My friend Big Mac and I took a different route home from Webber Junior High and for a few moments I thought it would be a fatal move.
We walked down Ivanhoe Street toward his home when some dude with a pistol motioned for us to join him on his front porch.
“Do you two N-words want to get shot today,” he asked waving the gun toward us.
That was an easy question to answer but the words got stuck in my mouth.
“No,” I finally said quietly.
I can’t tell you how scared this seventh grader was. Fear gripped me like a giant cobra and sucked the air out of me.
I don’t know why he randomly singled us out. I’d never seen this dude before and never saw him again. I assumed he was an upper class man in high school, but I am not sure of that.
This was a power play and later I realized he had no intention of putting a bullet in our heads. He said he didn’t want us walking past his property again, something he did not have to worry about happening again.
For three or four minutes my future sat in the chamber of a cheap gun and in the hands of an idiot. I didn’t like my chances.
“I’m in a good mood today,” he said. “You two N-words take your bitch asses home.”
Those were the best words I’d heard since Alabama Kathy said she’d make out with me on Belle Isle.
We turned and headed down Ivanhoe to the safety of home. I’m sure he’d forgotten about us but I could feel that gun trained on my head every step I took.
What if he shot?
Who replaces me on the Bad Boys 30 for 30? Is it the Valenti and Parker Show or the Valenti and Riger Show for 13 years?
Who does Debbie June Coleman go to prom with and who breaks the Calvin Johnson retirement story? There is no Celine Margaret Foster or Little B. You are not reading this blog.
Thank God he did not shoot.
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