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The Stoop Society: Stoop

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The Stoop Society: Stoop
by Ringz on May 05 (Story) (edit) (bookmark) (print) (next)
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In Category: Young Adult.

The Stoop Society: Stoop
By: addie slebodnik

     I remember those lazy summer days. Of course, summer in New York was anything but lazy; especially in the suburbs of Manhattan. Those dog days where Bobby Joe Walker, Ray, Black ‘n Blue (affectionately known as Blue), Jim and myself sat on that tired stoop outside mama’s place. Times were simple then; we were just four rascally boys sitting on a stoop.  
       
      Oh! How mama used to rattle the windas when she caught us lounging around. “You no-good boys! Get off your rears and do something. We got’s room for boarders in here an’ ain’t no one gonna come in with a bunch of scraggly runts trafficking my stoop.” After she shooed us out (often with the broom) we would find ourselves an ice cream or sneak a   Krispy Kreme doughnut from Riley’s Bakery down the street.

       After we took our little five-finger discount we raced on down 5th, sped across Gardenwalk Drive and launch over the hedges that lined Larson’s Park. We’d give each other devious glances and sly smiles before we roared with laughter.

        Our pockets bulged with plump pastries and oozing cakes. Black ‘n Blue was always a spectacle when he ate a jelly doughnut. At the time he was about seven. He was short, scrawny and sported an unusually large head layered with golden locks that bobbed just below his ears. Hoisting the dripping doughnut high above his head, he’d clutch it between his ruddy fingers and squeeze the thick, blueberry juice between his pristine lips. Once Blue finished his prize and sucked the surviving crumbs from his sticky hands he would swipe the sleeve of his thin, white shirt across his mouth and nose; this was always followed by the inevitable, agonizing groan once he noticed the fresh, blue stain. He would get another whoopin’ tonight.

       We held few truths back then and those truths were soon worn away by the cynicism that age brings. We believed that things always tasted better when stolen, you never, ever squealed on your buddy, school was only good when you were being bad and last (but certainly not least) was all girls had cooties.
   
       Most of our truths were made the summer before when Sid an’ me snagged two ice cream cones from some snotty girls in our class. We thought they’d run off cryin’ - especially Nanci - but we were wrong. Mary, a tiny, fiery girl with a wild red mane and ice blue eyes jumped up from the street curb and buckled Sid right under his kneecaps. While I was tryin’ to help Sid up Nanci had snuck up on me an’ kicked me in the seat of my pants, sending me sailing headlong into the street.

“You dumb girl!” I shouted as I staggered up.
     
      Mary gave that sick smile of hers and snickered, “At least we didn’t get pushed around by a couple of girls.”

       Sid scrambled to his feet and gripped his knees, almost collapsing to the pavement again. Mary grabbed the melted cone off the ground and poured it gooey, melted sugar in his hair and down his back. Sid straightened up slowly and a look of confusion passed his face quickly followed by utter disgust as his hand smeared the glop around his neck. In one pulsing wave Sid plummeted at Mary and pulled her down by her hair. Nanci started to run; I mustered up all my anger and gripped her around her ankles. She toppled over as her ratty, pink skirt flew over her head.

   “Hey, lookie!” I pointed down at Nanci, “Sid look at Nanci’s underpants! You got such a fat arse Nanci!”

      Sid was still in the middle of his scrap with Mary; Mary’s nose was spilling blood, but from the looks of it she had inflicted some fierce gouges into Sid as well. In all honesty they were a pretty fair match. Unfortunately for me, Nanci had picked herself up and gave me another swift kick from behind. I swung around to deliver a blow (secretly hoping to give her a black eye) but once again she caught me first; she socked me right in the stomach. I doubled over - clutching my sides and gasping for breath. My eyes watered over from a burning that spread red across my face.

    “Lou!” Mrs. Salantino, a plump woman who ran an Italian restaurant we had been fighting in front of, “LOU! Get out here! Those girls won’t let these two boys alone!”

     The burning  on my face grew hotter as she yelled that crisp message down the street, through the windows and into the farthest corner of the kitchen where her husband, Lou, would be working. They pulled the girls off. Mary had blood caked to her chin (and more still dripping). Sid’s knees were all black and blue, his eye swollen and turning red. Mrs. Salantino wrapped her arm around my shoulders and helped me inside. I saw Nanci out of the corner of my eye. Nanci caught my glance and stuck her tongue out at me; I caught her step and tripped her down the stairs. Once Lou helped her up he gave me a bitter smack to the back of the head.

      Mrs. Salantino took the girls and cleaned them up while Mr. Salantino marched me an’ Sid to the herb house in the back yard. We sat quietly on the old counter top. Mr. Salantino heaved in a bucket of ice-cold, soapy infested water. He took no ease in cleaning our wounds with the scrubbing sponge. “ You boys shouldn’t be beatin’ up on those girls like that,” I winced as he dabbed my raw knees and the palm of my hands.

“ But Mr. Salantino, it was them that started it. They’s the ones who hit us,” Sid protested.

“ Now that don’t work an’ you know it. They mighta the first swing at ya, I’ll grant that. Aside from that I reckon you did summin’ to provoke ’em.” He cast Sid a sideways glance. I think I detected a sparkle in his eye, “I was young once ,too, you know.” Salantino grunted and began swabbing Sid’s cuts. Sid’s eyes welled when soapy blood seeped out of the rut in his right calf. For the following hour we kept quiet as Mr. Salantino lectured us on the proper way to treat girls. From that day on Sid and me decided girls were evil.

    The Salantino’s called our parents who came shortly after. Nanci’s mom (truly a colossal version of Nanci) was a boulder of a woman. She bolted through the restaurant doors - a purple blur, dressed in shades of purple from her floppy, wide-brimmed hat, to her cotton frock and polished high-heels, to the tiny hand purse she clutched between her plump fingers. “Oh dear,” she began sobbing as she laced her Nanci in her arms, “What did those filthy boys do to you?”

     Sid’s mom glared up from the table the rest of the parents had gathered around. “Are you trying to blame this all on my son?”

    Mrs. Sedos looked wide-eyed at Sid’s mother, “Well surely you wouldn’t pin a horrendous act like this o two innocent little girls.”

    Sid’s mom stood up. “I will place the blame where it is deserved. You daughter attacked my boy. Your daughter started it.”

    I think you’re forgetting whose child started the pestering. It was those hooligans that started pestering the girls. They brought it on themselves.”

  My mom stood up, I could tell she was mad by her stance. “Your daughter is the one who should be blamed. Sitting around on some curb stuffing her pudgy face. If you’re so concerned with your girls well-being why weren’t you with her.”

      Sid and me were listenin’ from behind the kitchen door. When the argument picked up heat we slide back out to the herb house and sat in silence.

“Hey Stoop….would you ever rat on me?”

     The night had just started to set in. The grass was cold and covered in evening dew. The grass itched at my ankles, but the brick herb house was still warm from the summer’s sun and was comforting to my sore body. “Naw, not never,” I gazed at the floating fireflies, “not in a million years.”

     Over the next couple weeks all the boys in mom’s boarding house were kept under close watch - especially me an’ Sid. Bobby Joe Walker was ten (the oldest in our gang followed by his buddy Jim). Bobby Joe an’ Jim were tough as nails an hard as moonshine. When Sid came back with his blue-banged knees and swollen black eye they began calling him Black n’ Blue - shortened to Blue later. It was weeks before they quit reminding us that we had been beaten up by a couple of girls. We vowed to stay away from girls at all costs that day.

   The end of August was rapidly approaching and Bobby Joe, Jim and Ray had regained their run of the streets. I took another swig of root beer and washed the last of the egg salad sandwich down my throat. Blue’s mom had drug him out of bed to buy new school clothes, he’d be gone most of the day. I figured I’d stay hunkered on my stoop till the rest of the gang got back.

  “Hey, you! Can I get a swig of that?” I didn’t need to look up to know it was Trike. Trike (formally known as Charlotte O’Riley) was a rough, rag-tag girl that would stop by and give us a bit of trouble every once in awhile - but she could pull pranks that the rest of us could only dream of - so we let her stay. She wasn’t like the other girls. She was bold, edgy, loyal an’ she wore a cabby hat and pants, not some girly dress.

  “Why ask when you’re goin’ at take a swig anyway?” I handed her what was left of the root beer to her. “Nice bike, by the way.”

   Trike came up and sat down beside me. The bike glimmered cherry-red in the sunlight, its spokes lazily revolving. “Yeah, dad ordered it for my birthday.”
   
  “How old you getting’ to be now,” I watched her gulp the last of my root beer.

  “Oh, round about twenty-two,” she laughed and tossed the empty bottle in the garbage.

  I rolled my eyes, “Seriously Trike.”

“If you must know I just turned nine.” Trike looked around the stoop, “Whaddya doin’ sittin’ here all alone?”

  “Figured I’d wait for the guys to get back and we’d go carousing later on.” Her eyes were so striking, piercing almost. It was odd I had never noticed it until now.
  “ You mean Jim an’ the other’s? They’re all down at dad’s bakery. Dad says if he catches Bobby Joe stealing one more pastry he’ll take a switch to him.”

  “Bobby Joe ain’t afraid of no switch,” I muttered, “’sides, your dad couldn’t catch him I he wanted to.” We both laughed at the thought of Trike’s dad waddling down the street after trim Jim and lean Bobby Joe followed by lanky Ray. “You wanna go see if Old Rich is home? He could maybe teach us a new card game or sumthin’.”

“Can’t today. Dad’s closing shop early to go order new clothes for that new school he’s sendin’ me to.” She climbed onto her bike and looked me over a moment.

       I hated thinking about the coming school year. Trike was nine now and her dad was sendin’ her off to a new school. An all girls school.
I didn’t get to see her much during the school day, neither did Sid or Ray cus we were all in the same grade. Trike was a year ahead of us, like Jim and Bobby Joe (Bobby Joe would ha been 2 years if he hadn’t failed the 3rd grade). They always slinked around the playground, picking on the younger ones and pulling some kinda prank around the school. Even though I didn’t see her much I felt like a link of our chain was beginning to break.

       Like always, the school year seemed to take longer than it truly was. Some days flew while others lingered (there were some that I swore I could feel my hair grow longer) and, like always, we lived through them all. Days filled with ice skates and hockey pucks, back alley baseball and frequent trips to Riley’s Bakery. I remember seeing a lot less of Bobby Joe and Jim that winter and even less of them as the days grew warmer and longer. Bobby Joe got a job hawking papers on the corner and Jim made buddies with the boys on his football team. When we could all meet on the stoop, though, it was like a day had never passed since the summer before.

       Summer rolled its belly up on June 7th that year. Blue, Ray an’ me went a lot of time on Old Rich’s porch that summer. He taught us card games and poker tricks; usually accompanied by on of his reknowed daily antic dotes.

        It was early July and we were all at Larson’s Park eating doughnuts - like old times. Jim was talking ‘bout the latest football game an’ how he was nearly killed, but with his miraculous stamina a quick wits he was saved. Bobby Joe had become the tycoon out of the gang, always talkin ‘bout his dreams to run a business of his own someday. Ray, Blue an’ me kept to our cards.

“Hey,” Jim nudged Bobby Joe, “ it’s Charlotte”.

I snapped up from my hand and darted my eyes across the hedges. Sure enough, standing under a silver maple tree was Trike. She was babbling away with three other girls, her cherry-red bike propped against the tree.

“That ain’t no girl, you half-wit, that’s just Trike.” Ray commented as he snatched up his winning’s and Blue shuffled up the cards.

“Damn good-looking girl if you ask me.” Jim gave a wink and nudged Bobby Joe with his elbow. “You’re a lucky guy Bob.”

  “Whaddya talkin’ about.” I shot.

“Didn’t ya know?” Jim lit up part of a cigarette he found twisted in the ground, “Bob here’s been datin’ Miss Riley for quite some time now.”

“Bob! You promised!” I felt a sense of hopelessness swarm around me. “You were on our side! Don’t you remember what happened to me an’ Blue last summer?” Although, deep down, I was pretty sure there was more too it than what happened last summer.

        Bobby Joe sat and smiled, “I’ll leave you an’ Blue to work out that issue on you own.” He picked up his shirt, “ I got a date to get to.” On that note he jumped up and coolly made his way over to Trike. He gave her a yellow carnation and then kissed her. Right on the lips.

  “She’s wearing a dress,” I stares at her, almost hypnotized.

  “Duh, Stoop. Most girls do. God, how thick are you?” Jim inhaled the last of his cigarette and snuffed it into the ground. “It makes it easier for us to get a peek at those lovely legs.”

  Jim got up and slipped on his jacket. “Well guys, I’ll see you back out the house this evening’, me an’ James are goin’ down to the docks for a bit.” I watched Jim saunter the rest of the way through the park and out across Greenwalk before he disappeared into the mass of people.

   Later that evening  I sat alone on the old stoop. I could hear the boarders preparing for dinner. Bobby Joe had invited Trike over for dinner. I watched as she drifted by; her scent clung to the air. She seemed different now. Just like Bobby Joe and Jim. Even Ray was starting to change, but I knew better. I knew that somewhere up those silky, long legs and in between the waves of auburn hair, the same Trike was there. She was somewhere under those cheap dresses and striking, green eyes.

    Sitting around the table that night….she stole my root beer.
Author's Questions/Comments
This is the first of several short stories I am creating. I want to practice the art of the short story, because I have trouble with keeping things direct & I believe this will help.
I have created (for now) a gang of friends - Stoop, Bobby Joe Walker, Jim, Ray, and Sid/Blue and Trike. I hope to be able to follow them throughout their journey and let you see all of them from different perspectives. I want to let the reader become aquainted with each character and become part of this close-knit society. Affectionately termed the "The Stoop Society".
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