Ghetto Cowboy (3 page)

I peek inside the hole, but it’s dark ’cause all the windows is boarded up. But man, it
really
smells like animal in there. Suddenly, something big moves in the dark, and I jump back.

“That’s Lightning,” says Harper.

My eyes adjust to a pair of dark eyes staring back at me.

It’s a
horse.
He got a horse
in
the house.

No wonder Mama left him.

“Just temporary accommodations until I fix his stall. One of the stable walls kinda fell in last month. Lucky for me, next door’s been boarded up for a while. Won’t nobody mind if I’m using it.”

Now I seen everything,
I think. Harper must see my eyes buggin’ out, ’cause he smirks and says, “Welcome to Philly, boy.”

That feels like a dare, like he thinks I’m scared of that thing. That horse is
big,
bigger than any living thing I ever seen, but I ain’t gonna let no horse show me up.

I drop my bags and take a step closer. The air is thick and musty. My eyes get used to the dark, and I can see there’s hay on the floor and a bucket of water near the wall. Lightning’s staring at me with one big eye, his nostrils sniffing at me. His hoofs clomp on the floorboards.

I take another step, but the horse suddenly neighs and stomps his foot in front of me. I stumble back into the room and right into Harper.

Harper shakes his head like I just proved him right. “He don’t like strangers. He’s just used to living with me. You’ll have to earn his trust.”

I scowl. “Earn his trust? He just a horse!”

“And you just a boy,” he says.

He gives me a long look. “Take your stuff upstairs. There’s a space I cleared for you. Get settled, then come find me.”

Then he walks out the door again, leaving me all alone with that monster.

“I ain’t no boy,” I say, but I go upstairs anyway, only ’cause I think horses can’t climb steps. But up there ain’t no better. These houses is tall and skinny — only one room wide. But that’s just it, there’s one room —
his
room, which got a bed, a bathroom, and a closet. I look in the closet and see he pulled stuff outta it and put a blanket on the floor.

Uh . . . 
no.

I ain’t no Harry Potter. And I ain’t living in no closet.

I got to think.

I look around for a phone, but there ain’t one that I can see. Don’t matter, I guess, since I can’t call Mama anyways on account of she ain’t home yet. And my friends ain’t got no car, so they can’t help me neither. Maybe they don’t even know that I’m gone, since most of ’em drift in and out depending on if they in juvie or not. One more gone ain’t gonna make a difference.

So I sit on the edge of the bed and bury my head in my hands.
What am I gonna do?
My head hurts, and my stomach aches. I just roll up on the bed and hope this is just some nasty dream that’s gonna go away.

But after a hour, nothing changes.

My eyes wander around the room, stopping at a picture on his dresser. It’s a young guy with a racehorse. It looks like Harper a long time ago. He at a racetrack next to a sign that says Philadelphia Park, standing in front of a horse with one of them fancy riders on top.

There’s another picture, him riding a horse through the streets next to some pimped-out Caddie.Man, who ever heard of horses in the ’hood?

Then I notice a small picture in the back. I stand up to take a closer look. It’s one of Mama, looking young and holding a baby. Is that me? I never seen this one. She standing in front of this house, I think. Only it looks a bit better than it do now.

A drop of water falls on the picture. I know it ain’t no leak. I miss Mama, even though we ain’t seen eye to eye lately . . . well, for a long time. But she was the only one who seemed to care about me when I was growing up. I never thought in a million years she’d turn on me. It’s not like I killed someone or ended up in prison or something. When I think that she just left me here with dumb ol’ black Clint Eastwood, I get mad all over again.

I
take off my Pistons shirt and put on a white T. I’m hungry and he didn’t even give me no food, so I guess I gotta fend for myself. But I’m looking through his fridge and there ain’t nothing in there — just beer, cheese, and a pizza that looks like it’s from last year.

I hope there’s a McDonald’s around here, ’cause I gots to eat! I’m about to head out when I remember, I ain’t got no money. Dag. Now what?

That’s when I see a envelope on the table with
Harper
written on it.

It’s Mama’s handwriting.

I open it. There’s a note inside and . . . money. Maybe two hundred dollars.

The note says:
This is all I got on me for now. Use it to feed Cole. I took care of him for twelve years. It’s now up to you to help him find his way.

I stare at that money for a good twenty minutes. That money could get me back home again. Back to where I belong. But the way she talk about me at the end of that note . . . it just makes me wanna crawl into a hole and die. Why should I go back if she don’t want me? Plus she would just yell at me for stealing this money . . . ’cept it’s not stealing, ’cause she said it was for taking care of me.

When I get depressed, I eat. So I pocket twenty bucks. I gotta get some food in me. Then I can figure out what I’m gonna do.

I step outside and look around. I see a buncha girls on the sidewalk jumping rope. They stop and stare at me, so I just stare right back. But just past them is the two guys who was making fun of me before, sittin’ on a stoop and jawin’ away. So I turn around and walk down the block the other way.

This neighborhood is just like ours in Detroit, only the buildings is older row houses made a brick. Some is closed up and vacant, covered in graffiti. Others got bars on the windows. I put on my mad-dog face so nobody will mess with me. I just gotta follow the rules of the street: Rule one: Keep your head down. Rule two: Always keep moving.

“Hey!” someone calls out from behind me.

I ignore ’em like I didn’t hear.

“Hey!” I hear footsteps coming up fast.

I think of running, but that’s rule three: Never run. I whip around and see the two guys looking at me. The tall one with cornrows is grinning.

“What?!” I yell.

He gives me a look that says,
Don’t be giving me attitude or I’ll give you a beatin’.
But I hold my ground.

“You know who I am?” he says.

I shake my head and look for a way out. His buddy, who’s big and stocky like a linebacker, just stares at me.

The tall guy takes a pretend swing at me, and I flinch. He laughs. “Tough guy from Motown. I’m your cousin Smush.”

“Smush? I don’t know no cousin Smush.”

He rolls his eyes. “On your daddy’s side. You’re Uncle Harp’s boy, right? That mean we related, cuz, which is good for you. Otherwise I’d have to have Snapper here put out a Chester Avenue welcome for ya. And you don’t want that.”

Snapper looks disappointed. He knocks me in the shoulder, but friendly-like. “Didn’t mean to give you a hard time in front of your moms.”

Smush giggles. “Oh, yes you did! Don’t lie.”

Snapper smiles a little and shrugs. “Your moms really just dumped you off and left you? That’s cold.”

Smush puts his arm around me. He tall, so my head’s just under his arm. “Listen, if you staying here, you gotta know the lay of the land. Where you off to? The stables?”

I give him a look. “Stables? I ain’t no ghetto cowboy.”

That cracks them up. “Oh, dang!” says Smush. “Did you hear that? Better not let your daddy hear you talking that way.”

“I don’t care. He ain’t my daddy. I never seen him before, and he don’t want me here, which is fine by me.”

I turn and start walking.

“Yo, cuz, wait up. You don’t wanna be going that way. You might get yourself shot.”

I stop. “I ain’t afraid.”

“Cuz, you don’t get it. Here on Chester Avenue, we in the safe zone, on account of the horses. The gangbangers leave this block alone, outta respect, ya know? Plus your daddy don’t put up with none of them! Believe me, I know.” He rubs his butt like it’s been kicked one too many times.

Snapper shakes his head. “Shorty, you go out there, a few blocks either way, it’s a war zone. You got to watch your back, know what I’m sayin’?”

Smush nods. “Yeah, you fresh meat around here, cuz, so you better go see your daddy. He at the stable over there.”

I look down the street and see a bunch of run-down garages across from a vacant lot with some homemade buildings and fences and stuff. There’s a few kids washing horses on the sidewalk.

“What kinda place is this?”

Smush and Snapper laugh. “You’ll get used to it. Horses always been here.”

“Whatever.” I don’t feel like going into a war zone, so I start walking to the stable.

I walk slowly past the kids washing the horses. They younger than me, maybe seven or eight. They all frontin’ and boastin’ about racing and stuff.

“I’ma be next to fly down the Speedway!” says the smallest one.

The oldest one laughs. “You gotta learn to ride first! You can’t even stay on Daisy!”

The middle one drops his hose in a bucket. “Harp say he gonna get me a Thoroughbred over at New Holland. Then I’m gonna leave you fools in the dirt!” They all laugh.

I try and joke with ’em. “Where I come from, kids wash cars.” They stop laughing and look at me.

The oldest one says, “You wanna help? Harp’ll let you ride if you help out with the horses.”

I wave ’em off. “Nah. I ain’t stayin’. And I ain’t ridin’ no dang horse. What you thinkin’ ridin’ a horse in the city? I already seen one get hit by a car, and I just got here.”

They look at each other like I don’t know what I’m talking about and just start yappin’ about racing horses again. I look up and see a whole row of sneakers hanging from the telephone wire overhead. That’s exactly how I feel: hung out to dry.

T
he stables is nothing more than a few garages and some vacant lots with old buildings that look like they made outta scrap. I peek inside one. It’s dark and smells all dank like horse. There’s banged-up plywood and hay on the floor, and the ceiling is covered in cobwebs so thick, it looks like nobody ever cleaned up there before. The stalls is small, with no windows, and the wood is old and warped, like it’s been there forever. There’s maybe ten horses inside, all poking their heads outta their cubbyholes, looking at me like
I’m
the one who shouldn’t be in the city. Why they need horses out here, anyhow? I don’t get it.

I hear some whistling outside and go around back to check it out. I spot a black horse running around all crazy inside a circular fence. A few guys and a bunch of kids hang off the fence whooping it up and making noise. They ain’t dressed like cowboys, just regular street clothes. One of the guys even dresses like them Muslim dudes, in a black robe and skullcap.

The horse is kicking and stomping at something. He looks wild, all black and rough, ready to do some damage. When I walk up to the fence, I see it’s Harper inside there, all alone with that crazy thing!

His white T is covered with dirt, his hair too. He just standing there in the ring watching that horse almost run him over every time it circles him. Man, I knew he was crazy. He gonna get himself killed for real. Then what’ll happen to me?