Fifteen year old Spencer Robertson looked into the
eyes of his new niece, the daughter of his younger sister, Davea. She had been
seduced by a smooth talking wanna-be gangster, ten years her senior. His name
was Jobiah, and was easily identifiable by his crooked smile and clover shaped
birthmark on his cheek. Everyone knew he was bad news, but Davea was just young
enough to be lured in by his bullshit. He had charmed her with cheap booze and
cigarettes, making her feel oh-so grown up, then took her virginity and breezed
off in the middle of the night, leaving behind two unpleasant surprises. A baby
and the HIV virus.
By the time the child was born, Davea
was wracked with full blown AIDS. Nowadays she was covered in lesions and
barely able to make it to the bathroom, while Jobiah didn’t even feel sick. Their
child, mercifully, had been unaffected.
The baby’s eyes looked up at Spencer
with an almost alien quality. She couldn’t understand this thing before her and
her irises ran over every curve and crevice on Spencer’s face. She was neither
happy nor sad, just passive.
For a second Spencer saw in her a
being that would hopefully live past him, that would experience life in a way he
could never conceive of. Then the moment passed and she reverted back into the
creature that he had to occasionally shove food into and, ugh, change her
diaper- the worst job of all. The stench of baby shit made him puke each time
without fail. He made a vow after each episode that it would be a long time
before he had kids, and that he would get his woman to change do the changing.
Of course it would be a long time! He
had a life to live, places to go, Crystal to drink, things to have- gold chains,
fat rims, a six pack of cars- and all the hot chicks, like you see in the
movies, to fuck. He knew he’d get it eventually. He’d seen it happen over and
over again on TV. Till then he’d just chill.
As for girls, well, his current
girlfriend, Ranisha, was all right. A fat booty. A near flat stomach. But he
didn’t like that gap in her teeth and her nose was too wide, plus she got ashy
way too easily. She was hot, but not supermodel hot. He’d keep her around for
now, but when other boys were around he pretended like he wasn’t with her.
Spencer picked up his backpack and
went outside for the bus to take him to school. On the bus he saw Ranisha, but
there was no room next to her. He wasn’t unhappy about that because didn’t feel
like talking to her anyway, but he gave her a nod as he pushed his way to the
middle and sat next to his friend Randle.
Randle was excited about a Youtube
video he had seen, where a man gets hit with a car, and played it for Spencer
on his smart phone. In it there was an audible crack when the car smacks the
man’s leg. The man flips over the hood and must have hit the pavement extremely
hard for his head exploded all over the street, looking like a very chunky pool
of salsa. Randle loved pictures of death and gore, pulling them in from every
sleazy site on the net.
“Look at that shit! Look at that
shit!” Randle kept saying.
This wasn’t Spencer’s thing. He could
blow away 1,000 aliens a night without blinking, but Randle always took things
too far. Still he was a buddy and they looked out for each other, so he put up
Randle’s crap. No matter how queasy it made him.
Spencer’s phone buzzed. A text from
Ranisha. I got to tell you something.
He wanted to ignore it and watch some more Youtube, but then she would be
complaining to him the rest of the day. So he typed back, Later at lunch. He was too tired right then to deal with whatever
she was going on about.
Spencer had been up all night playing
video games and drinking generic cola. Both his parents had to work and, as
they couldn’t afford any real care for their daughter, they spent most of their
free time making her comfortable. This left no time to handle Spencer apart
from yelling an order at him from another room. So his bedtime tended to be
whenever he passed out. This made for a lot of groggy mornings.
He slept through most of homeroom,
the morning announcements filtering in and out of his dreams. First period was
English for which he had to prop his head up, because the teacher Mr. Thies, an
old teacher, was uncool like that. Not like the other who let you do what you
wanted as long as you were quiet.
The first part of the period was
writing down some boring vocab words for next week’s test. They’d been doing
this all year and Spencer couldn’t remember a single word from a past test.
He’d just look at the list a few seconds before class started and regurgitate back
whatever stuck to his brain. Then he’d forget it completely. It was just
another thing to get through.
His hand slipped into automatic
writing, while his mind wandered onto important things. What was he going to do
after school today? What TV shows were on? Did he have enough money to buy some
Doritos and a two liter of soda- or would he have to settle for a one liter?
Would he be able to sneak Ranisha over during the hour and a half between when
his father came home from work and his mother left? How long would it take to
get her pants off again? Just enough time probably.
“Are you paying attention to me, Mr.
Robertson?”
Spencer snapped up.
“Oh yeah, Mr. Thies.”
“Good.” Mr. Thies sat on the corner
of his desk, trying unsuccessfully to look informal. “Now I want to talk to you
all about your future…”
Spencer groaned. Here we go again.
Another lecture on responsibility, planning for the future, and all that crap.
There was one teacher every year that would bang on about it. Usually it was
some young bright-eyed female, straight out of college, who tried to “inspire”
all of them like some teacher out of a movie. Spencer hated this type because
they always talked down to him, like he and his parents were too dumb to know
any better. He always ignored them.
They never lasted long anyway. It
took the new ones about a year, sometimes only a few months, to be ground down
to reality. But the schools Spencer went to ran through teachers like toilet
paper, so there was always a new one popping up. Veterans like Mr. Thies should
know better.
By now Spencer had heard these
lectures so many times that the words just slid through his brain. They became
background static while he watched the second hand of the classroom clock tic
away to freedom.
Mr. Thies’s perpetually sagging lips
stopped moving and Spencer realized that a question had been asked, possibly to
him.
“What?” He said sleepily.
“I was just asking Randle here what
his plans were after he leaves school.”
“I’m a go home.”
Randle grinned. Acting the fool to
confound the teacher was an old game of his, one he played well. Undaunted Mr.
Thies continued.
“I mean when you graduate. What are
you going to do?”
“Man like I’m be a rap star.” He
flashed a gang sign. “I’m be big and have diamonds and Ferraris and shit.”
“And if that doesn’t work out?”
“I guess… I’ll shoot hoops down at
the playground until the NBA gives me a contract.”
Now Randle was dead serious.
“I don’t think too many talent scouts
hang out at the playground Randle.”
“Man you ain’t seen me! I’m really
good. There was this one time when these niggas came up on me and…”
“Don’t you think you should set your
sights a little higher?”
“Ain’t nothing higher. They make
bank!”
Mr. Thies went around the room asking
everyone. The answers were about standard. Football player, basketball player,
rap star, movie star, NASCAR driver. One boy wanted to “like make video games
and shit.” Aim big! There were a few other choices. Nurse, mechanic, carpenter,
pest control specialist, but they were the minority. A number of the girls
wanted to be full time mommies, more than you would expect in this day and age.
There was barely any mention of college at all.
“What about you Spencer?”
“I dunno.”
On the way to the next class, Spencer
spotted Sgt. Dunree in the halls. Sgt. Dunree ran the school’s JROTC program
and was friendly with everyone, though Spencer had hear he could be a real jerk
when the JROTC were out on the parade ground. Dunree always stuck out because
of his army uniform which he wore every day without fail. He looked good in it,
smart, sophisticated. The uniform commanded respect. Spencer liked that.
Dunree was talking to a couple of
seniors about them enlisting in the army after graduation. He gave them a
couple of brochures and added,
“Well think about it.”
The bell was about to ring so the
boys had to move on. Dunree had an extra brochure in his hand, when Spencer
caught his eye. Dunree didn’t know who he was. Spencer didn’t join JROTC or
anything that required him to spend more time at school. But he slapped the
paper into Spencer’s hand anyway and clapped him friendly on the shoulder.
“Here you go chief,” he said, “This
could be your future.”
Spencer looked over the leaflet in his
Math class when he should have been learning the FOIL system. It was glossy,
bright. A strong jawed soldier was on the cover, full uniform, weapons locked,
staring off proudly at a distant horizon. It looked good to him. His eyes
picked up the key words around the photo. Army
of One, dignity, honor, travel, great benefits. All that was great, but it
was the images that attracted Spencer the most. They were nice and clean and he
could see himself in them- fixing a jeep, or calling in reinforcements, or blowing
up a bunker filled with terrorists, or holding a hill against an enemy advance.
Maybe this was for him! It was
something to think about. To be tucked away and brought out at the end of his
time here. After all graduation as years away. Practically all the time in the
world.
Spencer missed most of his lunch
period, so he didn’t get a chance to see Ranisha. The vice principal had called
him into his office to ask Spencer questions about his sister. How was she?
Would she be returning to school? If the teachers sent work home would she be
able to complete it and send it back? That way she could still graduate. The
vice principal tried to display interest and compassion, but it was obvious to
Spencer that he didn’t really care. What he was really interested in was the
school’s statistics. Spencer had come across the problems in this school, while
online while online trying to find out if Mr. Ethel, the librarian, had been in
a porno, like the rumors insisted. If his siter died before graduating it would
be counted by the state as a dropout in the school. Another black mark against
a school that was constantly teetering between “average” and “below average”
ratings.
After assuring the vice principal
that he’d have his mother call the school, a promise he’d forget five minutes
later, Spencer went to the cafeteria just in time to scoop up the last slice of
cardboard pizza. While shoveling it down his throat, he looked around but
couldn’t see Ranisha. In a school of 1200 students and only three periods for
lunch, the noon meal was a big operation, even with a quarter of the students
routinely absent each day. The bell rang and he quickly swallowed the last of
the crust and trundled off to sleep through his Social Studies class.
Where we u???
Was the text he got from Ranisha later during Chemistry class. Got called 2 office. He sent back. There
was a 10 minute pause, then she sent. I’ll
come by ur crib ltr.
He smirked. This upped his odds for
sex today, oh yeah. Spencer leaned back that wonderful tense joy of anticipation
spreading all over him. The day drifted on and Spencer spent most of it in
hibernation. He took notes when required, but didn’t think about them. It
wasn’t until the day was over that he felt alive. When the final bell rang, he
nearly jumped for joy, but that wouldn’t look cool.
On the bus he found a seat in front
of Ranisha and turned back, winking at her. She looked at him defiant, then looked
away. His stomach sank. Was she going to break up with him? How could she do
that? Wasn’t he good looking? Wasn’t he cool? Wasn’t he a good lover?
Who was it? Who was she gonna dump
him for? Reggie? That thick nigga was always hanging around her, tryin’ to get
in there. Reggie talked big, thinking he was so hard. Spencer was gonna bust
that motherfucker up the next day in school. He pounded his fist.
At the journey’s end, Spencer was
choking back the anger. His brain had clouded over and a red mist spat evil
thoughts all through it. He didn’t say a word to her all the way back to the house.
At the door, Ranisha stopped him.
“I gotta tell you…”
“What?
What you gotta say?”
She clammed up immediately. Her gaze
turned downward, fuming. His guts churned. She definitely wasn’t in the mood
for love. He unlocked the door and entered, not looking behind to see if she
followed him in. He went into the kitchen and got himself a glass of water, the
only beverage in the house. He didn’t think to get her any, she knew where it
was.
Spencer found Ranisha sitting on the
couch. He slouched against the doorframe and sipped his drink disdainfully.
When it became apparent that she wasn’t going to start talking, he yelled.
“If you just gonna sit there all day
then you can get out. If you got something to say, hurry up!”
She looked up at him tear filled, her
lips trembling.
“I’m pregnant.”
A bald prostitute beats her pimp
unconscious with a stiletto shoe. That’s what were given in the opening of The Naked Kiss. When we thing of old films
we naturally have an idea of a sepia toned wholesomeness or watered down action
where a person didn’t bleed after being shot. The bad guys are always bad, the
good guys are dove like icons, and never never
a hint of sexuality or “gasp” fornication. This film smacks that idea in the
nuts 
