Playground

by 50 Cent

“What do you mean, my first day at Watkins? That was almost two years ago now. Who remembers that far back?”

  “Moving to a new place can be really hard, especially at the beginning.”

  Man, Liz’s pearls of wisdom were really nonstop today! I laughed out loud. “Well, it wasn’t for me. I’ve always been pretty good with meeting people and shit like that.”

  “So your first day at Watkins was fine?”

  “Yeah, of course it was, from what I remember. Isn’t that what I just told you? Fine and dandy. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  9

  I got seated next to Maurice in homeroom because our last names were next to each other in the alphabet, and that’s how Mr. Parker did things, like a military drill sergeant. When I walked into the room five minutes late, still clutching that Xeroxed hallway map to my chest—not that it had done much to help me navigate that rat maze of a school—everyone fell silent and just stared. Not even Mr. Parker offered me a smile of welcome. What a way to start seventh grade.

  The thing is, it wasn’t even the start of seventh grade. School had already been in session for a couple of weeks, but of course my mom had been completely wrapped up in getting out her nursing school applications, and then applying for financial aid when she got accepted into the nursing program at Nassau Community College, and last but not least securing her side job as an orderly at St. Vincent’s. She said she’d been focused on finding an apartment zoned to the best possible school district, which was a big joke to anyone who has actually been to J. Watkins.

  Nah, I knew how my mom worked, and as usual I’d been nothing but an afterthought in her whole scheme. As if being fat and black in this town didn’t put a target on my back already, Mom made sure every single student at Watkins would know I’d just moved here by waiting till early October to transfer me in.

  My last year in the city had also been my last year in elementary school, when me and my friends had all been kings of the hill. But at Watkins Junior High, I was less than nothing. Even in the best of circumstances—and mine were the worst—a seventh-grader was the lowest of the low, the very bottom of the heap. And of course I didn’t know a single damn person, not just in the school, but in the whole shitty town of Garden City.

  When I walked in the room and everyone was just gaping at me, I noticed Nia right away. She was one of only a couple of black kids in the class, sitting right there in the front row with that perfect posture and those liquid black eyes of hers, and when she looked at me that first time, she smiled. That first day at Watkins was brutal, and I think Nia might’ve been the only one in that whole factory to smile at me like that.

  Mr. Parker took his sweet time adjusting his precious seating chart and making everyone move to accommodate the new student, otherwise known as me. He read out my name to the class, and I didn’t blink as the usual chorus of giggles filled the room—yet another thing I have to thank my mom for.

  After what felt like an eternity, he finally pointed me to the desk in the back row, and I was making my way through the aisle when someone said, “Watch out, wide load coming through!”

  “Yeah, man, what a butterball,” someone else said.

  I still don’t know what genius came up with my name; all I know is that it stuck. The whole class burst out laughing, and I could feel Nia’s gentle eyes burning into the back of my skull as I hunched over and continued walking toward the back of the room. Already I hated this place, and I hated my mom for making me come here. And I hated my big ass, even though it wasn’t nearly as bad back then as it is now.

  “Hey, I’m Maurice,” the guy next to me said, and I nodded at him, the only one in the room besides Nia who wasn’t cracking up at me. I told him my name, too, but already my fate at Watkins was sealed: I was, and forever more would be, Butterball, the fat black kid who could barely squeeze through the homeroom aisle.

  Maurice was a loner just like me, and by the end of that first week we were eating lunch together, always the only two guys at the end of the long table by the recycling bins. Maurice was cool, and he’d seen a lot of movies, too (including The Dark Knight at the IMAX, which was awesome). Maurice read constantly, mostly sci-fi fantasy stuff I’d only before known as movies, and studied all the time and actually went around saying that he wanted to be a lawyer one day. So yeah, he was a nerd, but a nice nerd, or that’s what I thought in the beginning.

  A couple of weeks into seventh grade, Maurice invited me to his place to play video games. His house was really cool—for one thing, because it was a real house, with a yard and a single mailbox and even a flower garden out front, nothing like the crowded walkups I’d lived in my whole life. Maurice’s crib was the reason people moved to the suburbs in the first place. My mom’s apartment was just as cramped and crowded as any place we’d ever lived in the city. The only difference was that there was never anything cool going down on the other side of the window.

  Another thing about Maurice was that his parents were still together. Even in Garden City, that was pretty rare with most of the kids I met. But Maurice’s dad always wore crisp button-down shirts and came home from work early, around five, when I was still over playing the X-Box, and asked me questions in a soft voice while his mother cooked dinner from scratch. It was weird, and sometimes Maurice’s place felt a little like a movie set, totally removed from reality.

  That was almost two years ago now. Like I told Liz, I can hardly remember any of that shit anymore. It seems like I was born hating Maurice’s guts. Everything that came before is just a hazy blur.

  10

  My Friday session with Liz let out ten minutes early. “You gonna give my mom a discount for this?” I asked her as I gathered up my backpack.

  “What do you mean?” Liz looked at me with a confused expression. I’m telling you, this lady was slow.

  “I mean like give her 10 percent off or whatever, since you’re bailing early?”

  “Ah, I see.” Liz smiled and said, “I end our sessions when I feel we’ve reached a natural stopping point. That could be after thirty minutes, or a whole hour. It’s really left to my discretion. I think we’ve made some nice progress today, but you’re clearly done. So I see no real need to push it.”

  Yeah, right. I could tell from all the makeup she’d piled on, and the way her hair was combed and styled instead of just being pulled back into a messy bun, that Liz had plans that evening. I couldn’t for the life of me imagine who in a million years would choose to be seen in public with her, even in this shithole of a town, so maybe she was just gonna treat herself to a half-bucket of chicken from the place next door.

  Whatever sad old Liz did with herself, I was just happy she’d let me out early. I knew Evelyn was scheduled to pick me up that afternoon, and I didn’t feel like making her job any easier than I had to. I just wasn’t in the mood to hang around the apartment all night while she folded clothes and stacked up all my personal belongings like she had some right to them.

  So I hopped off the couch and, without saying goodbye to Liz, pounded down the staircase and out into the big parking lot. Watkins was just a few blocks away, and school had only let out an hour ago. I figured I’d swing by on my way home, see if anything was going down over at the playground.

  Lo and behold, the basketball court was packed with little clusters of people that afternoon, the blacks on one end and all the Hispanic kids on the other. Most of the white kids had gone home already, off to their violin lessons or whatever kind of enriching shit kept them so busy all the time.

  I was in a pretty good mood that afternoon, both because Liz had gone easy on me and because I was going to my dad’s in the morning. I didn’t usually get to visit him so much, but St. Vincent’s was more understaffed than usual at the moment, or so my mom kept saying on the phone to him the night before: “Yeah, and you shouldn’t be complaining because the more I work, the less money I’ll be needing from you.” Then she went on in a hushed voice about all the shifts she’d missed while she’d been dragging me
from the principal’s to the guidance counselor’s and finally to Liz’s office, as if I hadn’t already heard it a hundred times already.

  So, yeah, I was pretty pumped to hang with my dad again, and when I walked up to the spot where Andres and some other guys were standing, I told them all about it. “Yep, I go to the city most weekends,” I said. “So much more shit to do there.”

  I could tell Andres and the boys were impressed, and I sort of felt sorry for them. Most kids around here, even the ones who were sure they were badasses, have been stuck in the suburbs all their lives and only get to go into the city on special occasions, like for Christmas shopping and shit like that. I seriously don’t know what I’d do if I had to spend every weekend stuck in this crappy little town where there was nothing to do but shoot hoops on an empty basketball court. Boring, boring, boring. It might not seem like much, but at least I knew there was life beyond Garden City, Long Island.

  “What you guys getting up to in New York town?” Andres asked, clearly jealous.

  “Not much,” I said. “Shopping for some shoes and shit like that—my dad promised me some new ones.”

  “It’s about time, huh?” Darrell said, and all the boys laughed like this was the most hilarious joke ever, like they’d actually talked about it before. I felt my skin go cold. These shoes were the best ones on earth when I got them, but now—sure, they’d seen better days, but so what?

  I looked at Darrell’s shoes, off-brand Adidas probably from the same strip mall where Liz had her office, and I said, “Yeah, well, I’ve just been waiting for the new Foamposites to come out, but they keep selling out faster than I can get to them. I won’t wear just anything, you know.” Unlike some people, I hope my tone implied.

  All of a sudden, I heard my name being called out behind me. I spun around to see none other than Evelyn the Buzzkill standing there, shouting my name—my actual name—at the top of her lungs. Let me tell you, I was pissed, so pissed I could’ve taken that PQ bottle in my hand and crushed it against her skull.

  “Chill out, woman,” I shouted as I trotted over to her. “What do you want, and how’d you find me here, anyway?”

  “Dumb luck,” Evelyn said without smiling. “Why weren’t you waiting outside Ms. Jenner’s office like you’re supposed to? Your mom will not be happy when she finds out I had to go on this little scavenger hunt to track you down.”

  I decided to play dumb and deny Evelyn the satisfaction she so clearly craved. “Oh, man, I’m real sorry about that,” I said, super sweet and innocent-like. “I knew my mom got called into work early today, so I figured I’d just walk straight home on my own. I was just passing by here when I ran into some of my friends.”

  “I see,” Evelyn said skeptically. I could tell she didn’t believe me, but she didn’t have the balls to fight me on it, which suited my purposes fine. “Well, it’s too bad you weren’t where you were supposed to be, because now you might miss your train.”

  “My train?” I repeated. “What do you mean, my train?”

  “Yes, as you said, your mom did get called into work today, and it looks like she won’t be off till well after midnight. I’d stay and watch you, but I’ve got a scheduled shift tonight, too, unfortunately.”

  Evelyn also worked at St. Vincent’s, though as an administrator who answered phones and shit like that—not, like my mom, as an orderly with dreams of nursing. That’s where she and mom had first met. “Anyway, your father’s agreed to watch you tonight, so your mother’s asked me to drop you off at the train station. She doesn’t want you getting into the city after dark, though, so it’s either the four-fifty train or nothing.”

  I rolled my eyes at my mother’s crazy paranoia, but I was too souped to feel any real irritation. My mom never let me take the LIRR to the city on my own, though I have no idea why since I’d been riding the subway alone practically since birth. “Aw, I can get to my dad’s place blindfolded,” I said.

  “Well, we’d rather you didn’t,” Evelyn replied, stern as ever. “So get moving. I already packed your weekend bag and put it in the car, but where’s your backpack?”

  “Right over there,” I said, pointing to where the boys were standing, watching me and Evelyn with way too much interest. “I’ll go grab it.”

  I somehow managed to keep from panting on my jog back over to the boys. “That your mom or something?” Andres asked. “She’s fine, ain’t she?”

  “That lady?” I tried not to puke. “No way she’s my mom, and she is not fine,” I said, reaching down for my stuff. “She’s just this annoying woman who helps out while my mom’s at work.”

  “That’s funny,” he said, “because she sure was busting your balls like she’d given birth to you or something, though she do seem awful young.”

  “That’s ’cause I’m taking the train into the city right now,” I said, “and she’s bugging out about my missing it.”

  “But you’ll be around next weekend, though, right?” Andres made sure to ask as I backed away from the semicircle.

  “Hell, yeah, I’m going,” I said without thinking. “Maybe I’ll even premiere my shoes there.”

  “All right then, don’t forget your sock and batteries, B-Ball!” Bobbie called. I nodded but didn’t turn around, just kept right on walking across the basketball court toward where Evelyn stood waiting for me.

  11

  I got to the station with seconds to spare. The train was already there, so Evelyn pressed some cash into my hand and told me to hurry up. I grabbed my bag and jumped out of the car, slamming the door behind me without another word to my pissed-off chauffeur.

  I can move pretty fast for a fatass, and I jogged past the station barriers and climbed the two steps up onto the train with maybe ten seconds to spare before it churned into motion. I found an empty row and looked out just in time to see Evelyn walking briskly onto the platform, looking anxiously both ways to make sure I’d boarded. And what if I hadn’t, I thought smugly as I slid down lower into my window seat. What was she gonna do then?

  A few minutes into the ride, I noticed that a kid sitting across the aisle kept staring over at me, which I have to admit pissed me off. About the tenth time he looked my way, I bugged out my eyes and raised a fist over my head. His eyes shot right back to the seat back in front of him. A few minutes later, he got up and never came back.

  I got off at Penn Station and transferred to the 3 train uptown, just like I’d done a hundred times before. The train was packed at rush hour, but I didn’t mind standing and holding onto the handrail. It made me feel alive, invigorated, to be surrounded by so many people who didn’t know or care who I was or what my problems were. Everything was more interesting here, even the tired strangers lugging their bags of groceries home. In Garden City, everyone lived all closed off from everyone else, locked inside their cars and all those empty spaced-apart buildings.

  When I got off at 148th Street, I wanted to linger but knew my mom would probably be checking in on me, so I hustled straight to my dad’s. I arrived at his apartment building only eighty minutes after Evelyn had dropped me off—a record. I rang my dad’s bell and waited, but no one buzzed me in. That was strange, but maybe my dad was napping or something. And it was only six ten, and my dad wasn’t expecting me till a quarter after, or so Evelyn had said. He was probably on his way back right now.

  Over the next half hour, I hit the buzzer maybe a dozen more times before I knew for sure that something was wrong. I couldn’t decide what to do, whether to stay or go. Dad was always talking about getting a key made for me, but for some reason he never got around to it. He’s a busy guy, I know that as well as anybody.

  Just before seven, I gave up and walked over to the bodega, bought myself a PQ and a couple of Snickers bars, and returned to the stoop to wait. I had my camera with me, so I took it out of my pocket and started filming the street scenes taking place five steps down from where I was sitting. There was an old lady pushing an even older shopping cart filled with winter clothin
g, and a skinny hairless guy yelling into a mouthpiece, and two kids a couple of years younger than me walking about six dogs between them. Put everyone in the frame and it made a great shot. I couldn’t wait to show my dad the footage.

  I looked at my cell phone: Speaking of my dad, where was he? His phone was switched off, so I decided to get up and ring the bell again. He was a pretty heavy sleeper, and it really wasn’t like him to forget about me for this long. I wondered if maybe I should call my mom? But no, no, she’d completely freak, and what could she do about it, anyway? I’d rather spend the whole weekend alone on this stoop than under the watchful glare of Evelyn.

  I’d just returned from my second trip to the bodega when I ran smack into my dad on the bottom step of his stoop. “Oh, hey, B-Ball man! What’re you doing here?”

  He was in work clothes—jeans and a dirty, sweat-stained button-down—and carrying a six-pack of beer in a plastic bag. He still had his work goggles around his neck, and he looked completely exhausted, like the last thing he wanted to do was hang out with his thirteen-year-old son yet again.

  “What do you mean? Didn’t Mom call you last night?” I’d been in the room at the time so I knew for a fact that she’d called him. “I mean, she, like, got roped into doing double or triple shifts all weekend, so she’d . . .”

  My dad put the six-pack down on the top step and struck his forehead. “Shit, son, of course she did. Totally slipped my mind, sorry about that. But you know I’m used to your coming here on Saturdays. A little break in my routine, that’s all—it just takes a little adjusting. Lucky we both got here at the same time, though, huh?”

  I glanced down at my camera, then shoved it in my pocket. “Yeah,” I said. “Real lucky.”

  “Yo, so listen, I was gonna see Diane later on, but I’m too beat anyway. Let me just call her and cancel, all right?” he said as I followed him up the dark staircase. “You feel like hitting another movie tonight?”