A dedication to the bond between brothers…in their quest to be Kings of a vacant Crown

 “So what are you going to do?” Jose asked blowing the cloud of cigarette smoke in the air.

I pulled at the brim at my dusty Yankee fitted cap. I had it for almost two years. It’s been a while since moms and Will hooked me up with anything. Matter of fact, since I got my working papers last summer they haven’t given me much of anything. I was getting ready to start my second year of high school in Manhattan and the clothes I had on weren’t going to do it.

I spent freshman year wearing the same pair of shell top adidas for most of the year. I actually had two pairs. One pair was high top and white, but slowly turned gray by the time May rolled around. The second pair was all black with the white stripes, I got those late in the school year with the little bit of Christmas money I had gotten from Abuela. I had about three pairs of jeans, light blue, black and beige. I could only mix and match for so long.

My favorite outfit was the light blue jeans with my Patrick Ewing Knicks jersey. When the school year started, it was fresh. It was all white, the numbers fully intact. Nobody was wearing jerseys yet and I felt exclusive. But by the time summer came around, the numbers faded from being washed so much. The white turned grey, from being worn so much.

Something had to give.

“Well listen, you need to tell your brother if this is what you wanna do. Cuz I’m not giving you the work until I know he says its aight,” Jose said.

My brother was the head of the neighborhood crew. He was the one who came up with the crew name. He had a rep for being nice with his hands and quick with his mouth. He knew everybody on the block on a first name basis. No longer did he have the push back hair style. He had a brief growth spurt and lost a lot of weight. He grew his hair until moms really hated it. One day he came home with box braids and his hair hanging over his face. He used to be a good student but one day moms found his report card and he had failed all of his classes. He had over twenty absences and really didn’t care about school anymore. He was too old for a beating, too young to be put out into the streets. Moms just hoped and wished that he would do better. Abuela prayed to Jesus that he would save him.

“What the fuck you mean you wanna be on the block?” he asked while not even looking in my direction.

“Have you seen what I have in my closet?”

“That doesn’t mean shit little bro. You don’t need to be out there.”

“Why not?”

“‘Cuz I fucking said so. All I need is for your fat ass to get locked up or some other shit to happen and everybody’s going to blame me.”

“I’m not going to get locked up dickhead”

“How do you know that? Your fat ass can’t even run fast.”

“Why do I need to run?”

“See that’s how I know you don’t need to be out there. You have no clue so shut the fuck already about the shit.”

He grabbed a pair of army camo pants from the closet. My brother was very careful with his gear; the pants were already ironed the night before. He took out a black t-shirt and pulled it over his head. He laced up his low cut suede Timberland boots, shook his head to move the long braids from covering his face. Moms didn’t buy him anything he just put on. The timbs didn’t even come in a shoebox when he brought them home. Same as the pants. I didn’t know how they could be new with no boxes and nobody buying them for him. He had to be doing something. I just didn’t know what.

He looked in the mirror and saw me looking at him.

“No, I’m not going to do it,” he barked.

“You be fronting. That’s some real pussy shit bro!” I grabbed my walkman and jetted out of the room knowing he didn’t like to be called pussy and his hands were way better than mine. I slammed the door and put the Walkman in my pocket.

“Yo take that fucking Ewing jersey off already,” he yelled through the closed door.

I left the house and locked the door behind me. I walked into the elevator and looked at my reflection. I checked to see if my white t-shirt was clean. Moms said she washed it but it still had the yellow stains in the arm pit. Shit I thought. My jean shorts hung just below my knees. I pulled at the tongue of my hi-top adidas using my saliva to wipe off the scuff marks on the sole. I tugged at my faded Ewing jersey, trying to make it look good one more time.

I walked out the elevator and sat on the stoop. I dug into my pocket and pulled out my walkman. I had wrapped a rubberband around it to keep it from opening up. Sometimes the tapes would fall out if I wasn’t careful. To make it worse, the headphones were taped together. I broke them a couple of months ago fucking with some bitch down the block. She said she would pay me back but she never did. She actually stopped fucking with me not too long after. I saw one of the older dudes come through in his SC430 to pick her up from the block. Haven’t heard from her since.

I pressed play and the music blared through the cheap headphones. It rocked for ten minutes and then the sound went bad and I heard a crinkling sound. I pressed stop and I opened up the tape deck. All of the tape ribbon was stuck in the tape head and wheels of walkman.

“Shit, you motherfucker you ate my tape!” I yelled.

I gently pulled at the ribbon but it was too late. It popped. I yanked the cassette out of the walkman and tossed it across the street. It landed just behind my neighbor’s car, cracking and shattering into pieces. Bullshit I thought. I turned on the radio, sitting on the stoop for the rest of the day. I sat and watched the cars go by, missing the days of playing “that’s my car!” with my brother. Now when we played that game it meant something different. We were pointing at things we couldn’t ever touched. Cars passed by for hours and the warm sun eventually cooled. I listened to Hot 97 until the sound faded out. Batteries were dead. Time to go back upstairs.

I walked into the house and saw Moms in the kitchen.

“What’s for dinner?”

“White rice, beans and eggs,” she said, barely looking in my direction.

“Eggs again? We had it like twice this week.”

“Either you eat or you don’t.”

I looked into the fridge and didn’t find much. “I really don’t want that moms,” I said.

“Then you aint that hungry,” she snapped back leaving the kitchen.

Moms was already off food stamps by that time. She wasn’t working and sometimes I didn’t really know why. Will had been laid off from his factory job for the third time this year. He was waiting for the Summer shut down to be over so he can go back to work. He was collecting his little unemployment checks that he and moms always fought over.

Breakfast for dinner. Go figure.

It was already late by the time he came back upstairs. He had missed dinner. He missed our favorite late night show that we used to watch together. I sat in the living room trying to fix my walkman when I heard the jingle of keys at the door. He walked in and nodded his head at me.

“What’s up homie?” he asked with a smile.

“Ain’t nothing here. You just missed Arsenio Hall Show.”

“Yea I know but I had to get that work in you know. Who was on?”

“Yea I know,” I said, still trying to work on my walkman. “Black Sheep was on tonight. Shit was official. They did The Choice is Yours. Mista Lawnge was on the turntables and they had Dres jump over a fence looking like a fake Bronx. It was—

“Where’s moms? He interjected.

“She’s sleeping I think. Go check.”

He shook his head and sat back next to me. I could smell the air of the streets; the smokiness of the weed and the pissy scent of 40 ounce St. Ides. We both stared at Richard Bey talking to the crazy audience and guests on the stage.

“You think she knows?”

“Think she knows what?”

“All the shit that I do?”

“I don’t know what you do.”

“Yo stop playing b. You know what I do.”

“I really don’t know bro. All I really know is that you light up and drink but I don’t know…”

“It’s ok maybe it’s better that you don’t know shit. You don’t need none of that shit around you anyway.”

“But what if I want to get down with ya?”

“Get down and do what? You just said you don’t know what I do so why you asking?”

I put my head down and started fidgeting with the rubber bands around my wrist. I usually put them there so I wouldn’t lose them. My Walkman needs them to stay closed shut and play my tapes.

“You still walking around with that bumass Walkman you got? Fuck, you gotta use a rubberband for that shit now?”

“Yea b. If I don’t hold it, it’ll open on its own. It either eats the tape or it falls out.”

“Damn, that’s some bullshit. Yo you need a new one?”

“Yea I do but I gotta wait for it.”

“Yea I know,” he said getting up from the couch. “Where’s the DooWop 95 tape at though?”

“Shit popped,” I said shaking my head.

“Nah man what the fuck. Aight I’ll get you a new tape tomorrow. I got you. Is the Illmatic tape still good though? He said walking over to the double tape deck stereo.

“Yea it’s in the room. I’ll get it for you.”

I walked to my room and took the tape from the cassette storage rack. I walked back to the living room and he was standing there, shadowboxing. I walked over to him and he got closer, swinging his punches in my direction. I dodged a right jab and then blocked a left cross.

“Ah I like that. Good shit. Put the tape in, but don’t put it too loud I don’t want moms to wake up,” he said.

I put the tape in the stereo and press the rewind button. We both wait to hear that quiet click sound and the rewind button to pop out so we know its done rewinding. He stopped shadowboxing and was standing by the window overlooking the backyard.

“It’s crazy we used to play everything down there in the back yard. Sponge ball, full bases softball, football. Shit even the games with Steal the Old Man’s bundle and Kick the can.” He stopped talking and I can see him shaking his head.

“Now we hustle the bundle and kick the old man in the ass,” he said laughing to himself. He looked at me expecting to laugh. His jokes were always kind of corny, but little brothers don’t tell their older brothers that. Nor do they tell them that they want to be down either.

“Let that shit play bro,” he said. “I fuck with this heavy.”

“You heard Reasonable Doubt yet?, I asked.

“Yea I heard it in Jose’s crib the other day. It’s good but I can’t get into it like I can with Ready to Die or Illmatic. That shit is extra suave and he’s on some super pusher shit. I’m not there yet so I can’t relate.”

“I didn’t even notice all of that,” I said.

“Yea it’s on some shit but you’ll learn about it in time,” he said bopping his head to the bassline of New York State of Mine.

“When?” I asked sneakily.

“When what? When you’re going to learn?”

He started laughing hard, almost too hard. “Why you want to learn about any of this. This shit aint for you. Go to school, do your work and get your grades. That’s you. What I do, it’s not you. This is all me.”

“Why can’t I though?” I asked as the song begins to fade out.

He stopped and looked at me and then turned his back. The drop of the next song starts.

“I just don’t want nothing to happen to you. Because then they all will blame me if-“

“So you just don’t want to get into some shit because you don’t want moms and Abuela to say something?” I said angrily interrupting. “So you don’t want me out there because you selfish?” You got your shit-I see the new leather, the new timbs and your hair. I’m still wearing the same shit since last year. I’ve been getting your left overs since Junior High when I had to wear all of your old Guess boots and that jacket after you wore them out. And we went to the same school so everybody knew I got the hand-me-downs from you. I can’t be like this anymore, I just can’t b.”

“Look, you do school. You’re into the books b. You don’t need to be out here in these streets.”

“What you mean? You used to do good in school too and look—“

“Now I don’t even do that shit no more bro,” he said loudly. “Listen,” he said quietly while sitting next to me. “I know what you going through but you gotta be patient. You will get your turn to do—

“Wait for what b?” “What else am I supposed to wait for? I don’t want to be like this bro.”

The horns from the second track played quietly. He softly exhaled and put on his scarf for his braids, looking like a Puerto Rican O-Dog from Menace to Society.

“So this can’t be some long term shit,” he said. You’ll get a little bit of work and you stay close to me and Jose, nobody else. We’ll help you; you get some bread and then you go home. I don’t want Moms and them to find out and I don’t need you out there all day and night. After that you’re done. If moms ask just tell her that I gave you the money, you understand me?”

“Yea,” I said.

“Aight man,” he said exhaling a smokey scent. Come with me to Jose’s crib and we’ll do what we gotta do. For now, press rewind I want to hear that shit again.”

“Which song?” I asked, walking over to the stereo pressing down on the rewind button, hoping that I don’t miss the song he wants.

“The third joint, I like that one alot,” he said, smiling.

The next day, I woke up early and my brother was still asleep. I went into the kitchen and there wasn’t much to eat. I had my own little loop hole at the junior high school down the block; I would come in and get a free lunch just off the strength that I still looked like I was in the ninth grade. Today I was lucky that they were serving chicken sandwich patties. The cafeteria always smelled a certain type of way no matter what school I ever been in. I don’t know if they use the same floor cleaners or just the same food in the entire school system because that same smell was everywhere. I grabbed the tray with the sandwich, the side of corn, tater tots and a chocolate milk. It wasn’t always the greatest but it was free. And I was hungry. I sat in the corner, making sure nobody from the hood saw me. Listening to the radio on my walkman, I put the whole packet of ketchup on the patty. The tater tots were toasty and salty, just the way I liked them. I finished the lunch and threw the tray in the garbage. I walked out with the small carton of chocolate milk in my hand. It was cold and frosty, with pieces of ice hitting my teeth from time to time.

I walked back to the block to meet up with my brother. Jose’s house was around the corner from 144th Street. He lived on the side with the small orange NYCHA buildings. For some reason, I never really came to this side of the block. It was the shortest way to the store and the quickest way from the train, but nope, I never went that way.

“Weeeeeeeee uuuuuuuu!” I yelled out to the window. Jose stuck his head out the window and smiled. He ducked back inside and came out with a set of keys. He dangled them out.

“Yo don’t drop them shits b. Don’t break my keys yo!,” Jose yelled back.

“I got you just drop them down!”

He let the keys go and I caught them as the metal and sharp edges pierced the inside of my hands. I let myself in and noticed that the walls were sprayed with graffiti. I recognized my brother’s tag name on a few of the walls. I hopped and tip-toed over the puddles of piss in the hallway. I noticed the bright colored crack tops in the corners of the stairs on both the second and third floor. Needles were sprawled across the steps and I made damn sure I didn’t step on those.

“Yooooo!” Jose said waiting for me at the end of the hallway. Jose was always smiling and happy. Lord knows why but he was one of the coolest dudes I ever met.

“Whats up bro, I heard,” Jose said.

“What you heard?”

“Nigga you know what I heard. When we get inside just go to the back room. Your brother is already there and we about to leave in a little while,” he said.

“What up punk? What took you so long?” my brother asked while sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I went to get something to eat.”

“What? Did you go to get the free school lunch?”

I shook my head and laughed.

“Are you ready bro?”

“Yea I’m ready,” I said with all my supposed might.

He reached into the sneaker box and pulled out a ziplock bag full of red-colored vials. He held them up, counted them through the bag and handed them to me.

“This is your shit,” he said. “You’re the one that has to sell all of them. Not me, not Jose, not anybody else but you. You get your cut of money out of it but you put $50 to the side for your re-up.”

“What’s a re-up?”

“It’s your second batch of work. You hold down your first $50 and don’t spend that. You keep that to get the second and third and so on. Everything you make after that $50 is all yours. Got it?”

“Yea I got it. Where do we go to sell?”

“This little motherfucker, he laughed. “This isn’t like looking for a bodega or a spot to sell bootleg tapes. Don’t worry about that. We’ll tell you where we go for that. And don’t be talking this shit all out loud. Keep your mouth closed b.”

“Aight, well where do I put it?”

“Tuck it in your socks for now. We not going that far anyway and the pigs don’t hit the block until later. For now, we going to Willis Ave. There’s a spot that we just started at that we can hold down.”

We left the building and walked three blocks down to Willis Avenue. We stopped in the middle of the projects in front of the basketball court. There was an old bench right outside of the fence and a bus stop. My brother walked over to the fence, threw the bundles in a green garbage can and flipped it over.

“We sit here and wait for the flow to come in. When they come to you, you ask them what they want. All you gotta ask is how much. Don’t ask them shit else. You don’t need to talk to a crackhead. When they give you the money, just tell them to wait, walk over to the fence and get the shit. Watch for people who move funny. They don’t know what they want or they don’t even sound right to you. Nobody out here sounds like substitute teachers but undercovers. Always watch around you. Don’t ever get caught staring. Remember, somebody is always watching. No matter what you’re doing you’re performing for an audience. Act what you know b. Be careful. You got it?”

“Yea I got it.”

“Now, you’re going to stand by the bus stop. You stay leaning against it. They know they come to you. They tell you what they want, you flash us the number and they come to me to pay me. By the time they keep walking, Jose meets them to pass it off. That’s it. But remember, keep your eyes out. Got me?”

“Yea, I got you.”

“Listen, you can keep the headphones on but make sure you keep that shit low. You need to hear what’s going on out here b. So you just wait here and it’ll start soon enough.”

“Bet,” I said.

He walked over to the bench looking in both directions. I turned and leaned on the bus stop pole, looking both ways of Willis Avenue. I didn’t remember much of being out here. I remember my cousin went to school at PS 40 or whatever the number was. I could see Ortiz Funeral Home right across the street. I think I went to a funeral there once; it was an in-law and her father died in the Valentine’s Day Massacre. A bunch of them, just got tied up and shot in the head. I couldn’t imagine how she felt and how my uncle was able to help her cope. I haven’t seen in a while since though. I had a crush on her when he first brought her to the house. Some little kid shit. I hope she’s ok…

I looked down the street and a silver car waited by the corner across from the spot. As I got closer to the bus stop, the car moved closer. And closer. I kept my hands in my pocket just in case it was a customer who somehow got a ride. I just kept thinking, did this even seem right? Why would somebody want one of these and they’re in a nice whip. The car pulled up in front of me and I looked into the tinted windows. The window lowered and all I could see was bright flash from across the street. All I heard was a loud pop and I closed my eyes.

Four more pops. All I could hear was glass shattering. Everything went dark and I felt myself drop to the floor. I turned over and crawled over to the back of the closest car to me. I heard wheels screeching off and then my ears started ringing. My head started to hurt and my eyes were cloudy. I tried to stay low and look for my brother. I think I was able to see his head behind the bench by the park. I can hear myself breathing and my hands were trembling. I felt the sweat on my forehead and my eyes began to tear.

My brother ran over to me and quickly checked my shirt for blood.

“You’re ok, you hear me. You’re ok!, he yelled. He grabbed me by my shoulder like he always did when he couldn’t say sorry the way he wanted. “You’re ok?” he asked, his voice sounding heavy.

“I’m, I’m ok. I’m ok,” I said quickly.

“We gotta get the fuck outta here. Now. You go that way down Willis and I’m going through 138.”

“But what about-”

“Don’t worry about it. We got it. But I need you to go now,” he said.

“I don’t want to go by myself b. I don’t want to leave you-“

“Don’t worry about me ok. Look, take this $10. Buy a new blank TDK tape from the store and make a copy of the mixtape for me. Get me the good tape ok? The black one with the gold letters and all that. You’re favorite tape. I want you to make me that tape for me, ok bro? Now go.”

I nodded and picked up my headphones. I crossed to the other side of Willis Avenue and passed right by Ortiz Funeral Home. I went left quickly as I could to Saint Ann’s Avenue.

I had homework to do.

And I had to dub a copy of Doo Wop 95 Live for my brother.

*The opinions and ideas expressed are solely those of the author, and may not reflect the opinions of The Bronx Brand*

Ricardo Santos is from the Mott Haven Neighborhood of the Bronx.  The father of two loves the Bronx for its real diversity, its honesty between the people and its constant energy and feedback.  From vernacular, to swagger and attitude, the Bronx has influenced him in every facet of his life.

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