The kids are a mix of ethnic backgrounds reflecting our neighborhood. Charles is African American, Jones is a skinny white kid, and Tomas is from Cuba. I love it. I look at Jeremiah; I think he might be from Japan.
“Who can hit?” I look around, and Charles raises his bat. “Yeah? You've been practicing?” I ask, grinning.
Charles is this awesome looking kid. He’s tall and thin as a rail with dark hair and eyes. His skin is the color of milk chocolate and he wears his hair in a short afro. His file says that his mother is raising him. He has no other support system. School is rough, and I hope to get him involved with our tutoring program. Derek thinks he’s good enough for Triple-A ball, so I’m stoked to see his skills.
“Okay, let’s throw some pitches. I want to see everyone’s swing,” I say loudly. I hope they can all hear me. It’s a noisy field stuck in the middle between a skyscraper and a new building on the other side that construction has started on. This is what an inner-city park looks like. I can tell at one time this place was banging, even beautiful, before the city allowed these buildings to move in and ruin the Bay view. I feel my resentment rising inside to a boiling point. They deserve better than this.
I’m not going to get angry, I keep telling myself. But I’m pissed. These kids deserve more than this bullshit park. I’m lost for a moment inside my mind as Charles hits the ball out of the park. Damn, kid wasn’t lying. He’s an awesome hitter. Dude can really hit.
“Great hit, Charles!” I yell, and then, “Let me see another one.”
“Hey Mr. Winton, let’s see you hit,” Jeremiah yells from second base.
Tomas starts laughing out loud and yells, “Yeah let’s see you hit!”
I start laughing; these kids are a riot. “Okay, but let’s see Charles hit one more first!”
I hear from the pitcher’s mound, “Hoorah!” a chorus of gleeful voices. I feel my heart swell.
Charles stays at the plate and I throw him my best curve ball. He catches the ball on the curve of his bat and it flies over to the edge of the field, rolling out towards left field. This kid has an arm on him. He has an awesome swing.
“Great hit! Dude, you hit my fast ball! Even my brother can’t hit it, look at you go.”
Charles’ cheeks darken and he turns away from me, embarrassed or what...hmm, maybe he doesn’t get much praise.
I walk towards him. “Charles, that was a great hit.” I can’t get him to turn around. As he walks back to the bench, my heart already clenches in my chest.
These kids are going to get to me. I can feel my emotions rising already. Fuck, it might be a hard ride to protect my heart.
“Who’s going to pitch for me?” I look around at my crew. Tomas raises his glove and ditches his gear to go stand on the pitcher’s mound.
“Okay, Mr. Winton. Ready?” Tomas yells out, winding his arm to loosen up.
“Whenever you are!” I say and take my stance at the plate. Tomas winds up and throws the ball right over home plate. I hit it hard and it flies to right field, straight into Jose’s glove.
“Bahahaha!” All the kids laugh, and I fall on the ground, laughing with them.
We had a ball and played all afternoon long. I get to see what these kids are made of. I think it’s going to be an awesome experience working with them.
The next morning, I’m ready for my first day at the new job. I stroll into the office building, punch in the number 17, and ride the elevator to my floor.
I find my office halfway down the hall, and I’m so surprised I have a view. A simple clean wooden desk faces towards the door. I slide into my office chair and take it all in. The view is stunning from here. I can see half the city from my window. We are in the financial district, easy access by public transit.
I’m caught up in a fantasy of my first success story when a man named Ted pops in. He’s in his forties, I’d guess, but in great damn shape. His light brown hair is combed back, and his dark brown eyes take me in.
“Hey, new guy, my name is Ted Gentry. Just wanted to introduce myself.” Ted extends his hand, and we shake. At first, I think he’s being friendly, but he doesn't let go when I release his hand. He pulls on my hand sharply and says, ”I bet you got questions. This ain’t an easy job, man.”
I believe him. One day with the team and my heart is already overflowing with the need to fix their lives. I know I can’t fix them, but I can offer them a safe harbor to land.
“Come on, new guy, I’ll buy you a coffee. Let’s go to the café downstairs?” He lifts an eyebrow, looking me in the eye.
“New guys says yes, I’ll take you up on that,” I say with a chuckle. This dude’s so freaking serious right now—how about he ease me into this instead?
“Cool. Come on, I’ll show you around on our way,” Ted says. I notice he never asks me for my name. I wonder what the hell that’s all about.
Ted and I get our coffees and settle down in a booth. I want to hear his spiel before I hit him with questions.
He starts right away. This dude is freaking me out just a little bit. He’s intensely serious.
“Well, new guy, this job sure isn’t glamourous. If you’ve come here for some sort of fucking glory, to be the hero, you can just forget that shit. I’ve been here for three years, and I never felt I’m getting anywhere. I’m not leaving entirely, but I’m leaving the counseling team. Just too hard on my life!” He takes a deep breath. “Sure, I came here to make change, to offer everything I have to these kids. But they’ve left me shredded, and I don't have anything left. My tank is empty, and I feel completely used up,” Ted explains.
“So, you're saying you’re burnt out? After only three years? What the hell, dude?” I’m surprised at how stunned I feel. I’d heard the burnout rate was high, but it seemed like a short time to me.
“Yeah, I gave everything to this job. I lost my wife and kids. I lost myself. I’m going to work in finance now. See if I can drum up donations to support what we do here. But I can’t do any counseling. I’m done with that. Tell me, new guy, what’s your name?”
“I’m Jack, Jack Winton. I just left a bank management job to take this job. I met Derek and I thought I might have something to offer here. Oh, and I’m coaching the baseball team.”
Ted nods and looks like he’s mulling something over. He surprises me when he said, “Well, hmph, that doesn’t sound good. I mean, what experience do you have with kids, bank guy? Except for playing around, that is.” He looks at me skeptically.
What the fuck is this guy’s deal, anyway? Why is he such a nasty asshole?
“What makes you qualified to work with these kids? Do you know what you're up against? Do you know what you're facing?” Ted’s voice rises in volume; I’m not sure what the hell to say, but just as I open my mouth, he keeps going.
“The kids are fucked up. What are you going to do that first time you see a kid with cigarette burns? Or the kid who’s been sexually abused by her father or raped by his uncle? How’re you going to face the drugs and the kids who can’t even look you in the face? What about the kids who can’t be helped? Whatcha gonna do then?” Ted ends his rant by lighting up a cigarette. The waitress comes over to remind him that you can’t smoke in a restaurant here in California anymore. “Oh yeah,” he grumbles and drops the butt in his water glass.
This dude is such an asshole.
And my mind is reeling. Boom, he blew me apart. All my enthusiasm dies right there on the spot. I have no answers. I don’t know what the fuck to say.
“Well, ummm, I got to try, Ted. I’m not a quitter.” The feeble answer does nothing to quell his resounding dismissal of me.
He doesn’t know my story, and frankly I’m not in the mood to share it. My life as a lost boy…well, I have seen a lot of that shit. I’m not sitting here justifying my presence on the team. If he wants to pussy out, go for it, dude.
I’m not you. I’ll never be you.
Chapter Twenty-One
Jack
When I was sixteen
years old, I looked around the house and thought my mother wouldn’t miss me. I believed that between her man and Jeremy she had her hands full. I thought of myself as a grown man by then. I grew up fast when Dad died. I was twelve years old, and Jeremy was eight.
Mom pulled me aside. “Honey, I’ve got something to tell you.” I looked up at her and saw tears streaming down her face.
“What’s wrong, Mama?” She pulled me to her and sobbed on my shoulder.
“Oh baby, something happened to Daddy.” She barely got the words out, and then she was bawling loudly.
Holy hell—my mind went racing, and I didn't know what the hell to think.
“What, Mama? What happened to Daddy?” My mom pulled back and wiped her face of tears, but they kept falling. This was the last day of my innocence as Mom shared our tragedy.
“Oh honey, he...he died, honey.” What the fuck? I saw him earlier today. This couldn’t be right…she’s wrong! This just had to be wrong.
“No...no...NO! He's not, I saw him at breakfast. You’re wrong. He’s fine, he’s fine, he’s fine,” I chanted loudly. My breathing just straight up stopped, and I didn’t know where to look.
Finally, my eyes landed on her and I saw her nodding, “Yes baby, he’s gone. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.” Then the tears swept her away. I found out later that Dad died of a heart attack. They didn’t even know he had heart problems! We didn’t have health insurance, so he never went for his yearly checkups.
I became the man of the house that day. Jeremy and I were always close, but losing our dad tightened our bond. My mother handed over the ‘keys’ to our kingdom. She couldn’t bear to make decisions or run the house. She abdicated her role and went to bed the horrible day Daddy died.
I took care of everything after that. I tried my best to keep the house clean. I shopped for food and made sure Jeremy had everything he needed. He was younger than me by four years, and I knew someone had to take care of him. That someone was me. I worried about him every meal, every day. I walked him to school and back home. I checked in on Mama before I made dinner. She withered away, lying there. She was never the same. Until she met Bob. Bob changed all that.
I was lucky that Dad taught me how to make his chili. It was cornbread and chili for a good long time.
When Mama finally got out of bed and started doing shit around the house, I was independent as fuck and she didn’t try to take my freedom away. I think she knew it would have been useless if she had tried.
Later on, when she met Bob, the new man in her life, I tried to connect with him. I liked him okay, and he really loved Jeremy, which got him extra points in my book. He’d take him to games and shit. But I felt like an outsider looking in on a happy family of three. Those three made a wonderful family, and I felt like I was odd man out. That’s when I convinced myself they didn’t need me around anymore. That I wasn’t part of their happy family unit.
I went out one day and never came back. I didn’t call, and I just knew I’d be fine. I had saved my money, and I thought I could find a job, easy peasy. But it wasn’t as easy as I thought. I stayed in motels, running down my cash, and it was then I started worrying it wouldn’t last.
I finally got a job at the grocery store, packing the bags and running the groceries out to the car. I had high hopes I‘d get tips for all that hard work. That was hilarious. People expected the service for free. I had to drop out of school to work enough hours just to keep my belly fed. Until I got fired, that is. They fired me because they got complaints that I stunk, that I was dirty, and my clothes were filthy. They couldn’t keep me on, I see that now.
I moved into an abandoned house. There were lots of runaways living there. It was depressing as hell to come home from a long day of work to flop down on the sleeping pad I bought for myself. It was a flea infested place, and I was constantly scratching at bites that ran over my entire body. Some of the bites got infected but lay hidden under my lowriding jeans. Those jeans got so dirty they could stand on their own. My sores never healed.
It was a miserable time, especially in that house. We joked with each other that it was Camp Lost Boys, but we had no running water, no showers, and no washing machine. So getting fired for not bathing? Yeah, that sucked too.
There was rampant drug use in that house. I could smell the meth cooking off foil and it made me nauseous. I luckily was never intrigued with any drugs, except weed. I loved smoking a joint at the end of a hard day. That sure hasn’t changed.
I’m incredulous when I hear Ted’s words. This motherfucker knows nothing about me. He has no clue of the nightmares I’ve surrendered to. How dare he sit in judgement of me. Fuck him.
I get up and say, “Naw, I don’t need your help,” and storm the fuck out. I figure I wouldn’t really have to deal with this fucktard anyway. I’m glad he’s changing careers. Dude needs to smoke a joint, damn it.
At the end of the day, I go home and roll a joint in my lap. I don’t give a fuck what Ted says, I’m going to give my all to these kids.
The phone rings, and I put it to my ear.
“Hey baby, wanna come over and lick my pussy?” That dirty little minx and her dirty talk…hell yeah!
Every time Alex calls, she sets my blood boiling. I can’t wait to ravish her beautiful body.
“Be there in ten.” I’m off to her house, where I'll lick that juicy wet pussy and watch her fall apart in my arms.
I can hardly wait.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Alex
Last night was really messed up. I mean, fucking fucked up. 100%. I’ve been paying my dues since I was fifteen freaking years old. Now, years later, the Cribs still hold the screws to me. I’m in a mess of my own creation. As much as I want to, I can’t get away from TABOO.
“Sweetheart, you’re late,” Norris snidely greets me in his screwed-up voice. Fuck him, I don’t care. But then he slides his rank body over mine and grabs my pussy, whispering, “Maybe I’ll fuck you later, cunt.” Fuck! I want to scream. I want him to fucking leave me alone, but he won’t. He won’t ever leave me alone.
I worry about what he said. Would he rape me? Would he just throw me down someday and rip my panties off and slam his disgusting cock inside me? These thoughts take me down a horrifying lonely road. I can’t complain about him; there’s no one ever around from the Cribs, and anyway, he’s probably the real owner of this card house.
Fuck me to hell. I need to get out from under his thumb before he can take any more from me. My thoughts attack me, and I'm shaking so badly from fear and anger that I can’t focus on my job. I look around and don’t see one friendly face. I’m alone in this place, and fear freezes the blood in my veins. My mind chokes up, and I rush off to the bathroom before the first tear falls. He’s not going to see me crumble, goddamnit! I’ll never look weak in front of this asshole.
When I was a naive fifteen-year-old child, I was walking down San Pablo Avenue in Emeryville, minding my own damn business, when I saw a paper bag stuffed with something. I bent down and picked it up and saw thousands of dollars inside. I looked around, but I didn’t see anyone, so I greedily stashed the money back inside and took the bag home.
Little did I know that money, the money I discovered, belonged to a gang king. I didn’t know anything about the gangs back then. But it didn’t even dawn on me that I should’ve just left it right there on the street to be claimed by the rightful owner. I thought, Yay for me, free money. I didn’t tell a soul. I hid it under my mattress, and it was never discovered. It took me a long time to learn that nothing in life’s free. I knew I was wrong when I took it, and I learned just how wrong later.
I thought I was in the clear, right? The money was hidden, and no one said a word about it to me. But a year later—and yes, I dipped into it when I wanted something—a stranger grabbed me by the arm and dragged my ass into a dark alley.
“We know you stole from us.” He slid his vile mouth over my ear, and in a gruff voice that scared the shit out of me said, “Tim
e to pay the piper, bitch.” My heart thundered inside my chest and sweat broke out all over my body.
“I could cut you,” he growled in my ear. “You stole from me.”
“W-w-w-what do you mean? I didn’t steal anything,” I stammered, full of false bravado. I was shaking down to my core.
“Oh, we know you stole that bag of money, bitch. I believe there was $10K in there. You aren’t getting away with it, young lady. You best watch yourself,” he snarled. He sounded so threatening as he squeezed my arm tight. I knew he was bruising me. He left me standing there, terrified to death for the first time in my short life. Did I just sell my soul for $10,000?
That was my introduction to the animal Norris. Boy, he was such an asshole. Him and his weasel face popped up to terrorize me all the time, until finally one day I screamed, “What do you want from me?” The words came out on a growl. I was so fucking pissed that he felt he had the right to grab me whenever he wanted.
“Oh, you’re going to pay us back one way or another, cunt,” he purred like a disgusting troll.
“What? What do you mean?” He was gone without another word. He left me to stew in my own thoughts, and it killed me. The silence rang out in my head like I was inside a nightmare, falling slowly off a cliff. Honestly, it totally freaked me out. He was a horrible terror that I couldn’t shake. I was living a horror show.
The next time he grabbed me I cried out, “What do you want? Just tell me!” I tried hard not to cry, but I was so frustrated with this sleazy as fuck dude that the tears began to fall down my cheeks. Snot adorned my face and frustration oozed relentlessly through me.
“You’re gonna work it off, cunt,” he whispered, and then he split again. Work it off? How was I supposed to do that? I’d had the money for a year, and it had dwindled to a measly two grand. Handing the entire amount back over wasn’t an option. I had no one to turn to for advice. Let’s be honest, I knew I was wrong here. I felt guilty as hell about taking money that wasn’t mine. I was consumed with fear. But who the fuck was ‘we?’
The Call Page 10
