Defining Moments

by Ben Burgess Jr.

  The class laughed at his scolding.

  Back then, my mom was sick regularly and couldn’t understand why she constantly felt tired and had pain in her back. She saw numerous doctors and eventually had an MRI done, which showed she had lesions covering her brain and spine. She was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, and the doctors said it was incurable and would only worsen over time. Multiple sclerosis is an unpredictable, sometimes crippling disease of the central nervous system that disrupts the flow of information inside the brain. Those disruptions cause pain and physical malfunction in the body. There are treatments like pills, shots, and physical therapy, but there’s nothing that can permanently make the disease go away. The treatments only help to slow it down, and all of them are expensive.

  Feeling sick and in pain all the time, Mom missed a lot of work, which led to her eventually losing her housekeeping job. With my mom working sparsely as a waitress and hardly having money to support us, we got kicked out of our apartment in Kew Gardens and had to move to the only place she could afford: The Queensbridge Housing Projects. We lived in a small, run-down, two-bedroom apartment and were the only white family in there, so we stuck out. This neighborhood was different. Hiding under our beds whenever we heard the sounds of gunshots outside our bedroom windows was something we weren’t used to.

  “Is he your son or something? There ain’t no white kids around this neighborhood,” an extremely dark-skinned boy with beady eyes said. His complexion was as black as his shirt.

  I felt my face turning as red as Mrs. Foy’s hair.

  “No, Draper, Billy and I are not related.”

  Mrs. Foy turned to me. “You can take the empty desk next to Ebony in the third row, OK?”

  I nodded and walked to the only empty desk available in the class.

  The first time I saw Ebony, I thought she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. She had a deep mocha complexion that matched her eyes, and a long, silky ponytail that ended down the middle of her back. She had the prettiest smile. I couldn’t stop myself from staring at her. Ebony giggled, but the boy sitting next to her was giving me a death stare. I’d seen him and the kid Jalen in passing before. They lived on the floors above me in my apartment building.

  “Hi,” I said, sitting down next to her.

  “Hey,” she said, smiling back at me.

  “Stay away from my twin, white boy,” the kid next to her said.

  I realized he had the same complexion and eyes that she had. “Huh?” I stammered.

  “I saw you gawking at my sister. Don’t try frontin’ like you weren’t.”

  “Chill out, Akeem. He’s just being nice,” Ebony fired back.

  Akeem ignored her and kept his gaze on me. “You heard what I said. Keep looking at her, and I’ma fuck you up.”

  “Akeem, I’m not going to have you using that language and threatening kids in my classroom. Go to the principal’s office now,” Mrs. Foy yelled.

  Akeem stood up and pushed my forehead. “This isn’t over, chump.”

  He left the room, staring me down. All I wanted to do was fit in on my first day, but instead, I’d already made an enemy.

  * * *

  “Stop running like a bitch, white boy,” Akeem yelled.

  I ran at full speed. Some of the neighborhood kids chased me from school all the way to my apartment building. Fighting my way home after school had become an everyday occurrence. They picked on me daily for no reason other than me being white and living in their neighborhood.

  One of the boys tackled me from behind and held my arms down. Eight kids my age circled me.

  “Fuck him up,” Akeem ordered.

  Jalen sucker-punched me, while Draper yanked me to the ground. All of them stomped and kicked while I tried my best to protect my face and head. Then I heard a police siren. A cruiser with flashing lights screeched to a halt.

  “Shit, that’s O’Sullivan. Fall back. Let’s bounce,” Akeem said.

  The group quickly dispersed.

  “Run. Scatter like fucking roaches, you bunch of savages,” O’Sullivan said, sprinting out of his cruiser and swinging his nightstick.

  I was left bloodied and beaten, curled up in a fetal position on the concrete. My hands shook. Tears streamed down my face. A muscular cop with a receding hairline and a black, bushy mustache held out his hand and helped me up. He stood up straight, and his eyes widened when he said, “You’ll be all right, kid. Stop crying. Be tough. What’s your name?”

  I quickly wiped my face. “Billy O’Neil.”

  “Ah, an Irish boy, huh? What are you doing around here?”

  “I live here,” I said, pointing to my building.

  “You live in this neighborhood with the niggers?”

  Mom told me never to use that word, so I just repeated, “I live here.”

  “What does your dad do?”

  “I never met him, sir.”

  “What about your mom?”

  “She’s sick ... She has multiple sclerosis.”

  “Jesus, why were these punks fighting with you?”

  “Because I’m white. They said blacks have been getting beaten up by whites and even worse for no reason for years. They figured they could take some of that revenge out on me.”

  “What? You see, this is why you shouldn’t be around these savages. I’m taking you to your apartment. Come on.”

  We walked inside the building.

  “What floor do you live on?” he asked.

  “The third floor.”

  He pulled on the elevator door.

  “It’s broken,” I said.

  “Of course, it is. I don’t know how you and your mother live here with these animals.”

  We walked to my floor, and I opened the door to my apartment. My mom was grimacing in pain, bent over in the kitchen. I ran over and helped her up.

  “Mom, are you OK?”

  She looked up at my bruised face. “My God, are those boys still beating on you?”

  I watched Mom run to the bathroom and dampen a towel at the faucet sink. She came back and cleaned up my face.

  “Mom, don’t worry about that. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m all right. Did you get in trouble? Why is there a cop with you?”

  “How are you, ma‘am? I’m Officer O’Sullivan from the 114th Precinct. I stopped those niggers from attacking your son, and I figured I’d introduce myself.”

  Mom glared at him after his statement.

  “Don’t worry, Ms. O’Neil. Billy told me his father wasn’t around, so I’ll make sure to keep an eye on him and keep him out of trouble. Have a good day, ma’am.”

  He left. I helped my mom to the couch in the living room.

  “Sit down, Billy.”

  I did as she instructed and sat beside her.

  “Billy, there are bad people in every race. I never want to hear you refer to black people as the N-word. Don’t ever use it. That term can be applied to any race, but its history is ugly. I know it’s hard not to be angry. It’d be easy to just hate all black people for what they’re doing to you, but don’t become a bigot like Officer O’Sullivan.”

  “Mom, they’re beating me up every day because I’m white.”

  “I know, and it’s terrible. I’m going to talk to their parents, but in the meantime, I need you to endure until they get to know you. Things will be better. They’ll see that you’re not their enemy, and vice versa.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “There was a time when I hated minorities and thought I was better than them, but life has a way of humbling us all,” Mom said.

  “What happened?” I asked, grimacing as I clutched my side.

  “Back then, I used to bad-mouth any race that wasn’t white. I wouldn’t acknowledge or talk to them at work. When I married your father, that first year, he lost his job. He couldn’t find a new one, which forced me to work double shifts at my housekeeping job at the Hilton. I struggled to take care of both of us. There were times when I could barely
keep a roof over our heads and had to choose between paying the rent or buying food. We went to bed hungry often. Our church, our neighborhood, our people... knew we were struggling, and they did nothing to help us. When I couldn’t pay tithes every month, our church excommunicated us. Our so-called friends and community stuck up their noses and called us white trash. To them, we were no better than ’N-words.’ Your father and I didn’t have much family, and the little family we did have lived in different states and were broke too. You wanna know who picked us up when we were at rock bottom?”

  “Who helped?” I asked.

  “The black women that I worked side by side with every day, the same people I used to bad-mouth and wouldn’t talk to put together a collection and gave us money to help with our rent, food, and clothes to survive.”

  I slowly nodded.

  “I realized I was wrong and needed to change. In time, those boys will see they need to change too,” Mom said.

  “I hope they figure it out before they kill me.”

  “I’m sure they will. Clean yourself up and start your homework while I work on dinner.”

  I did as my mom asked.

  Later that night, I heard what sounded like crying coming from my mom’s bedroom. I crept to her door and slowly pushed it open. I peeked my head in and saw my mom sitting on the edge of the bed, crying.

  “Are you OK, Mom?”

  Mom wiped her eyes and kissed my forehead. She put her nose against mine and said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t give you a better place to live or picked a better father for you.” Her lips trembled. She turned away from me so I wouldn’t see her crying. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a better life. I hate that you have to suffer because of me.”

  My mom was going through a lot with my dad being gone and her being sick. I hated that I was powerless to help her. I hated that my drama with Akeem was adding more stress to her already stressful life. I didn’t want her to get any sicker because of it. We were all we had. I knew I had to be strong for her.

  “I’m fine, Mom. We’ll be OK.”

  As promised, Mom talked to Akeem’s mother about my daily ass whoopings, but they didn’t stop. She was determined to befriend Jalen’s and Akeem’s mothers and stop the bullying once she had a better relationship with them. The first month, every day whenever Mom saw them talking outside and smoking their cigarettes in front of our building, she went up to them and said hello, and every day, they ignored her. Despite them snubbing her, she still smiled and spoke to them. Eventually, she got the women to engage in a conversation, and slowly but surely, they bonded when they realized her life was similar to their own.

  * * *

  “Billy, I need you to go to the grocery store for me,” Mom shouted from her bedroom.

  “OK.” I sighed and got ready.

  As soon as I stepped out of my apartment door, I saw Akeem sprinting up the stairs at full speed, panic and fear in his eyes.

  “O’Sullivan’s gonna kill me,” he said.

  He tugged on the janitor’s closet door, and it flung open. Akeem put his finger to his lips, indicating for me to keep quiet, and slowly closed the door behind him.

  I heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairwell. O’Sullivan’s face was red, his nostrils flared. He grabbed me by the collar and said, “Where is he? Where’d that fucking pickaninny go?”

  I shook nervously. I thought about telling O’Sullivan the truth, but I remembered what Akeem said and the look of terror in his eyes.

  “He ran up the stairs,” I said, my voice shaky.

  “You better not be lying to me and trying to help that nigger. He’s not your friend. He and his homeboys beat your ass every day. I hope you’re not stupid enough to protect him.”

  I shook my head nervously. “I’m not lying.”

  O’Sullivan scanned the area; then his eyes narrowed on me. He shoved me, then released my collar.

  “I don’t believe you. Is he hiding in the fucking elevator?” He quickly tugged on the door.

  “The elevator is still broken.”

  He walked toward the janitor’s closet. As soon as he was about to pull on the door, my mom swung open our apartment door.

  “I’ve been listening to you this entire time. My son answered your questions. Why are you chasing after a child, anyway?”

  O’Sullivan stammered. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Those little hoodlums threw eggs at my car, and I wanted to teach them a lesson. I didn’t mean to take my frustration out on Billy.”

  “The way you were yelling at my son, I’m scared to see what that ‘lesson’ would’ve been. They’re just children.”

  “Don’t mind me. My bark is bigger than my bite. I wouldn’t give him more than a firm yelling.”

  Mom folded her arms. “Well, my son answered you. if you don’t mind ending this interrogation, he’s going to the store to pick up a few things for me.”

  “No, no, I don’t mind. I’m sure I lost Akeem by now anyway, so I’m heading out. You have a good day, Ms. O’Neil.”

  “Yeah, you too,” she said and slammed the door shut.

  O’Sullivan leaned in close, his lips almost grazing my ear, and whispered through clenched teeth, “You tell that little black bastard when I catch him I’m going to beat his ass. You hear me?”

  I nodded.

  O’Sullivan walked down the steps. After a good minute had passed, Akeem stepped out of the closet.

  “Yo, thanks for not diming me out to O’Sullivan. I owe you one.”

  “No problem.”

  “I’ll see you around.”

  I hoped that incident would prove that I wasn’t a bad guy.

  * * *

  “Can I get next? Can I play?”

  “Hell no!” Jalen, Draper, and some of the other boys on the basketball court yelled.

  “White boys can’t play no ball,” Jalen said.

  They all continued to curse me out and rejected my request, but Akeem shut them down.

  “Yo, he’s got next,” Akeem said.

  “C’mon, man, you know he’s gonna suck,” Jalen argued.

  “Chill, J, it’s better this way. Now we can play three on three.”

  Since I didn’t snitch when O’Sullivan was hunting for him, my daily ass-kickings ended, and Akeem didn’t look at me like he wanted to kill me anymore.

  I stepped on the court. I figured they thought I would suck because I was “the white boy,” but I used to practice all the time in my old neighborhood. I knew my best chance of earning their respect was playing defense and passing them the ball, so that was exactly what I did. I threw fancy passes, made defense stops, and knocked down open shots. We blew the other team out. Akeem was impressed.

  “I didn’t know you had game like that. You busted my boys’ asses.”

  Jalen sulked. I smiled and said, “Thanks.”

  “Good looking out for not giving me up to O’Sullivan.”

  “It’s cool.”

  “Nah, that’s a big deal to me. I already gave the word for everyone around here to stop beating on you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You should play ball with us from now on. We play almost every day after school. We’re getting ready to try out for the school team. You should too.”

  “I can’t. I take care of my mom after school. She’s sick... She has multiple sclerosis.”

  “Where’s your pops at? Can’t he take care of her?” Akeem asked.

  “I’ve seen pictures of my dad, but I never met him. He left when I was younger. It’s just my mom and me.”

  “I didn’t know your dad wasn’t around. I thought all white people had both parents in their lives.”

  “Not in my family.”

  Akeem laughed. “Between you being good at ball and your pops not being around, I swear, Bill, I’m starting to think you’re secretly black.”

  I smiled. Akeem’s face got serious.

  “My pops took off when me and my sister were babies. The coward left us to fend for our
selves. It’s all right, though. I didn’t need him then, and I damn sure don’t need him now. One day, I’m gonna be paid, and my mom and Ebony will never have to worry about money again.”

  “I’m right there with you, man,” I said. “I want to do the same thing for my mom and me.”

  “Cool.”

  Akeem faced Jalen. “Bring it in, J.”

  Jalen was already within earshot of us but reluctantly came closer. Draper glared at us since Akeem didn’t bother to call him over.

  “J’s my right hand. Now that you’re down with us, we’ll get this money together.”

  The three of us fist-bumped, and after that day, Akeem, Jalen, and I became best friends. Akeem’s and my anger toward our fathers being deadbeats, our dreams of being rich, and our love of basketball strengthened our bond. Being around Akeem and Jalen got me respect and street credibility. Akeem let everyone know that I didn’t rat him out to O’Sullivan and I could be trusted. My mom being cool with Akeem’s and Jalen’s mothers was a plus too. She was known as “the cool-ass white lady on Tenth Street.” A lot of people around the neighborhood still weren’t fond of white people, but we were the exceptions. I wasn’t “the white boy” that lived in the hood anymore. Since my skills were “sick” on the basketball court, Akeem had everyone in the neighborhood calling me “Ill Bill.”

  Luckily for me, Mom’s multiple sclerosis went into remission. She was doing better healthwise, or at least she pretended to be, and pushed for me to hang out with Akeem and Jalen and try out for the basketball team.

  Since I was hanging out at Akeem’s house all the time, that meant I also got to see Ebony. We flirted when no one was around, but I tried to keep my feelings hidden. I didn’t want to piss Akeem off and get on his bad side again now that we were friends. Once Akeem and Jalen realized I had a crush on her, they teased me relentlessly about it.

  Things were good for a while until one summer day that changed Akeem’s and Jalen’s lives forever.

  We were sitting on the wooden benches in front of our building when an Escalade with huge rims and a sound system we heard from blocks away pulled up to the curb and stopped at the hydrant. A black guy in the chromed-out Cadillac Escalade pointed and shouted, “Yo, Akeem, lemme holla at’cha real quick.”