Boys of the Jungle

BANG!

The trunk door slammed closed on his mom’s Honda Civic. The beige car with its rusted wheel wells, and terrible power steering was the only car his mother had ever owned, but this was the fifth home they’d moved into — at least of those that he was old enough to remember. In his hands was the last of the cardboard boxes that held their things. In this particular box was the last of his own belongings: Comics he no longer read, a martial arts uniform for a studio he could no longer attend, old socks. None of these things were particularly heavy for the fourteen-year-old, and yet he found himself struggling to carry the box up the front stairs of the apartment complex.

Kenny thought he’d be used to this by now, and yet this new city felt so foreign. He’d lived in the Midwest all his life, so cities themselves weren’t anything new. This one felt more like a broken machine, than a city. On the drive over he noticed all the city blocks were crammed together in tight rows meant to be efficient, but who just lent themselves to congestive traffic and crowds. All the buildings were lackluster, made from dull red and yellow bricks, and built for quantity over quality. Before the move he checked over the city maps and they held no patches of green, no city parks or playgrounds for the children to frolic in. Now in front of the complex, he noticed that the city had at least made an effort to plant trees along the sidewalks of the city blocks. They were boxed off in orderly square patches of soil, but even they drooped downward with depression.

When he did manage to climb the final steps of the complex the front door swung open. He half expected it to be his mother coming down to inquire why he was taking so long, and if he had locked her car doors — of course he did, or at least he thought so. Instead, two boys emerged from the oversized door with its drab brownish coloring and gaudy golden ornaments.

The pair were opposites in a way. The boy who walked out first was short, and almost deceptively scrawny. If not for the thin layers of hair that were beginning to sprout from his upper lip Kenny would have mistaken him for a young child. The boy who followed behind him was freakishly tall, and wide. He was sculpted in a way that made it apparent his plumpness was a combination of genetics and far too many push-ups. The two boys had even dressed in contrast to one another: The shorter boy, summer ready in shorts and a tank top and the other a dark denim jacket with matching jeans. They were both dressed uniquely different to Kenny himself who was wearing just a simple t-shirt and faded blue jeans. The only thing shared between the three was their youth and blackness.

He shuffled by the boys while murmuring a quiet midwestern “‘cuse me.” They moved aside and as he passed he heard them murmuring amongst themselves, but he could only make out the words “new kid” before the door shut behind him.

This, again?

The thought crept on him as he balanced the cardboard box in one hand and used the other to prod at the elevator button. No light, no little ding, no response — like the previous five or so times he’d tried it. A childlike hope died in him, realizing he’d spend his days here running up and down three flights of stairs because the sole elevator in the building was broken, and no one seemed to care enough to have it fixed. So again, he made the trek up to their new apartment through the cramped stairwell with its cheap railing and ugly geometric patterned carpet that he was sure was older than his mother.

Apartment 3C was the third apartment on the third floor. Inside was his mother and all the other boxes they’d lugged up the stairs together. She was already engrossing herself with organizing the boxes by their contents and to which room they belonged. She didn’t even seem to notice him entering the apartment, and tossing the final box into his new room. The woman was in her early thirties, and while that was ancient to him, he knew the reality that she had given birth to him fairly young. It made sense she had all this energy, but he was tired, if not physically then at least emotionally.

The bedroom door that he shut behind him wasn’t his — not really. These off colored walls weren’t his, neither was the tiny bathroom that was little more than just a sink, toilet, and shower, nor the tacky burgundy colored carpet that ran throughout every room in the apartment. All his things were in neatly labeled boxes scattered about the room — except his bed. The sturdy wooden frame, box spring, and mattress were truly his and he collapsed into them. He could have laid there forever, if not for his mother poking her head into the room only minutes after he found comfort.

“It’s cozy right?” she asked emphatically.

He looked up from his bedsheets and she was smiling. In the face of her genuine excitement he was powerless and could only force himself to be a proper son and smile back. They shared the same toothy smile. She also wore the same soft brown eyes, and wide nose, and not so similarly she wore a cheetah print headwrap scarf purchased from a beauty supply shop in the last town they’d lived in. The two only greatly differed in their features when it came to the lips. His were thick and inherited from a man they neither spoke of, or to much these days; her’s thin, and from his grandmother who he loved dearly.

“Yeah, I like it.” He lied.

“I’m glad! I thought you’d hate how small it is!”

He did.

She continued, “Apartment aside, this city really has potential for us, Kenny. My new job looks promising. I might even get a promotion if I do well. And your school is close enough for you to walk, and we could probably find you a dojo close by, and …”

“No thanks.” He interrupted, “I think I’m done with martial arts.”

“What? No. Why?” Her face cycled between confusion, disappointment, realization, and finally understanding. “You were so good at it, Kenny. You can’t let one accident deter you.”

“It’s not that. It’s just that kung fu is dumb.” He lied again.

“Alright.” She said in that soft tone that mothers only used when they didn’t want to argue. “Well, you wanna help me decorate the kitchen?” This time with more excitement.

“No.”

“The living room?” Still excited.

“No.”

“...Bathroom?” Noticeably annoyed.

“No.”

“Well, you’re not going to lay in bed all day while I do all the work. You can at least run to the store for me, we need a couple things. I’ll write up a list.” She finished in a huff.

And with that declared she was out the door. He could tell this was more of an order than a suggestion. Given their history he had about five minutes before she returned, and with an attitude so he rose from bed quickly. There was no point in delaying the inevitable with her. As expected, she was at the kitchen counter scribing her list. He could see her from his doorway. The apartment was small enough that only a narrow hallway separated his room from the living room which was attached to an open kitchen. The bathroom, a linen closet, and his mother’s room were the only other stops along the hallway. He glided down the corridor in less than ten steps.

“Don’t forget to bring back my change.” His mother reminded him as she handed off the list that she had written on the back of an opened envelope, and a twenty-dollar bill.

“Yes, I know Ma.” He replied while grabbing both and heading for the door. He was eager to leave the cramped cavern of an apartment. It was all he could think of while shoving the list and money deep into his jean pockets.

“Wait! Kendrick!” His mother called out, “Do you even know where the store is?”

He paused, realizing that he didn’t. New neighborhood, new corner store. No more Johnston’s on 52nd street.

“I thought so.” She continued, “It’s two blocks down. Pass York Street, then Delaware Avenue, and the store is right on the corner. It’s a straight shot.”

“Thanks, Ma.” He replied.

It was back out the door, ignoring the broken elevator, and down the ugly stairwell. He paused in the lobby just before the front door, wondering if those two boys were still outside. Hoped not. Something about being the “new kid” again made him hesitant to even want to interact with anyone remotely close to his own age.

Thankfully the boys were gone.

He peered down the block in both directions looking for a street sign that said York and found it to his left. He took a last look at the new apartment building, with its poorly painted yellow bricks, barred windows, and weird kid standing in the window? Kenny did a double take and the kid was still standing there staring at him from a first-floor window. The kid was an Asian boy with black hair trimmed to stop just before his eyes. There was a vacantness in the way he stared, and from behind the metal bars welded to the outside of the window he reminded Kenny of a prisoner. It took only a second before this entire interaction felt weird, and Kenny moved on down the street.

That now made three weird kids who lived in the building — four if he included himself.

The thought followed him past York Street, around the construction cones left at the intersection, over the freshly cemented sidewalk, under the leaves of the depressed trees, beyond Delaware Ave and its rows of apartment complexes that sat tightly adjacent to one another, and lost him just before he arrived at the corner store. The building was like everything else in this city, disappointing. He was used to Johnston’s bright blue and yellow paint job that identified the establishment. This place was the dull natural reddish tint of the bricks that it was built from. Above the doorway was an obscenely large banner that read “Cigarettes, Lotto, and Liquor.” That at least was the same no matter what city he lived in.

The bell rigged to the inside of the door jingled when he entered, and that too was familiar. He was met with watchful eyes from behind the bulletproof glass that separated him and the store clerk. This snatched away any remaining sense of familiarity. It felt odd not to receive a warm greeting, but perhaps he had grown too accustomed to being known by every employee at Johnston’s. On occasion Walter, or Pat would let him purchase his mother’s cigarettes though he was far too young to legally obtain them or let him off easy when he was short on his total. He shrugged the thoughts of the past away when the door’s bell sounded again and began on the list: soap, toilet tissue, paper plates, mom’s favorite candy bar, and a few other items. They were all easy enough to find even in the unfamiliar aisles.

Staff aside he found there wasn’t too much variation in the layout of most corner stores. The most tempting confections were closest to the register. The staples of childhood diets like chips and pastries were kept in the middle aisles. Toiletries and miscellaneous items (pet food, kitchenware, and canned goods) were near the rear. And the fridge doors where all the best sugary drinks were held was always furthest from the door. The store was similar enough.

While browsing the increasingly familiar aisles Kenny glanced back more than once to see the clerk still focused on him, or perhaps on the other boys who’d entered the store shortly after him; the group seemed to be trailing down the same aisles. He’d first heard them several aisles over, snickering, and cracking jokes amongst themselves. A moment later they were only an aisle away stealing glances at him between cereal boxes, and bags of chips. He felt hunted with how they were strategically moving down the same aisles now. The store was only six or seven aisles wide, so what were the odds they’d keep ending up in the exact same aisles. Eventually they’d leave right? He lingered in his current aisle a while longer, pretending to read packaging, and searching through products he wasn’t going to buy. There was no way he would ever buy something so vile as a coconut and chocolate candy bar.

Kenny looked up from the disgusting treat to see the boys were still there. Seemed like he was wrong in his assumption that they would just leave. He didn’t like the feeling that realization gave birth to. Fear wasn’t the correct word for what he felt approaching the boys. He wasn’t afraid of any of the three boys. He was anxious. Clearly, they wanted something and he just wanted to be left alone.

He offered a quiet “excuse me” in exchange for trying to shuffle by the boys. When none moved, he repeated it louder with more confidence.

A tall lanky boy in a holey blue tank top stepped aside while the other two leaned against the shelves on both sides.

“What street you from?” The tall lank asked.

Kenny didn’t answer. He just kept moving, even as a shorter but equally lanky kid extended his leg outward abruptly. There was a certain displeasure on the boy’s face as Kenny stepped over it with ease. If Kenny had gained nothing else from his martial arts training, he’d at least acquired good reflexes. The look worsened and spread to the other boys when Kenny shot back a look of his own. It was defiance. A face he wore proudly, and that had angered plenty of bullies before these three.

“Aight. We got you.” The tall one said, and the trio left the store snickering.

Kenny knew well enough what that meant. He was right to be anxious. Though for the moment, inside this store he was safe. He’d already grabbed all the items on the list, but he lingered in the aisleways hoping to delay what awaited outside. When he finally did approach the store clerk the man looked him over while he placed his items in the rotating pass through. Kenny in turn examined the man as well.

The clerk seemed to be at least Kenny’s mother’s age if not older. His skin was lighter than theirs, but Kenny couldn’t place where the skin tone might have originated. His beard was wooly and dark black. Despite only working in a corner store, he dressed well in a pinstripe shirt, and slacks. Adorning his right wrist was a slick watch that was no doubt real gold.

“You should not get involved with those boys. They are very bad. Very bad.” the clerk warned in an accent not quite native to America.

Kenny nodded, but said nothing as he gave the clerk the twenty. He wondered why the people who owned all the businesses in his neighborhoods never looked like himself. He never questioned their citizenship, or undermined their contribution to the community, but he was now realizing how rare it was that Johnston’s was black owned and employed. He doubted he would find a store like it in this city. Though in the end he knew these thoughts were just an attempt to distract himself from what trouble he knew was brewing outside.

He counted his change, thanked the man, and took the now bagged groceries. Maybe he was wrong and the boys had already lost interest and gone home. Several cautious steps out the door, and a searing pain in his cheek told him otherwise.

Being wrong seemed to be the pattern of the day.

One of the punks had snuck him, but the blow was shallow. He didn’t stumble or falter. Which one had hit him? Probably the third guy, a chubby kid with a flat nose who seemed like he wanted to prove himself to his friends after doing nothing provocative in the store. That’s all any of this really was, a show of bravado. He supposed that didn’t matter anymore since all three boys were standing in front of him and blocking his path home. He considered running back into the store, but what was the point; he couldn’t hide in there forever.

The grocery bag went up into the air, and over the boys’ heads. Kenny had tossed it, and immediately stanced up before it hit the ground. Deep breaths, legs spread wider than his shoulders, feet firmly planted, and arms at his side just as Sensei had instructed. Mabu stance. He could swiftly defend himself and shift to any other stance if needed from this position.

The tall lank must have taken his inaction as weakness, since he charged throwing a wild and wide right punch. Easy sauce. Patience and discipline won out as Kenny easily deflected the blow by grabbing the boy's wrist and flinging him backwards towards the store. A loud thud and grunt followed, telling Kenny the boy’s face had met with the wall. The other two must have thought it smarter to attack together, because they both came at him. Kenny saw opportunity, softened his stance, and ran at them in return. A split second before a collision of fists he pivoted and ducked past them both in the opening created in the tall lank’s absence. He scooped the bag and took off running for home.

The punks were dumb, not slow. He’d only run about half a block before he heard them on his heels. Delaware Avenue and its rows of apartment buildings hadn’t even been cleared yet. He was usually quicker than this, and instantly he knew the cause had been the grocery bag flapping in the wind. Though if it was between facing these goons and facing his mother’s wrath for leaving the groceries behind, he chose the former.

Another half block down, and he passed by the Delaware Avenue signpost. Another block and he was home free. Another step, and his hopes were dashed. A harsh tug from behind shredded the plastic bag, and scattered his items across the filthy ground: the soap bars near the steps of someone’s apartment complex, the paper plates nearly in the gutter, and the rest randomly strewn about the sidewalk.

Now he was pissed. He stanced up again facing the boys. Odds were he couldn’t beat all three of them — he didn’t care anymore.

The tall lank approached again, now sporting a reddening welt on his forehead. He of course wanted payback, despite his crew starting the whole ordeal. Classic gang mentality fallacy. The goon inched forward his dukes up in preparation to strike.

And POW!

And POW?

The blow erupted into the tall lank’s jaw, sending the punk stumbling backwards. Kenny hadn’t launched it though. The goons looked as shocked as Kenny felt when he glanced over to see the assailant standing beside him. This mystery kid was several inches taller than Kenny; he was at least a grade older. He wasn’t particularly muscular, nor did he look tough. He wore an old blue and yellow baseball jersey, the kind you’d buy in a second-hand store, and cargo shorts. For some reason goggles hung loosely from his neck, but what truly made him an oddity (besides his willingness to intervene in this random street brawl) was that he carried a burnished silver baseball bat strapped to his back. It was affixed to him the way you’d see a warrior in some B rated movie carrying their sword — proud and aware of its potential for violence. He seemed, at least to Kenny, like some sort of vibrant comic character come to life. The boy was smiling and that was somehow reassuring.

“You must be the new kid! Wait, do you know kung fu?! That’s so cool!” the mystery boy shouted, before launching himself at the opponents in front of them.

The entire thing was so bizarre that Kenny had almost forgotten that he was in a brawl until one of the boys swung on him again. Another easy deflection at the wrist, and BOOM an explosive counter to the face, and another, and another. Three punches in and Kenny was actually enjoying himself. The burning sensation lining his knuckles was worth delivering comeuppance to the punk.

The mystery kid seemed to be enjoying himself as well. He was still smiling even amidst a fury of blows from the two remaining punks. Kenny watched on as the kid ducked and weaved through the onslaught of hits. His form was undisciplined, but undoubtedly honed. Kenny could tell that much by how he rolled against the blows, lessening their impact. When the kid did swing back the recipient crumbled at the blow. To their credit the punks were resilient. They each took several before they finally gave up.

Kenny’s own opponent had only lasted three or four more blows after the initial three. The chubby boy had swung several more times, and each one Kenny ducked or swatted away. He couldn’t have taken all three punks by himself, but one he could deal with easily.

Eventually the tall lank and his crew ran off shouting obscenities and things about revenge. The mystery kid didn’t seem to pay it much attention; he was already picking up the scattered groceries. This was the first time Kenny had gotten a full look at his new brawling buddy. He was just another brown skinned black boy, but his low-cut curly hair was about the only thing normal about him. Still, it was good that neither he nor Kenny seemed to get too roughed up in the fight. Kenny swallowed his burning questions about the bat, and the boy’s other oddities for the moment and helped collect the items in silence.

The mystery kid spoke first and with excitement. “You were pretty quick out there. Bouncin around like a lil kung fu rabbit.”

“Yeah… uh… thanks?” Kenny replied. He was still confused on how to approach a conversation with the kid. The boy was friendly for someone who had just punched a random guy on the street.

“Where’d you learn all them moves? I had to learn all mine from old movies, but you look like a real pro with that Mabu stance, and those counters!” He said while mimicking Kenny’s motions during the fight and almost dropping the paper plates.

“From my old studio. Sensei always said I was one of his best students. Wait!” Kenny interrupted himself, “Who even are you, and why did you help me?” He paused, “Not that I don’t appreciate it.”

“Oh, you can call me Monkey. We live in the same apartment building. You live on Jungle Street, right?” He pointed down the block towards the apartment complex with his free hand.

“Your name is Monkey and we do?” Kenny questioned.

That made five weird kids that lived in the same apartment building.

“Yeah, Bear and Squirrel mentioned a new kid moving in. And Frog said he saw you walking this way. I figured something like this might happen. New kids are easy targets for the rival gangs.” the boy called Monkey explained.

Monkey? Bear? Frog? What was up with these weird animal names, and rival gangs? This kid’s answers just caused more questions, but it was comforting to have someone to walk back to the apartments with, and even better to have someone to carry half of the groceries. Kenny introduced himself, they talked kung fu and comic books and before he noticed they were back home. Monkey helped carry the groceries up the ugly stairwell, and up to apartment 3C.

Ma was still busy organizing so she again didn’t notice the apartment door opening and her son stepping into the initial hallway that bent itself into an L shape to connect all the rooms of the apartment. Monkey remained just outside the doorway. Kenny thought him some kind of vampire, not daring to come in unless invited. Though a “new friend” would be too much news for Ma anyway, so Kenny didn’t mind if he stayed outside.

“Thanks again, man. For helping with the fight and the groceries. You can drop’em right there, and I’ll just tell my mom the bag ripped.” Kenny said while placing his own half of the groceries on the carpet.

“Smart move, and no problem, kid. We have to look out for each other around here.” Monkey said these words while squatting to sit the groceries within the threshold of the apartment. He rose quickly and extended a friendly fist towards Kenny.

Kenny bumped it with his own, and for the first time all day he thought that maybe living here wouldn’t be that bad. His new friend took off down the hallway, but stopped at the door that led to the stairwell. He looked back and yelled words Kendrick Barlow would never forget.

“Oh, and welcome to the Jungle, Bunny Boy.”