Ghetto Cowboy (17 page)

Man.

For most of my life, Mama was the only one who stood by me. The only one who raised me. The only one who tried. And what was I doin’? Skipping school and causing trouble and not pulling my own weight. I didn’t have her back or protect her from the bad that’s out there, ’cause I was just thinkin’ of myself the whole time.

I wasn’t living the Cowboy Way.

I feel my eyes get wet. Her eyes get all big like she’s reading my mind. Soon tears is coming down her face and I gotta do everything I can not to cry too.

She takes a step closer to me and puts her hand softly on my arm. “Maybe we can be there for each other again,” she whispers. “Like in the old days, remember? You and me. Then we both won’t feel helpless no more.”

I nod, feel my cheek is wet, and wipe it with my sleeve. Harp abandoned me, but he trying to do better. Now I see Mama trying too. “Mama.”

I fall into her arms. She holds me tight. We stand that way for the longest time.

After what seem like twenty minutes, she still silent like she don’t wanna ruin the moment. She wipes her tears and tries to smile. I try too.

“You like it here, huh?” she asks.

I nod. “I’m gettin’ used to it.”

She takes a deep breath. “Well . . . maybe we could come to some kind of arrangement. . . .”

“Like what?” I ask.

“Like maybe you can live with me in the school year, then come back here next summer. Maybe having a break will help us both.”

I look up at her, and I think about our place back home, the neighborhood I grew up in. I wonder if I’d fall back into my old ways or if the cowboy in me would keep me in line. I used to think there was no point in trying before, but now I can see things can change if you put your mind to it.

“You think I can still get into summer school?”

She takes my hand. “I already talked to your principal, and there’s a space for you. He knows we been dealing with some personal problems. He reminded me that we really have to commit to working on this together. That might mean you working with a tutor and checking in with a truancy officer. But if you finish summer school, then he’ll consider having you back without repeating. He’s willing to give you another chance.”

Just thinking about all that work makes me tired. But then I think about this past week and how all that hard work turned into something good.

She squeezes my hand. “I’m not saying it’ll be easy, Cole. You have to put in the work and be part of the solution, not the problem.” She takes my hand. “I’m just saying we should try again. Don’t you think we deserve a second chance?”

I nod. But just when I think this can’t get any weirder, Harper walks back in.

He sees us standing there, his eyes moving back and forth between us. He has this look on his face, relieved that she here and at the same time protective of me. It’s a weird feeling after feeling for so long that nobody wanted me. Now we all standing here, looking at each other, not sure what to do next.

And I think,
This is the first time my family been all together since I was born.

I
t’s a year later, and me and Harp is staring each other down. Boo and Lightning doing the same thing, even trying to nip each other.

“You’re not gonna hate me when I whup you, right?” Harp says.

I give him a look. “Old man, you been retired from this racetrack for almost a year. You don’t think I can take you?”

He laughs. “It
is
your first race. Even
I
lost my first race.”

I grin. “Don’t you know you talking to a playa now?”

He nods. “Just because you made it through the school year without repeating don’t mean you’re a player. Just means you listened to me and your mama and put in the work. That’s a start.”

I nod toward Jamaica Bob. “Bob says I’m gonna give you a run for your money. We been practicing behind your back when you was at work.”

“Yeah, I know. I also know Bob’s dreads been sucking out his brain cells.”

Big Dee breaks in. “Are you girls gonna gab all day or honor the Speedway with your presence?” He standing there with a red bandana in his hand, ready to get things started.

I shrug. “I just don’t want Harp to die from a heart attack when he see how fast Boo go now.”

The guys all bust up, Bob and Tex bumping fists. Nobody’s laying bets on this, ’cept what you call a gentleman’s bet, which means no cash. But that don’t keep Tex from yelling, “I got my money on the boy!”

Harper can’t believe it. “After all I done for him,” he says, laughing. “Looks like they glad to have you back for the summer, Train.”

I look over at the guys who is cheering me on, chanting, “Bring on the Train!”

Mama’s standing on the sidelines, looking worried. She got a smile on, but I know she thinks I’m gonna kill myself now that I’m startin’ to race. She didn’t want me racing, but that was part of the deal: summers with Harper, and that includes the Speedway. She wasn’t supposed to come back till August, but she’s already here a few weeks after she dropped me off, just to visit. Truth is, she misses me.

I wave at her, then I hear it: “Mama’s boy!” Smush and Snapper crack up. I don’t mind. It’s just good to be back with Boo.

“Ready?” shouts Dee.

Ready as I’m gonna be.

“Set?”

Nothing’s set. Harp’s still fighting for the land with the City, trying to get them to sell. He slowly wearing them down and working double shifts exercising horses back at Philadelphia Park to save money for a down payment.

“Go!”

Boo takes a step, then I yell in his ear, “Boo!”

He takes off, and I can barely hold on. The wind sails by me, making my eyes water. Boo’s running like he don’t have a care in the world, like this is what he was made for. But I hear hoofs coming up fast behind us.

I don’t know what’s going to happen with me or Boo, but right now, the sun is shining and the wind is blowing away all my troubles. I look at the ground speeding by and think this is what it feels like to fly.

The stables is still alive for now, and so am I.

I’m barely holding on, but I’m holding on.

I see the finish line ahead, and I’m moving toward it. And that’s all that matters.

Though this story is fiction, it’s inspired by the real-life urban black horsemen of North Philadelphia and the Brooklyn-Queens area. The picture here is from the
Life
magazine article that made me sit up and take notice, and led me to look deeper into this unique world.

The New York guys run the Federation of Black Cowboys, while the folks on Fletcher Street in Philly continue their battles against the City. Both use horses to keep young men off the streets. Both fight to maintain a tradition that has gone on for generations. But they’re doing it their way, the Cowboy Way. More power to ’em.

To find out more about them, and to see videos and articles on these places, visit gregneri.com/cowboy.html.

Photo by Martha Camarillo / Time & Life Pictures / Getty Images

This is one of those books that I tinkered with for years before figuring out how to truly crack it. But I couldn’t have done it without the following folks, so thanks to:

Doug Ertman, who sent me a
Life
magazine article about the Philly crew many years ago and said, “Here’s your next book.” I didn’t believe him at the time, but what do I know?

My critique groups, who helped turn me into the writer I am, for reading my many different attempts over the years and quietly steering me in the right direction.

Jennifer Fox, my editor on
Chess Rumble
and
Yummy,
for her kindness and gracious support on this project.

Gail Ruffu, cousin and one of the unheralded advocates for horse rights in the racing world, for reading an early draft to make sure it would pass muster with people who know a thing or two about horses.

Martha Camarillo, whose amazing photography book
Fletcher Street
captures the real spirit of that community and confirmed for me there was a great story to be told here for teens.

The countless writers and videographers who have highlighted the black urban cowboy experience all over the U.S., and groups like the Federation of Black Cowboys for spreading the word by helping to get kids into horses instead of guns.

Ellis and the horsemen of Fletcher Street for really caring about these kids and the community. Long may you ride.

Michelle Shuman, tireless champion of the Fletcher Street guys, for her steady stream of e-mails, confirming rumors and thoughts, and for introducing me to Ellis and his posse down there while standing out in the cold rain as I asked questions.

Edward Necarsulmer IV, my main man. For his endless support and enthusiasm, and love of Dylan — thank you. I couldn’t ask for a better agent.

Jesse Joshua Watson, collaborator in books and old-school hustle. My posse wouldn’t be complete without him. Can’t wait to hit the trail again, bro.

Andrea Tompa, my editor, who really fought for this book and made me feel like a writer of worth. You deserve a gold star for this one.

And finally, thanks to my family, who make it possible for me to even be a writer. I couldn’t survive without them.

G. Neri
is the Coretta Scott King Honor–winning author of
Yummy: The Last Days of a Southside Shorty
and the winner of the 2010 IRA Lee Bennett Hopkins Promising Poet Award for
Chess Rumble,
which he created with Jesse Joshua Watson. About
Ghetto Cowboy,
he says, “As soon as I stumbled across the world of black inner-city horsemen in an article in
Life
magazine, I knew I wanted to set a story there. There are still incredibly rich and unique cultures in this country to be explored, and I hope
Ghetto Cowboy
opens some eyes to the issues of the inner city and why some traditions are worth fighting for.” G. Neri lives in Tampa, Florida, with his wife and daughter.