Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash
I glared up at the bottom of Josef’s shoe with a scornful grimace. The breeze was now swirling around me at a quicker and quicker pace, the dusty particles of fallen leaves forming a miniature whirlpool around me.
“Just do it!” muffled voices said; I could feel the vibrations of their feet stomping with exhilaration. I clenched my fists and curled up tightly into a ball. Josef arched his leg up high into the air, his other leg remaining firmly planted on the ground, and smashed his foot swiftly down on my cheek. Like a lone whip cracking at dawn, my cheek cracked, and everyone fell dead silent.
Tears streamed effortlessly from my eyes. I watched as those tears hit the ground and dispersed into small waves. I screamed so loudly everyone had to cover their ears. Their faces folded into a state of discomfort.
Josef waved his long, black hair out his eyes, the look on his face so horrendously unaffected by my agony. His blank expression crept into a wicked smile. He crouched down low by my side, reaching for the silver hamsa dangling from my hoodie, and said, “I think I’ll be taking this.”
“No!” I croaked. Trying to snatch it from me, my feeble hands latched on to his.
“Nooo...” he imitated in a sneering voice. I struggled to keep hold of it; slowly, it began slipping out of my grasp. Josef pointed his index finger at my cheek and inched it closer and closer.
“No, no, please,” I begged, trying uselessly to roll over onto my side. He pressed his index finger deep into my cheek, and I let out another cry. Then he spit on me, aiming for my face, but landing on my elbow. I immediately washed it off with the muddy water and soil beside me.
“I wouldn’t come around here anymore. Little jew boy.” He backed away to be greeted by his friends with laughter and high fives.
“Wait!” I heard someone shout. A kid stepped forward from the pack. I remember thinking that the odds of this were one in a million. “You just beat the shit out of him. He’s just a little kid.”
Josef slid casually up to him. Possessing a nauseating grin on his face, he asked, “What are you going to do about it?” The kid gave him a double-handed shove to the chest, and Josef fell flat on his back, making a sharp splash in the mud. I pressed the palm of my hand very gently up against the side of my cheek.
“You’re dead!” Josef shouted, rising to his feet. His fists tightened, the skin on his forearms turning white and pale. Josef was skinny and energetic, like a chihuahua, but that didn’t necessarily make him a good match against someone his own age. Josef’s eyes flared with fury, but coming to the same realization as I did, he dropped his head and exhaled a long, commanding breath. “Let’s go, boys,” he said, and his group of followers obliged.
As they scattered off into the distance, the kid and I remained. He stood still for a moment, watching them as they ran down the block. He then turned his attention toward me and started walking in my direction. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect, what could he possibly want?
I could see him perfectly now. He was pretty tall, probably in the sixth grade, about three grades higher than I was. He had dirty brown hair, short and buzzed like he was in the military. He also had big, meaty hands and hairy arms. We exchanged a long look at each other. “Your friends went that way,” I managed to wheeze, pointing aimlessly down the block. He didn’t respond.
I lifted myself to my feet. While doing so, the kid offered me his hand in assistance, but I backed away in my upset. I glared at him from his eyes to his hand and then back to eyes again.
I made a shooing gesture, but it was apparent he had no clue what I was doing. “Do you have a problem?” Again he didn’t respond. “I’m going home now. If that’s alright with you.” I began walking away, but my joints immediately cramped up. Mixed with the restless wind brushing against my cheek, I felt like vomiting.
He shouted, “Do you need some ice?!”
I twisted my head over my shoulder and gave him a brisk, polite wave, then kept walking.
A couple of minutes later, I saw him barreling down the street toward me. I stood stiff like a deer caught in the headlights. He stopped abruptly in front of me and bent over to catch his breath. I put my hand in front of him to signal that I wasn’t interested. “Look,” he panted, reaching into the sleeve of his jacket, “I brought you ice!” He dangled it in front of me like he had caught his first fish.
“Thank you?” I said, taking the ice from him. I lifted it to my cheek and delicately rested it there. The chill of the ice on my face felt unexpectedly satisfying. He stood peacefully still, waiting like a servant to see if I approved of his gift. I did not.
“Get away from me, you fucking nazi!” I screamed. His face turned melancholy, and he backed away from me. “Now, go!”
Just as he turned away from me to run home, I felt a fizzle in my cheek, then a little pop. My entire body jolted. I plopped myself onto the curbside and began taking anxious inhales and exhales. He sat next to me as I rested in tremendous pain. I felt another fizzle in my cheek and then a pop. I wanted to bury my head in my hoodie, but I physically wasn’t able to.
He stared solicitously at me. I hadn’t even noticed him place his hand on my back. He began to pat gently. “Will you hold my hand?” I whispered, trembling as I stretched my arm out to him. He gave his hand to me, and I gripped it tightly as more tiny pops began to blow up in my cheek like hand grenades. “Thank you.”
We walked together back to my house, not saying much. When we reached my front door, we turned to each other, wondering how to end our short-lived friendship.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you later,” I said. Looking at his expression, I could have guessed his mind was a blank slate.
“Goodbye,” he replied, then turned and walked away before I got a chance to say anything else. As I stood in the safety of my front porch, one hand still resting on the side of my cheek with the ice, the other on the doorknob, I wondered what had compelled him to treat me with such kindness. Had he a lapse in judgment to betray the only friends he had? I wish more people cared as much as he did.
Ervin Brown is 18 years old and studying at the University of California at Riverside in the creative writing program. He was born and raised by the Coney Island boardwalk and loves the ocean.
