a little baby.” He had taunted him and spit in his face. Lorenzo Gonzalez just called him a little baby, too. Seth felt his eyes burn. Tears of rage and frustration, rather than fear, moistened his vision as he ran, unforgiving and delirious, in a beeline toward Lorenzo.

  Seth got off with a warning that day, but in his mind he delivered the message to Lorenzo Gonzalez and all the other Mexicans who thought they could intimidate him. They had better leave him alone or else.

  From the other side of the shrubbery he could hear the rest of the kids sitting at the lunch tables. In a sudden defensive gesture, Seth raised his right arm, reacting to something zooming down in his direction. After the mushy object made contact with his forehead, he looked down and realized someone had thrown a blackened avocado at him. Seth heard some boys laughing and leapt to his feet, running around to the other side. Two Mexican kids from his class stood next to the bushes, yelling and laughing some more about what they had done. Seth charged at them like a sprinter from his starting blocks, not caring which one he reached first.

  “I hate you!” he screamed, slamming into one of the boys and knocking him backwards onto a table. He had never been in a real fight before, but his instincts took over as he balled his fists and flailed away at the Mexican’s face.

  A pair of strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders. “Get off of him!” Mr. Terrell shouted, yanking him back.

  “Ha! Ha!” Seth shouted, triumphant tears of rage still welling in his eyes. “Serves you right, you stupid Mexican!”

  “Shut up!” Mr. Terrell hollered. “And stay right there!”

  Seth watched with satisfaction as Jaime Cardenas cried, covering his face with his hands. Mr. Terrell kneeled close to the boy. “Calm down, son, it’s okay, you’ll be okay,” He stayed in that position until the boy sat up. Seth’s happiness increased as a trickle of blood oozed from the Mexican’s nose. Mr. Terrell sent Jaime’s friend, Esteban to get a wet paper towel. “What are you smiling at?” Mr. Terrell asked Seth in an angry tone. Seth hadn’t been conscious of the grin on his face, but no amount of wet paper towels could have wiped that smile away.

  In the outside waiting area of Principal Lee’s office, Seth couldn’t hear the conversation taking place inside, but he could see everything through her large window. The two Mexicans sat with Principal Lee and Mr. Terrell, probably making up stories, telling them that it was all his fault, that they didn’t do anything wrong. Liars! Seth wondered if she had already talked with his Uncle Kevin, but what did he know? He wasn’t there that night. He didn’t know about Mexicans. He didn’t know the truth. They were bad people, and nobody had the right to tell him he was wrong to do what he did. He was just sticking up for himself, and from now on that’s the way he’d always handle the situation. He shouldn’t be the one in trouble, it should be those two Mexican creeps. They were the ones who threw a mushy avocado at him and laughed about it, thinking he wouldn’t strike back. They were wrong, weren’t they? No matter what happened to him, Seth knew he did the right thing. He also believed something else, his dad would have been proud of him. He had fought back. And he had won.

  Principal Lee opened her door and stared at Seth with a look of seriousness that left him unconcerned. “Come in,” she said.

  Taking his time to rise from the chair, Seth shuffled into her office. He sat down in a chair next to Mr. Terrell, refusing to acknowledge Esteban and Jaime sitting on one side of the room. Principal Lee returned to her desk, leaned forward on her elbows, and eyed Seth.

  “I called your uncle as soon as Mr. Terrell told me what happened,” she said, her calm voice a surprise. “He’s coming to take you home.”

  Seth stared back at her, unhappy about taking the blame.

  “What you did is very serious,” she said. “Do you understand that?”

  “They started it!”

  “Liar!” yelled Jaime.

  “No, we didn’t!” Esteban exclaimed.

  “You say they started it, but that’s not what I heard, son,” Mr. Terrell said, glaring at Seth. “Apparently, you attacked Jaime for no reason.”

  Seth tensed at being called “son.” “He threw an avocado at me!” he shouted. “I was just sitting there.”

  “One of the boys admitted he threw it over the bushes,” Principal Lee said. “And that was wrong. But they were just playing a game, and they didn’t know you were there.”

  “They’re lying! They knew I was there! They just didn’t think I’d do anything about it.” Seth looked at the two boys. “They thought I’d be afraid,” he sneered.

  Principal Lee slammed her hand on the desk. “That’s not it at all, Seth! You’re taking this way too far.”

  Seth didn’t want to hear any excuses for those two lying Mexicans. He knew he did the right thing, and nobody, not even Principal Lee or Mr. Terrell, could convince him otherwise. He even felt like crowing about it.

  “Yeah,” Seth said with a contented smile, “Jaime wasn’t so brave when he was by himself, was he? When he wasn’t protected by a bunch of his Mexican friends. He…”

  “That’s enough, young man!” Mr. Terrell shouted, standing up and walking over to the window. “I’ve heard all I want to hear,” he muttered.

  “These boys never teased you before,” Principal Lee told him. “Why would they mean you any harm now?”

  Seth continued chewing on his lower lip, looking down at the desk to avoid eye contact. Her words meant nothing, incapable of persuading him that she was right and he was wrong.

  “All right, Mr. Terrell,” she said, “go get them.”

  Seth wondered what Principal Lee had in mind.

  “Jaime,” she said, “when I was on the phone with your mother, she asked to have you call her after our meeting. Do you want her to come get you?

  “No, I’m okay,” he replied.

  Seth knew the Mexican looked at him when he answered.

  “All right,” she replied. “You can use the phone outside to call her. Esteban, go with Jaime. Please wait for me out there.”

  Seth’s head remained down, his eyes staring at the floor.

  “Stay here,” she instructed. “Your uncle�
�s arrived.”

  Seth watched through the window as she started talking to his uncle before pointing to Jaime and Esteban. He could tell by his expression that they repeated the same lies. When his uncle turned to look at him, Seth stared back, showing neither remorse nor fear. His confidence turned to confusion, however, when Mr. Terrell returned with Freddy and Mike. What were they doing here? Seth eyed Mr. Terrell as he approached the office where he waited.

  “Come out here,” he said.

  Seth stood, quickly this time, and hurried to the front room. He ignored his uncle and stared at Freddy and Mike, troubled by their expression.

  “Seth,” Principal Lee said, “Mr. Terrell was told you attacked Jaime for no reason. If you thought Jaime and Esteban were the ones who told him, you were only half right.” Turning to face Freddy and Mike, Principal Lee continued. “Boys, I know Seth’s your friend and you would never do anything to hurt him. But there’s an old expression you may have heard that says, ‘A friend in need is a friend indeed,’ and right now Seth needs you. He needs you to explain that what happened today was all a great big misunderstanding. Please tell him that his classmates, all of his classmates, are his friends, not his enemies.”

  Mike spoke first. He cleared his throat, looked at Principal Lee, and then at Seth. “Me and Freddy were sitting next to those guys. They started throwing food around. Then we watched ‘em get up and throw that avocado over the bushes. You can’t see anything on the other side, Seth. Nobody knew you were there, okay?”

  Seth’s mouth tightened as he glared at Mike.

  “That’s what happened, Seth,” Freddy said. “Mike’s right. They didn’t do it on purpose. Nobody knew you were there. Nobody!”

  Seth stood speechless, feeling betrayed, knowing he could never be friends with Freddy and Mike again.

  “You boys can go back to your class now,” Mr. Terrell said.

  Before the door closed, Seth caught sight of Mike giving Freddy the ‘he’s crazy’ sign with his finger circling the side of his head.

  “I know things are difficult for you right now,” Principal Lee told him. “But I don’t tolerate fighting in our school, and a suspension is the usual punishment.” She took a couple of steps toward Jaime, looked at him, and turned her attention back to Seth. “I’m going to make you a deal. In return for getting off with nothing more than a warning, I want you, no, I expect you, to apologize to Jaime.”

  “No! No way!” he yelled, stamping his foot.

  Uncle Kevin walked over to stand next to him. “You heard Principal Lee, Seth,” he said. “You’re lucky she’s not going to suspend you. You hurt Jaime. You need to apologize to him.”

  Seth stared straight ahead as his eyes began to water. He could feel his face getting red, but he didn’t say anything in response. “So, is it a deal, Seth?” Uncle Kevin asked.

  Seth lowered his head as a moan escalated into a scream. “No! No way! No way! I won’t do it! No! No!”

  “Seth, calm down!” his uncle shouted.

  “You can’t make me!” Seth cried out, turning his back on his uncle. “I won’t do it! I won’t!”

  “Mr. Palmer, perhaps I’m wrong,” Principal Lee said. “Maybe what Seth needs is two weeks of after-school detention to think about things.”

  “No!” Seth shouted.

  “Well then, Seth,” she said, “is there something you’d like to say to Jaime?”

  Seth looked at all three adults observing him like a weird bug on a wall. He didn’t want to be here anymore, and he knew he’d be allowed to leave as soon as everyone got their stupid apology, even if it wasn’t sincere. His mom used to call them little white lies. Sometimes you say things you don’t really mean if it makes the other person feel better. Sometimes you say them to get you out of a tough spot. Like when she would tell grandma how good her baked banana bread tasted even though she always overcooked it. That’s what Seth would do now, tell a little white lie.

  “I’m sorry,” he said in a solemn voice, avoiding eye contact with Jaime.

  “I don’t believe you,” Esteban blurted out.

  “Esteban, this is between Jaime and Seth,” Principal Lee said.

  His uncle leaned in close. “Come on, Seth, do it right,” he whispered. “Go over to him, shake his hand, and tell him you’re sorry.”

  Seth closed his eyes and reminded himself what to do. Little white lies. He took a deep breath, hesitated a moment, then walked over to Jaime.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, struggling to raise his hand.

  Jaime didn’t acknowledge the attempted handshake, but after some prodding by Mr. Terrell, returned the gesture.

  “Thank you, Seth. Thank you, Jaime,” Principal Lee said. “Seth, your uncle’s already here, so you may as well go home for the rest of the day. I don’t expect anything like this to ever happen again. Is that clear?”

  Seth felt everyone’s eyes upon him, so he told them what they wanted to hear. “Yes,” he said, remembering Grandma’s banana bread.

  CHAPTER NINE

  On a late Wednesday night, Francisco “Ghoul” Martinez stood with King, Ram, Slice and several other Lobos in Cypress Park.

  They gathered around the same bushes where a maintenance worker had found Nasty’s body weeks before. Their appetite for revenge had reached a fever pitch and everyone agreed the heart attack stories were lies. Some of the gang believed the police committed the murders, but a lot of the others felt the Diablos were responsible. There had been no explainable reasons for the strange deaths, but none seemed necessary in the fire and brimstone fervor of Lobo hatred toward their sworn enemy.

  “Next pinchi Diablo I see,” Slice promised, “I swear I’ll cut his huevos off and stick ‘em down his motherfuckin’ throat!”

  The excited reaction of the others to Slice’s remark gratified Ghoul, confirming his belief in the familia. He’d love to be there if Slice wanted some throat-stuffing company.

  “Those chicken-shit Diablos are challenging our manhood,” Ram yelled, grabbing his crotch. “They think we’ll be afraid. That’s fuckin’ bullshit! They can all go to Hell, man. Que si vayan a la madre!”

  Everyone hooted their approval, with Ghoul’s strange scream of a laugh rising above the rest.

  King sauntered forward, then turned to face the group. “Check it out,” he said, using a gang expression imploring the gang to listen to what he had to say. “We’ve lost three brothers in three weeks,” he added. “The fuckin’ Diablos wanna wipe us out, make us run like fuckin’ pussies with our tails between our legs but that ain’t the Lobo way! It’s time for a killin’ party. We’re gonna smoke every one of those Diablo puto motherfuckers and turn their asses into cemetery shit!”

  Ghoul walked home alone in the early morning darkness, wired from the meth he snorted before he left. He chuckled as he thought about King’s “cemetery shit” line. The chuckle elevated to a laugh when he recalled what Slice said at the meeting. Cutting off a Diablo’s balls and stuffing them down his throat seemed like the perfect thing to do. So did blowing away that homeless piece of shit on the way to the meeting. He hated that motherfucker, always hanging out in the ‘hood, talking to himself, and dissin’ Ghoul with his stare. He deserved to die. By luck, Ghoul found the perfect moment when he caught the stupid ass taking a leak in a darkened alley near his house. BAM. BAM. Two shots from his forty-five left him lying in his blood and piss. Fuck that homeless asshole.

  Ghoul stopped to smoke a joint deep in the shadows of a deserted railroad yard. He liked to get stoned here and think back to the days when, as a young boy known as “little Frankie,” he watched the trains come and go, imitating the “choo-choo” sounds for each arrival and departure. He smiled as he thought back on that loud, belching blast of the whistle. Ghoul couldn’t resist the temptation to be that same kid, if only for a few seconds.

  “Choo-Chooooooo.” “Choo-Chooooooo.”

  In the responding silence, as the train that colored his childhood sped further down memory
’s track, Ghoul found comfort in another deep drag from his joint. His illiterate father held a job as a janitor and maintenance man there, cleaning floors and toilets, repairing seats and doors, and replacing overhead lights. On weekends and summer days, “little Frankie” went with his daddy to work. Whenever a train pulled into and out of the station, he fantasized about being the big-shot conductor. Those were the best times of his life, until the railroad station shut down and his daddy lost his job. At nine years old, Francisco’s train fantasies came to a screeching halt. He didn’t remember much thereafter, except that things were never the same. Especially Daddy.

  Stoned, eyes closed, hearing the comforting noise of those distant engines once again, Ghoul enjoyed the return back to his own little Paradise. A faint, unusual tapping in his ears brought him back into the present. He first speculated the sound as drops of water somewhere nearby, but the pipes had been dry for years. He started feeling uneasy; some strange shit was going down with the Diablos and he was alone out here. The tapping intensified. He recognized a certain pattern, similar to a slow, steady drumbeat. He sensed his own heart pounding in time with the noise in his head. Ghoul ground the joint out on the ground. Still, the tapping, no, beating, grew louder as his heart thumped faster, knocking like a frantic fist against the inside door of his chest. His eyes shot back and forth but he saw nothing.

  Was there PCP in that shit I smoked? he wondered. It didn’t taste or smell like it but what else could explain this crazy fuckin’ high?

  That weird beating sound started freaking him out big time, scaring him, as the hammering of his heart grew painful, leaving him short of breath. Fighting a losing battle against fear, he just wanted to go home.

  A sudden squealing from the gutted railroad building caused him to reach for his gun. Peering through the darkness he spotted several large rats scurry across the open yard. He broke into a jog toward the street but stopped in his tracks as the rhythmic beating sound in his head ceased, replaced by a voice from seemingly out of nowhere.