It was about eleven oclock and the cool air from outside was coming in steady through the old Karmann Ghia hinges.
Okay, A.J. A.J. dog. One question. Thats it, thats all you got to answer, one question, and then you can be done with me. You can throw me out of this car if you want. He said nothing, just drove very fast, which was scary around the corners. Okay, here it is. So what do you think youll be doing in twenty years? No, make it easier, ten years. What will you be doing?
It was like he didnt hear me, but he did.
Rapping? I said. Are you going to be a rapper?
No answer.
Writing graffiti? Married? Maybe have a bunch of kids? With April? You think you and April are gonna have a million kids like your parents?
A.J. braked the car really fast. So fast that my knees hit the metal dash and the back of the car started sliding. Then we were stopped. He reached across me and opened the passenger door, and then he had his back braced against his door and he was kicking me out the door. I was laughing, except not too much because his kicks hurt and I was trying to stop because A.J. was crying.
Get the fuck out, get out, get out! Then my ass hit the ground and I was outside in some grass and the cold air. A.J. drove off. He stopped a few yards away, reached across the seat, and slammed the passenger door. The green hump of the Karmann Ghia got smaller and smaller and then he was gone.
A paint marker that A.J. used for graffiti had fallen out with me. It had a purple cap and a purple body and on the side it said SOLID MARKER. I sat in the long grass between the sidewalk and the street, and when I took the cap off I saw that the paint stick was two colors:
Outside the school there was one more street to go and then I was at Ofras. When I got to the mouth of her driveway I could hear the buzzing voices of the party. People were probably around the pool in the back, and April and her sister and Emily were probably there too. I was sure A.J. wasnt.
I didnt go in. I walked down the wide street with all the mansions. The mansions ended and the street started to narrow. Soon there was thick foliage on both sides and the sidewalk ended. I walked over a small arched bridge and there I was, in East Palo Alto.
It was darker over here. Fewer streetlights. The houses were slanted and there were metal bars in front of the windows.
I was mad at everyone but there was nothing I could do.
I started yelling. First it was just screaming, no words.
When cars passed, I yelled at them, Hey! Take me! Take me! Take me out of here! Take me with you.
I yelled at every car that passed. Nobody stopped.
Ten minutes later a cop car drove up and took me away.
You cant fight the Tar Baby, thats what he wants . You punch that Tar Baby and he sucks you in. Once you get wrapped up with the Tar Baby, he loses his shape, he becomes a sticky, black goo-monster and he gets all over you. The more you fight, and stretch him, and struggle, the more he gets all over you, and then you cant move and youre just a pile of tar. After a certain point, you are the Tar Baby. Instead of button eyes, you still have your real eyes, looking out from under the tar.
I Could Kill Someone
There are many ways to kill someone, but a gun seems as good as any. The big thing that gets you caught is motive. Its pretty obvious that Brent Baucher hates me, but who would expect me to get a gun and kill him?
Hes on the football team. He is not handsome. Hes fit, but hes a beast, very hairy arms and legs: strong, pale, discolored things.
Im told that I am good-looking, but I hate my body, and my face, and my curly hair. And Im shy.
Brent has a large bulging forehead that makes his eyes sit deep in his skull. The bottom of his face is too long, like it was squeezed in a vise. There are white-capped acne bulges, pink and irritated. And single hairs coming out of strange areas.
In World History I once saw him doodling on a returned exam. Next to the red F at the top he wrote uck em all. Then under that he wrote Niggas Unite. Then he scribbled out his last name and wrote Too $hort, like the rapper.
Id like to take Brent out of reality, just as simple as leading him through a door.
I dont like violence. I dont play video games, and I dont go to horror movies. I like Steel Magnolias ; I like Sally Field.
One time, in my sophomore year, I had to stay after school and run around the track because I had been late to Mr. Petersons PE class twenty times in a row. That gray afternoon, going around, I thought about the oval of the track, and the rectangle of the football field within it, and the smaller rectangles of the field defining the yard lines. The memory of all those circles and rectangles is tied up with what happened later in the locker room.
When I got in from the track, the last of the football team was in there changing after practice. I walked to the far bank of lockers, along the wall, where my locker was. I could hear them cavorting and laughing, and as I walked I could see out of my peripheral vision that one of the five or six of them was Brent Baucher.