A CHANGE OF HEART: Book 1 of the Hartford Series

by Jermaine Watkins

  Little Man said, “Now look what you done. We ’bout to get paddled, and it’s all your fault. I didn’t even get a chance to stuff my drawers with tissue.”

  On Tracie’s face was a combination of nerves and fear, as he stared over at the secretary, wondering when the principal would arrive and if he would be allowed to use the bathroom before he got paddled. “All I’m goin’ need tissue for is to wipe my butt. I’m so scared, I got to take a dump—now.”

  When he looked over at Little Man, the two boys became locked into each other’s stares, and then exploded in laughter. Little Man held his stomach to stop the painful cramps that came from his laughter. “You is funny, Tray. Even though I had to whip your butt today for rankin’ me.”

  “You crazy, Little Man. I think it was your butt that was gettin’ stomped in the ground.”

  The two boys burst out laughing again until the secretary, who was busy typing away on her computer, called out for them to hush up.

  Little Man spied over at the secretary to make sure she didn’t see him, and then leaned toward Tracie. “If we get out this alive, want to be boys?”

  Tracie smiled and nodded.

  After school, Tracie and Little Man became better acquainted on their way home, where they lived in the same apartment building on Hexter Street. Little Man and his Uncle Clyde shared an apartment on the first floor diagonal to the apartment of Tracie and his Nana, who lived on the second floor.

  It was the perfect beginning of a close friendship. If Tracie did not like a person, Little Man shot an evil stare at him too. If Little Man stopped going out with a girl, Tracie was sure to break up with her best friend. As teammates in street ball, they were popular on local basketball courts, showing off the fancy swift moves they had spent long hours practicing together. They were at the top of everyone’s guest list for house parties, where they arrived wearing similar stylish outfits and haircuts that stole the hearts of every young girl.

  Tracie was immediately brought back to the present at the loud buzzing of his alarm clock, which displayed the glowing red time of 6:00 a.m.

  He jumped up to sit on the side of the bed. Pressing the switch to turn off the alarm, he clicked on the lamp sitting on the bedside stereo speaker. He had been up most of the night, reliving his past again, particularly his teenage years. At the present age of twenty-one, he could still remember the time as if it were only yesterday.

  “Tracie, you up?”

  He smiled at the sound of his Nana’s sleepy voice, which called out from down the hallway. Every morning that his alarm clock sounded off, she made sure he was awake and preparing for work. “Yes, Nana, I’m up.”

  “Well, don’t forget to lock the door back when you leave, hear? Don’t want no crazy person walkin’ in on me while I’m ’sleep and puttin’ a beatin’ to me.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said reassuringly. He shook his head at his Nana’s humorous words and considered how much he truly loved her. She was his reason for rising every morning and going to work to help out with the house expenses, and to afford little gifts that he bought for her now and then. They were truly gifts of appreciation, in remembrance of a time when he had chosen the wrong path and she’d used tough love and God to help reshape his life, and to give him the desire to have better dreams for his future. But he knew that he could never repay her for the greatest gift she had given him: the gift of herself.

  In another time in his life, Tracie had thought more highly of his friend Little Man than anyone else in his life. He loved the feeling of importance that he gained from their friendship. It transformed him from a silly kid who liked to joke and laugh to a dark and mysterious personality. He walked with a hard-edged bounce to his steps. His usually bright smile was traded in for a smug, tight-lipped smirk; that was his expression when other young people spoke to him in passing or ran up to him with exciting gossip they had heard.

  Maggie closely monitored the development of Tracie’s friendship with Little Man, and she was not pleased with the path his life was taking. The sweet boy who had lived to make her proud with even small achievements was becoming a product of the streets, like so many other black children.

  Children were mostly images of perfection in the blind eyes of their parents. Flaws were expected, a natural part of growth and development, as long as the children learned from them. But there came special times when they approached bad situations, although not regarded as such with their inexperienced eyes, and the strong shove of a supportive parent was needed to set them back in the right direction. This is how Maggie viewed Tracie’s friendship with Little Man. She could not spend the rest of her life pointing out whom he should or shouldn’t befriend. That was a personal decision that she did not believe any parent had a right to control. “But if he thinks he’s just goin’ keep on with his devilish ways, he got another think comin’,” she told herself.

  She sat watching Tracie use his fork to shovel in his dinner, up and down, again and again, until he cleared his plate in mere minutes. Smacking his lips several times to savor the delicious taste of the food he had eaten too quickly, he sat back, rubbed his stomach, and let out a loud burp. Then he rose and walked to the back door on his way to meet Little Man, who would be waiting outside for him.

  “Tracie,” Maggie shouted, banging her fists on the table so hard that the dishware clattered. “You better act like I taught you some manners!”

  Tracie turned around with a puzzled expression on his face, but quickly replaced it with a smile so cute and reminiscent of the kid he had once been that it gripped at Maggie’s heart in a desperate plea for acceptance. “Sorry, Nana. My bad. I forgot to say thanks for that bangin’ dinner.”

  “What’s happened to us, Tracie? It’s just not like it used to be. I feel like we losin’ our close friendship.”

  Tracie stared down at his expensive new black-and-white sneakers that she had bought for him only a week ago. “It’s not your fault, Nana.”

  “Who the blame then? ’Cause I didn’t change. For fourteen years, fourteen, I cooked for you, cleaned your clothes, did all the things a good parent should. You used to show me how much that meant to you by sayin’ thanks when necessary, makin’ good grades in school, and goin’ to church. Now I nearly beg to get you to do those little things, Tracie. So tell me. Who the blame?”

  “Nobody,” Tracie said in a final tone. He really did not want to be standing there, being told who he was and what he was not doing right anymore. It was all too serious. Instead, he wanted to be outside with Little Man, ranking on passersby, shooting craps, hugging up with some sexy girl, or whatever other fun thing they would discover that night.

  But Maggie wasn’t about to let the conversation end without getting at least some insight as to Tracie’s present frame of mind and their present standing with each other.

  “How’s your good friend Little Man? I know that’s who you in such a big hurry to go see.”

  Tracie sucked his teeth and crossed his arms defensively. Although his Nana never spoke badly about Little Man—that was not her style as a Christian lady—there was always a hint of agitation in her voice every time she brought up his name in conversation. She’s just jealous, Tracie thought. His Nana had been the only important person in his life for a very long time.

  But things were different now. He could never explain how lucky he felt to have ended up sitting outside the principal’s office beside Little Man. How special it was to meet a new person who was the same age and thought as childishly as he did, someone who didn’t give a damn about how serious life was or how imperfect he was. All they both wanted to do was get out in the streets and have fun.

  “Nana, he’s my best friend.”

  Maggie nodded. “Do that mean he done replaced what we had?”

  Tracie repeated, “He’s my best friend. He’s fun to be around.”

  “Suppose old lady like me ain’t much fun,” Maggie said, rising from her seat at the table. As she picked up their plates and took them
over to the sink, she realized that her plate was as full of food as Tracie’s was empty. She had not eaten a bite.

  Setting both plates down on the counter, she mumbled, “Oh, I’m not hungry anyhow.” She was going through the motions; but her mind was preoccupied with one important thing that she must say, which she feared would be the last tugged thread to break the remainder of closeness that she once shared with Tracie.

  “Lord’s willin’, you’ll be goin’ to high school next year. That’s assumin’ you get the grades, and we both know how much they been sufferin’ lately. I think it’s time you stop hangin’ ’round that boy so much and be more independent. I think the friendship you got with him is no good. It’s bringin’ you down.”

  Maggie stared at Tracie with pleading brown eyes. She said a silent prayer, hoping that God would open his eyes to the truth. Tracie had lost all interest in school a long time ago. As soon as he returned home from school, he dumped his bag in his room and ran back out of the apartment. On occasion, Maggie would slow down his tracks with, “You do your homework?”

  “Yeah, I did it all in school,” he would yell back and keep moving. But the truth was in every warning report mailed to her that told the grim tale of his slow progress in basic learning, not to mention the regular telephone calls about how Tracie had skipped classes or sometimes did not show up for school at all.

  Now Tracie laughed. “You buggin’, Nana. I ain’t goin’ even make a comeback on what you just said, ’cause you don’t know how cool Little Man is. He like a brother to me. I’m ’bout to bounce. Check you later.”

  Maggie opened her mouth to call Tracie back, but she ignored the thought, since she knew it would be futile. She now knew the frightening extent of his obsession with his friendship. It was one of those things in life that could only resolve with time, patience, and much praying. So Maggie started praying harder.

  Tracie immediately hooked up with Little Man, who was waiting for him outside on the front porch. “Sorry took so long,” Tracie said, as he and Little Man exchanged gentle taps of their fists, which was a popular new way of greeting for youths. “Nana wanted to talk.”

  “About what?” Little Man flashed a look of suspicion, as if Tracie might lie and break their sacred code of trust.

  “You know how Nana is, all religious and shit. Always illin’. Actin’ like ain’t nothin’ good enough for me in this whole world. She just lookin’ out, that’s all.”

  Little Man nodded, but he was well aware of what Ms. Turner thought about him now, which was completely opposite of how things used to be in the past. Then, she could not be more delighted that Tracie had found a new friend in him.

  He remembered her saying, “You two is one like the other. As if the good Lord chose it to be that way long before you was born. As if you was birthed by the same mama and daddy, share the same blood.”

  And that was how she treated the two boys. If she called Tracie from playing outside to eat lunch or dinner, she would also prepare a plate for Little Man. If she picked up an action figure from the store for Tracie, she bought Little Man a different one so they could play together.

  “Things is different between me and your Nana. And you know it.” Although the expression on his face was blank, Little Man could not hide the disappointment in his voice.

  “That’s ’cause we some bad-ass mothas!” Tracie laughed and punched his friend’s arm. “Now stop actin’ like a punk and let’s go have some fun before Nana be callin’ me back home for the night.”

  “I am punkin’ out, huh? You see me? Looked like I was ’bout to start cryin’.” And then Little Man laughed too.

  “Things is different between me and your Nana,” Tracie repeated in perfect mockery of his friend’s voice and mannerisms only seconds ago. He sniffed dramatically, as if he would start crying.

  The two boys let out bellows of laughter and exchanged playful jabs.

  “You a nut, Tray. Should be a comedian. That kind of funny shit got your ass kicked a few years ago, though.”

  Tracie shook his head, but he was still smiling. “You in a fantasy world. It was me the guard was usin’ like all his strength to get off your black ass.”

  Running down the porch steps, they continued their playful argument of who had won the fight between them in school.

  And then Little Man took a step in the lead. “Let’s go get some chips and shit to munch on,” he said.

  Leaning against the front wall of Jimmy’s Corner Store was a boy about six feet tall with an oval-round physique. For his adult size, he had awkward baby-face features, a pudgy nose, and tiny picket-fence teeth. The neighbors of Hexter Street had long since named him “Mail Man” for his knowledge of the hottest gossip on the streets. When the Murphys were evicted from their apartment, for instance, he was the first to tell the story. The night J. R. Smith was released from prison and strangled his beautiful flirtatious wife, Mail Man could recite the entire violent episode as if he had been in the Smiths’ apartment that night.

  Leaning against the wall of the store seemed to be his very reason for existing—no one ever spotted him anywhere else, not chilling outside with one of his homies or even just walking around the neighborhood. Two famously funny questions were asked by all: “How he get to that spot leanin’ against the wall without bein’ seen?” and “Does he ever sleep?”

  Tonight, Mail Man wore a grim expression on his face when he saw Tracie and Little Man approaching the store. “Y’all stop and hear what I heard on y’all way back out.”

  Tracie and Little Man exchanged blank stares.

  “You bet,” Tracie said.

  Inside the store, neighborhood children raced shopping carts up and down four narrow aisles, reading torn pieces of paper that their parents had used to write down the needed items to complete that night’s dinner. They were eager to stop and say hello to Tracie and Little Man, who exchanged short replies of, “What’s up?” Their cool aloofness was well practiced. Little Man had taught Tracie this lesson: When one dodged the greetings of his peers, he was regarded as someone important, like an actor, singer, or athlete.

  Tracie loved all the attention, which he credited to Little Man, who was really the leader of the twosome. It was mostly Little Man’s call on everything. He decided on the fun places they should go. He picked out the honeys they should rap to.

  Little Man was all-around cool. He spoke the latest words of slang. He had the better pimp to his walk. His clothes appeared to have been tailored for him to wear out in the streets. That sounds stupid! Tracie thought. But the fact was that he looked up to his older street brother, one he would die for, if it ever came down to that.

  Tracie and Little Man purchased two bags of potato chips, several packs of candy, and grape bubble gum. And then they revisited Mail Man outside the store.

  “So what’s the good word?” Little Man said, pulling open a bag of barbecue potato chips. He shoved a few large chips into his mouth and started crunching.

  Mail Man turned from staring down the street where Tracie and Little Man had come from. “Nah, this ain’t no good word,” he said, returning a quick glance down the street.

  “Bizz and his crew is out to get you, Little Man.”

  The frightening news caused Tracie’s eyes to open wide. Bernie Johnson, self-named “Bizz,” also lived on Hexter Street. The present news on the street was that he had united with five other local boys, who were organizing a gang to compete against gangs from other housing projects. They were approaching weak-minded boys who could not oppose their attractive offer: “Side with us and we’ll protect you.”

  None of the young thugs had approached Tracie, who was not impressed with the popular structure of gangs, groups of boys who hung out everywhere and did everything together. He much preferred the special carefree times that he spent with Little Man to grouping with the other boys, who could not take a piss without the okay of their leader. It would be like having another parent outside home.

  But rejecting
Bizz and his gang would be just as stupid as rejecting any of the other ruthless street gangs. The normal price paid ended in a brutal beating—sometimes nearly fatal—of the opposing individual. If you did not say yes, they inflicted the same violence that they promised to protect you from.

  “No!” Little Man said, crushing the bag of chips in the strong grasp of his hand. “That punk’s mad ’cause the other day I told him I ain’t gettin’ into that gang.”

  “You didn’t tell me Bizz stepped to you.” Tracie really looked worried now. If Bizz had approached his best friend to join the gang, then Tracie would be next.

  “Bizz is a punk, and all his sissy gang too. We ain’t goin’ out like that, Tray! Besides, we all know who the better fighter is in the ’hood.” Little Man punched his fist into the palm of his other hand, further crushing the bag of chips with his angry, fiery strength.

  “I hear they got a gun,” Mail Man eased out in a low voice. “And they gettin’ more.”

  Tracie nodded. The reality of their conversation was so nerve-racking that he felt nearly faint. “Mail Man’s right. It’s the nineties. Kids don’t fight with fists no more. If they don’t think they can beat you down with their fists, they pop a cap in your ass. And if you kill them first, their gang come to your ’hood later and spray everything in sight with bullets.”

  “Tray, don’t go gettin’ sissy on me. Uncle Clyde got a gun too. If I got to use it to protect us...” As his words trailed off, Little Man smiled dangerously. He was fearless, the kind of person who did not jump when someone else came playfully running out of the bushes late at night. He had fought the toughest big guys to the toughest small guys, and some mean girls who fought equally as tough. To conquer in fighting was really just common sense: If a person punches you, you return a powerful punch, repeat the action more powerfully the next time, and continue until you win. He doubted that Tracie shared his experience in fighting, other than their run-in a few years ago, when he had actually gone easy on his friend. He had just wanted to teach Tracie a lesson: No one messed with Little Man and got off without a fight.