The Shades Between

Sitting on the front porch, John put his hand to his brow to shade his eyes from the bright sun. He stared at the words in his book, but his mind wandered to his new guitar. John was eighteen. He was a tall skinny kid with a head that didn’t seem to fit his lanky frame, with black greasy hair, large blue emerald eyes, and a nose that stuck out like a mountain, making it his least favorite feature. He looked up, hearing the honk of a car in the street. He saw the head of his childhood friend, Eric, protruding from the car window.

“Hey John, jump in. Let’s go pick up some chicks, man,” Eric shouted as he stepped out of the car.

“Yah, okay,” John yelled, walking down to the car. John could smell the stench of tobacco smoke, as he looked in to see who was driving.

“Wazup John?” he heard Marcus’s low voice drawl from the driver’s seat.

“What’s goin’ down bro?” John quipped.

Eric quickly jumped in the backseat and slammed the door.

“Let’s roll boys. Los chicas are waiting,” Eric chuckled, a grin appearing on his rat-like face.

Marcus stepped on the gas and the car sped out of the driveway and down the street, towards downtown San Diego.

They cruised around for about an hour, finally pulling into El Abuelo, one of the best Mexican restaurants in town. All three jumped out, wandered in, found a booth by a window in the back of the restaurant.

“Johnny boy, M-man and I finally got that invite to join Los Banditos! Whada’bout you hombre? Join up with us?” Eric blurted.

“Yah man, it’s real cool. We’ve done two break-ins already and we’ve made mucho dinero. Join us brother, join us,” Marcus repeated Eric’s invitation.

John glanced over at Eric. There were times when he could hardly stand him, and yet he recalled the adrenaline rush when he was the lookout for Eric when he jacked a bike. The rush had made John feel like a thousand-watt light bulb. But Eric had taken the easy way out. He had abandoned work and drugs ran through his hands like plague-infested rats. He was slipping deeper and deeper into an endless pit.

“I don’t know man.. .I don’t really know if I wanna be a ‘banger....” John noticed a knot gathering in his stomach. He loved the thrill of doing things with Eric, but, his hands began to tremble, he feared becoming a crack-head banger and living a concealed life.

“Ah, come on man. You don’t know what you’re missing,” Eric smiled slyly.

Yah, I felt like I had pure ethanol pumping through my veins when we spray painted that graffiti at the old Fred Meyer.

“Maybe.... I’ll give it thought,” John muttered. “I got to get home soon. My ol’man will whip my butt if I’m late. Hard to sneak around the ol’ moron any more.”

The nose of the candy-striped Chevelle eased into the boulevard, turned south towards home. M-man and Eric jostled each other in the front, laughed, swore. John sat quietly, thinking about Eric’s words.

Eric interrupted the silence as they pulled up to John’s driveway. “Hey John, think about it tonight. We’re gonna break into the pawn shop tomorrow night, and it’d be tight if you came.”

“Yah, maybe. I’ll see; bye guys,” John stammered as he stepped out of the car.

“Yah, bye,” Marcus threw in.

“Where the hell were you?” John heard the dry leathery voice of his father waft from the living room.

“With my friends.”

“What were you doing with them? Trying on them dresses at JC Penny? Those idiots at the hospital said you was a boy, and you still is. When you ever gonna’ become a real man?”

“You really think the only way I become a man is to end up in prison?”

“For you, that’s probably the only place you’ll become a man.”

John lay on his bed, watching the shadows of the cars glide by. His stomach churned; the decision was on him. Was he going to be a banger or not? Eric wants me to join. Marcus idolizes Eric. My old man doesn’t care if I end up in prison. Who does care? His eyelids felt heavy, but they would not close.

He woke with a start, and glanced over to the clock. The time raced by, and John did little but think about the night ahead. He threw on some dark clothes, and soon heard the low drone of the Chevelle. He forced himself out the door, down the driveway, into the drab, blue, plastic leather seat of the Chevelle.

“Wussup man?” Eric questioned.

“Nothin’,” John returned.

John gulped hard. Sweat was coagulating on his palms. He fiddled with his fingers, as they drove in a deafening silence to the pawnshop. John could feel himself trembling. His heart was beating as fast as a piston, and he was worried that Eric could hear it. John’s mind raced as Eric quickly parked the car and concealed his face beneath a dark mask.

“Did you bring a mask? They might have cameras,” Eric asked, a fiery look in his eyes.

“N...n...no, I didn’t know I would need one.” John stuttered.

“Here put this on,” Eric responded, handing John his black New York Yankee baseball cap.

“Thanks man,” John murmured, pulling the hat down low on his head and jumping out of the car as casually as possible.

“Hey, yo John; wassup, bro?” Marcus bellowed.

“Nothin’ much,” John returned.

“Where’s your mask Marcus?” John asked.

“I don’t need no mask. I’m a brotha’. I got my own natural mask. Ain’t no camera gonna’ recognize me in the dark,” Marcus chuckled. John glanced around noticing several of the other gang members loading and pocketing guns; that’s when the piston in his chest shifted into overdrive and his hands and legs began to shake uncontrollably. He recognized José, the Mexican kid, who he’d resented ever since he found him mugging a ten year old in a back alley in the Upper West Side. He glanced over and noticed Toni, one of his school’s many drug dealers.

Eric interrupted his thoughts “Johnny, what the hell you doin’? Let’s role. We gotta be quick. Don’t- want no damn pigs catchin’ sight of us.”

John stumbled over to him, tripping over his own shaking feet as he went. He jumped as he heard a brick smash into the window.

“What cha jumpin’ for ya little pansy?” Marcus laughed.

“Nothin’. I’m just a little jumpy.” John’s eyes darted from side to side. His mind was playing tricks on him, and he could hear the sound of sirens. He pushed himself forward towards the pawnshop, with a might that took all his strength. He could feel the adrenaline begin to pump and his muscles tightened.

“Quick way in,” Marcus chuckled.

The gang raced around as several members emerged from the store with armfuls of various items, while others dashed in with empty bags and boxes.

“This is it man. Let’s go jack us some bling bling, boys,” Eric shouted.

John’s head throbbed, and all he could hear was the pounding of his feet on the pavement and the accelerated thumping of his heart. John dashed into the dark room, blindly swiping cameras, guns, and watches. He even looked down and noticed a-lamp shade trapped in the vice grip of his hand. With his arms fully loaded, he raced back to Marcus’s car, hurled everything into the open trunk, jumped into the backseat, and they sped away.

John’s mind still raced a mile a minute. He’d done it. He’d shown his dad that his son really was a man after all. However his mind was torn. One half of him was on top of the world while the other half was still stuck in a dark alley overwhelmed by fear. He enjoyed the feeling of toughness, but he resented the feeling of fear. How could he get rid of his fear? Did the break-in make him a banger? Was his life destroyed? His mind kept asking him these questions.



John walked down the main foyer of West San Diego High School. His heart leapt, as he glimpsed the black and white of a police car parked in front of the building. Nervous, he pretended to be casual and walked into the bathroom. He waited for the confirming “click” of the door, but instead he heard the clicking of shoes, and the shine of black polished leather caught his eye. His stomach lurched as the rest of the blue uniform came into view.

“Hi, how’s it going?” the policeman spoke to John, as he stepped up to a stall.

“H... h...hello sir,” John Stuttered shakily.

“You’re John Swagert, aren’t you?”

“Wha...” John spun around in shock.

“There was a break-in last night, and some people say you were involved. They gave me your description.”

“W. ..w. . . no...I wasn’t there. I.. .I’m not even part of the gang.”

“The gang. How did you know it was the gang, and not just a gang, or some crack-head? I’m just telling you, some people think you were involved.

“Well, I wasn’t, and they’re lying to you.”

John gulped. His mind raced; he trembled uncontrollably, hoping that the cop didn’t notice. His stomach tightened, and the rush of adrenaline and fear took over his mind.

“Why are you shaking? You hiding something? I’m telling you boy, I’m gonna find out everything!” the cop hissed, malevolently.

The policeman turned and walked out the door. John’s heart was still beating very fast, and his head throbbed. He slowly walked out to his car, his mind still pondering what had happened. He jumped into the car and thrust the key into the ignition. His anger surprised him. He was breathing hard, and his hands were sweaty. He shook as he drove. Pulling into his driveway, he turned off the car, and stormed into the house.

John walked into the dreary fluorescent light of the kitchen. His father was seated at the kitchen table, newspaper lying in front of him.

“Where you been?” his father interrogated

“At school... urn... talking to a cop.”

“What are you talking about boy?”

“I broke into the pawn shop with the gang last night.”

His father sat stone still, an unreadable look laden upon his face. John searched his father’s face for some glimmer of love, but nothing showed. He looked deep into his father’s eyes, but his emotions were trapped behind a brick wall. What was buried by his strange stare? John relented and walked into the living room. He slumped on the couch and thought, he was angry with himself. He clenched his hand into a fist. He had made the wrong decision. The realization came upon him as a blow. The decision was completely up to him. His whole world was completely in his hands; no one could alter that world but him.