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Member
Join Date: Jul 2007
Location: San Fransisco
Gender: Male
Posts: 22
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Baptism In Ice
Baptism in Ice
They were the streets. They were the raw, crudely shaped streets that governed themselves, listened to no one and let no one listen to them. The streets were their own world and community, complete with mothers and daughters, sons and men of all shapes, some fit for survival in the wild and others poorly shaped and hunched over, hiding from the harsh reality of life. Others had their eyes in the stars, forever gazing, forever dreaming that one day they would be free from the cruelty of the streets and alive one day without fear, a day when they were allowed to think of their own lives and dreams and loves. Others were imbued with apathy and uncertainty. They knew as much about where their lives were going as they knew about where their lives had been, because each of these cases led to the same thing: a life of crime and belligerence, in a community with others who felt the same way.
Marco was one of two of these types. He was certainly built for survival in the streets, and he shared a particular taste for apathy about the outside world, only viewing it as a potential breeding ground for his personal table. Marco was a month shy of his twenty-first birthday and anything besides innocent. It was his lack of innocence that defined his livelihood, that shaped his personality and his thoughts of the future. He was an unashamed and unbreakable criminal, who smiled only after his catch and was only content with the gathering of the spoils. Marco, like his contemporaries, had his own community, a community of three. Among them was Marco’s best friend and partner, Harvey, who shared his friend’s love of piracy. Surely his and Marco’s were kindred spirits.
It was a regular Monday plundering for Marco and his gang. The sky had just clouded over and begun to leak slightly on the bright, battered road covered in cigarette butts and old, blackened gum. Marco had stolen on days worse than these in the past and he wasn’t about to let it stop him today. He now leaned his back against a thick aluminum gate, adorned with a large, colorful graffiti emblem. Marco had been through three cigarettes and was now finishing his fourth as he loitered on the cold, gray street with his mob of three.
“Joey,” he called. “Check out this broad.” he said as pointed with his smoking cigarette to a red haired woman in a black pea coat and leather boots. Joey was sitting on the pavement and he looked around him, shouting cat calls to get her attention. She never once turned around.
“Some women.” Joey said.
“Don’t lie, you were glad you didn’t have to talk to her.” remarked Marco.
“Bullshit. I’d have taken the bitch anytime.” Joey replied, looking at the two other pairs of silent eyes that could see deep into how he really felt.
“You ain’t fooling no one. You a little bitch.” said Harvey. Joey did not respond. He thought that his silence would eliminate the issue but it only solidified it.
“Hey, do you think I could hit that stop sign with my gat?” Joey inquired. He was hungry for attention now. Marco and Harvey exchanged glances, but said nothing. Joey joined the others in their silence and insecurity. Marco had looked quite silly dressed in only his wife beater and some jeans around his waist. He was cold, but he never let on to be.
“Hey, Joe, come here.” he said. Joey rebuffed the order but was soon convinced. He stood up and walked to Marco. He was at least five inches taller than Marco but much more scrawny and awkward. He got close to Marco, aiming to intimidate with his height. In his face, he showed no fear, but in his eyes, he was weak. Marco only ever looked into his eyes. Joey remained focused on Marco’s eyes until he felt Marco’s muscular hand slap him across the cheek.
“What’d you do that for?” Joey cried. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I dunno, I’m just bored.” Marco replied, discarding his cigarette. “Yo Joey” he called. “Why don’t you jack that guy over there across the street? He looks loaded.” he knew that Joey was bad at it and the situation was always good for a laugh.
“Yeah, sure. Yeah, I’ll do it.” said Joey. He reached for his gun tucked under his pants and nodded to Marco, then bounced off, holding his belt like he was dancing to honky-tonk as he pounced on his prey. His shouts were heard clearly. He could be seen holding his gun sideways and shouting, the veins popping blue from his neck visible from the other side of the street, even the very spit that flew and landed on his victim’s leather jacket. The man held his right hand up and reached for his back pocket, then tossed his wallet on the ground. Joey leaned down to retrieve it, and by the time he realized his mistake it was too late. A violent blow sent him sprawling into the gutter. The man now had his own gun pointed right at Joey as he retrieved his wallet and trotted off, pointing his gun all the way then finally sprinting to safety.
Joey did not look back to Marco and the others. Eventually he stood up from the gutter and made a little leap as he raised his hand to his mouth and shouted, “Yeah, you better run!” and turned to the others with an expression that said: I showed him, but that meant, Please forget this moment, and revealed that he knew that they would never forget it. Harvey was laughing openly.
“He bitch slapped you!” he said, bending over and slapping his calves with delight. Joey had a distasteful look on his face. He looked from man to man and tried in vain to assert his manliness by his movements and facial expressions.
“You tried.” said Marco.
“Whatever, I’m gonna go get something to drink, you want anything?” said Joey, trying to play the fact that he was twenty-two for some respect. Marco shook his head and Harvey’s laughing settled to a chuckle. Joey made a gesture at him with his hand and walked off. Marco lit another cigarette.
“When did we start hanging out with that guy?” Harvey asked. He got no response, nor did he ever expect one. Marco just smoked in silence, never losing his reserve nor showing that he was amused by the occurrence. He took long drawls as if to punish his heart and veins, just to show that he had control over them. His chest perspired in spite of the cold and the rain, in a desperate attempt to keep his body believing that it was in a state of warmth instead of a cold, wet earth. His arms glistened from moisture, his mustache shining black, saturated with smoke and rain water, his rough face dry and untouched by rain and emotion alike. He stood, wordless, motionless, thinking about his life and his profession, his role. He thought about any possible legacy he might leave. He soon let the topic slide. Money in this life is an exchange for people remembering your life after it’s over. You can’t have both, he thought.
Just as he thought this and smoked and punished his organs there came along a boy named Nick. He had made a striking figure in stale gray of the city. His skin was white as snow as it shone from his hands and his face, covered in part by thick black hair, unkempt and mangy. His eyes shone blue like the faded jeans he had on, his plaid shirt untucked and loosely hung over his arms and shoulders.
Marco had seen Nick coming along for a while. He had watched him trod slowly, foot after foot, his gaze fixed directly on the concrete in front of him, not out of fear like many who passed by, but , but in deep and profound melancholy accompanied by loneliness. Marco had noticed the black ear buds in his ears and the schoolbooks tucked under his arm and took him for a college student. The boy was a senior in high school but showed none of the carefree, relaxed nature of a senior.
Marco had worked college students before and knew enough about them to know that their wealth was in scholarship and everything they earned went to tuition. He knew better than to rob a college student. But to this particular boy Marco was especially drawn. As the boy drew nearer, Marco nudged Harvey and nodded towards the prey. Harvey fell silently behind the boy as Marco strolled out in front of him. The boy hardly even noticed until he found himself staring at the tops of Marco’s shining new white shoes. He stopped in his tracks and looked up to see a clear-cut thug. Marco looked into the boy’s eyes and saw a bitterness that entirely intimidated him and made him feel unusually small.
“Hey, how about giving up some of that nice stuff you got?” Marco asked snidely, pulling his shirt to reveal the pistol tucked away in his pants. The boy dropped his books as if he had been expecting it.
“Fine!” he screamed at a volume that startled Marco. He began to rapidly empty his pockets of his cell phone, his wallet, his spare change. “Have it! Have it all!” he piled his mp3 player, his bus pass, his house key. “Just fucking take it! Make my life worse!” tears started to well in his blue eyes and his voice started to quiver as he shouted. “Just fucking have it! All it is is more shit!” tears now dripped from his red eyes and Marco watched him in awe. “All yours.” he squeaked, taking in sobbing breaths and throwing a punch into the air. He plopped down on the curb and ran his fingers through his hair, throwing forth sobs and rubbing tears from his eyes with his palms.
Marco never once looked at the pile of plunder on the floor. Instead, he exchanged glances with Harvey, who was also looking at the boy. Neither of them spoke, they only looked at each other and listened to Nick’s painful sobs. They had both been put in a terribly awkward situation. In most cases they took what they wanted and sometimes quelled any resistance, but they’d never been forced to take anything before.
Harvey looked at the pile. He knew that eventually he would take it, even if he was currently hesitant. So he decided to get it over with, but Marco waved him away. Harvey communicated his anger with a silent glance. Marco returned the glance and pointed to the boy. Harvey rolled his eyes and pointed with both hands to convey the importance of taking the pile, but Marco shook his head in wide, sweeping motions. Harvey turned around swiftly in frustration.
Even if Marco would not have readily admitted it, he desired nothing more than to talk to Nick. He would have traded all of the day’s plunder to do it. He had never been spoken to the way Nick had spoken to him. He had never been more intimidated by a glance than he had looking into the boy’s bright, blue gaze, filled with sadness and frustration, entirely cold and embittered to all of the occurrences in the world. Marco could tell that Nick didn’t have any form of fearful respect for him simply because he was a criminal. In a way, this was the brand of apathy that Marco had always been searching for. It was a way of thinking that Marco had only ever thought about briefly, and forgot later. Marco simple needed to talk to Nick.
He went about it slowly. He did not want to immediately sit down next to the boy and put his hand on his shoulder the way a father would with his son. He decided to hang back and talk from a distance.
“Hey, man.” he said quietly. “Hey, don’t cry, man,” he said, walking closer.
“Just-Just leave me alone.” Nick uttered through his quivering throat,
“Man, just hear me out, I’m not about to take your shit.” Marco said. Nick turned to him, his hair wily and wet from rain and tears.
“Don’t talk to me like you feel bad for me. You would have gone on your way and not thought twice about me if I hadn’t started crying just now.” Nick barbed. Marco opened his mouth to reply, but then closed it. He’s right, he thought.
“How about this. My name’s Marco. What’s your name?” said Marco, sitting down on the curb. Nick sniffled and looked down between his knees.
“Nick.” he said almost inaudibly.
“Nick.” Marco repeated. “You ain’t gonna believe this, but I got some mad respect for you.” He said. Nick said nothing, only sniffed loudly as he wept.
“I know the feeling. You must be goin’ through some bad shit, man. You’ve had it, am I right?” Marco asked. Nick still remained silent. Marco admired the boy even as he did not reply, even as he became frustrated with his silence. He became frustrated because he knew that if he had been a kid and a thug had taken this kind of interest in him, he would have eaten it up. This boy showed no respect for anyone, and Marco respected that.
“You don’t have respect for me.” replied Nick finally. “No one does. Not even me.”
“No, I really do. Believe it. No one ever talked to me the way you just did. You’re the first person not to be scared of me. There have been some guys that tried to act all hard and manly and shit, but that was just a mask. You really stood up for yourself, and I was scared, man. I do have respect for you.” Marco insured him.
Nick sniffled loudly. “Thanks.” he said.
“So tell me what’s wrong, man, talk to me.” Marco said. He had never had a conversation like this before, and he never imagined himself having one. He looked back at Harvey, who was throwing his hands in the air and rolling his eyes. But Marco knew Harvey well, and he knew that in his heart Harvey wanted to know about Nick as well. So Marco decided to ignore him.
“I’m just sick of all this.” Nick replied. “I’m sick of people who just pretend to be special. I’m sick of people who think that they’re great because they’re rich, or because they’re adults, or because they’re thugs, and they expect everyone else to revel in their glory. People just love themselves so much. They never love anyone else, just their own, plain selves.” Nick said, wiping his nose on his sleeve. Marco grimaced. He was disturbed not only by the act but he was also disturbed at how well Nick knew him. And he realized that this was what had intimidated him in the first place. Nick had known everything about him and his ego and his hopes and dreams long before Marco had ever entered his life.
“So you’re sick of people like me?” Marco asked. He felt self-conscious as he asked.
“Well, you did just try and rob me blind and threatened to kill me if I didn’t give you my electronics and money. I’m sorry, but it looks like our relationship had it coming.” Nick replied harshly. Marcus laughed openly.
“How can someone so sad be so funny?” Marco exclaimed. Nick looked at him.
“Are you humoring me?” Nick asked with a strange, suspicious look on his face. Marco looked away.
“No, I just wanna know what someone so brave, smart and funny has to be sad about.” Marco said as he returned Nick’s glance.
“Who the hell are you?” Nick shot back after a brief pause. “You’re just like the rest. On the surface people would think you’re the anti-society, or that everything about you destroys the conventions. But they’re wrong. You’re a man, just like the rest, who thinks his job is the best and most perfect, and that no other job is worthy of a man’s time. In addition, you think no one can do it better. You’re a conceited, arrogant jerk like all the people you rob.” Nick shouted.
“That’s it.” Harvey said, flustered. “You snot-nosed punk. You realize that my man here is showing sympathy for your ass, and you spitting in his face is just making shit worse for you?” he shouted. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s like you want us to cap you and leave you in the street!” Nick was quiet as he stared at the ground.
“Go ahead, do it. What do I care?” Nick responded. “Just one less person crowding this shit hole of a planet.” he said, every trace of passion and angst stripped from his voice, leaving him with the low drone of defeat.
“There’s no way you can beat this kid, Harv, just give up.” Marco told him. “I guess you can’t steal from someone who values nothing.”
“On the other hand.” said Nick. “They’re the easiest to suspend your conscience for.”
“That’s just not true.” Marco said. “I can’t bring myself to steal from you. Not because I feel bad for you, but because, man, I just don’t care about all that stuff now. I feel like a five-year-old stealing from his little brother, with the conscience of a twenty-year-old. I don’t even even know if I can go on doing this, man. I mean, I wonder where I’m going on this path sometimes, you know? I live from one crime to the next, and I know it’ll just end in one crime: my homicide. I prepare for it, I live my life knowing that I’m gonna be killed.” Marco’s voice had become sullen and filled with long, deep breaths. “I can’t keep relying on crime to give me satisfaction, ‘cause most times, believe it or not, it doesn’t. Learn that when you get older. There ain’t nothing you can do that’ll give you satisfaction every day. Nothing.” Marco was hearing him say these things for the first time. He had never once put all of these feelings into one sentence before and it was certainly the first time he had told anyone.
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K*R*P
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