Kenny

“Who you think’s gonna win today, Kenny?”

Kenny and his friends sat in their usual spot, elevated from the rest of the crowd. They had been the owners of the best seat in the courtyard since they had started school there.

“Money’s on Jermaine…you’ve seen him when he’s actually trying, fucking unstoppable,” Kenny responded to Ben.

“I got my eye on ol’ Earl, something about him ain’t right. Looking mad as hell the other day, I’m telling ya some shit going down with his crew,” Austin said.

“Isn’t there always something going on with them? Guy a know down my street is constantly going off about the shit he hears ’em doing. Something about some new kid getting shot by the tracks.” Sam said.

“Dude I knew that kid! Can’t be older than thirteen…damn they’re just dropping younger and younger” Ben said.

“I can remember when everyone at least made it to high school,” Kenny joked, “you know, every year I always hear the same thing, ‘it’s worse here than ever,’ that shit’s actually true. We ain’t joking about it.”

The sound of the crowd drowned out the on going conversation of the boys, signaling it was time for the show to start. Lunch had just begun, although most of the kids there had a ritual of ducking out of class a few minutes early, all usually some bullshit excuse. Most of the teachers didn’t care, less trouble they had to deal with.

By this time the entire courtyard had become a sea of kids, gathering around the center tables; the main stage. This was how each day had gone for years. The most popular form of entertainment was the fighting and brawls that captivated the school for half an hour a day. It almost created a small economy of some sort, allowing kids to gamble the small amounts of money away for bragging rights, and a few extra dollars.

As the fights began, you had the same characters playing their part. Teachers looking out their windows, with their phones close to them in case the fighting got out of hand; the “brokers,” students who started and stopped the gambling for the fights, making sure to take a cut out of it all; and finally, the spectators, mumbling amongst themselves what they expected today.

“We got a great fight today, boys and girls! Get your bets in! Hurry now, fight’s about to start! Johnny! Get those two fuckers back, out of my ring!”

Kenny was a freshman, no more than two weeks into high school, and already he had a job within one of the gangs, scoping out the cops if they were called. At an early age, Kenny had gained a reputation as someone who could hold his own in a fight, was smart enough to be considered resourceful, and didn’t seem to put his nose into anything that wasn’t his business. By the end of elementary school he had been approached by the gang, where he joined, not due to the desire to be apart of a gang, but rather the understanding that to make it here, he needed protection; its near impossible for a young black kid to make it in the town without some support.

As Kenny scribbles on his notepad, the ensuing violence engulfed the crowd, commanding the attention of the rowdy crowd, prompting screams, cheers, and jeers, until one party falls and the other rises upon the table as the champion of the ring, boasting and gazing upon his kingdom, while his victim lay, bleeding out at a slow enough pace not to concern anyone, just his own members lifting him up and scurrying him away to their region of the courtyard. The next challenger stepped in, promoting the quick gaze of Kenny, as if to survey the next assignment, and then promptly returned to his notepad.

The final bell rang, and as the students rushed through the halls, leaking out the exits, Kenny walked slowly behind the crowd, taking note of each passing image, each fleeting sound, the blend of the fall colors illuminating the slim pickings of tree scattered across the landscape. For someone involved and incorporated in a gang, Kenny must have been the quietest among them, if not the quietest of the entire school. He did not believe in being the loudest, or the attention grabber; he saw beauty in knowledge, appreciation and nature, but Kenny, like so many kids in town, was corrupted by sins of his forefathers, sins of a community trapped by economic and social forces that not one man could control, as if a raging river, taking captive of each and every soul stuck in it’s path.

Kenny made his way home, just like everyday, one mile there, one mile back. The daily journey included passing the Mexican bakery that his friend worked at that always gave him some of the scraps out the back door on his way home, and finishing the trek down Klingerman to his small two bedroom home, where he and his younger brother were crammed together into the smallest bedroom in Southern California. His younger brother, Johnny, was at the ripe age of ten, which drew the admiration, and jealously, of Kenny, depending on what day it was. Johnny didn’t see the same world that Kenny saw, he was innocent enough to go to school and play with his friends without the awareness that plagued Kenny since he had been five. It was Kenny, not Johnny, that was exposed to drugs and murderers in the household, it was Kenny that witnessed his father walk out on him when he was seven, it was him that had started stealing to get by when their mom got sick and couldn’t work. Johnny knew enough to understand others had it better and that he wasn’t at the peak of human civilization, yet life seemed like a game to him. He was able to make the best out of every situation, it came as easily as breathing, just part of his nature. At times Kenny would grow fond of his brother’s ability to block out the violence and fear of daily life where they lived, impressed by his resilience. At other times, Kenny would grow angry, wishing he wasn’t the only one holding the weight of the world on his shoulders, wishing that he could cast the same torment onto his own blood, as if sharing the guilt and sin would make it easier to bear.

For the past two weeks, Kenny would get his free meal from the Mexican bakery, come home to drop off his backpack, then make his way down a few blocks to the elementary school to pick up Johnny, each and everyday passing the time worrying about how his brother would fare entering middle school in just one year. Going to middle school would for sure open his eyes to world they really lived in, that Johnny would be thrust out of the fairy tale land that had kept his sanity and happiness afloat for so long. Middle school was the entrance to the gang life for Kenny, and he knew all to well how easy it would be for Johnny to adapt to survive, which wasn’t always good. The idea that his brother might survive El Monte and be something was what drove Kenny, the idea that maybe he could create something for the family gave him inspiration. It wasn’t that he thought he himself lacked the potential or intelligence to make something of himself, he recognized how smart he was, it was the thought that he would not be able to break out of the incarceration the city had on him, he felt he had become institutionalized to the point of no return, equipped with all the excuses that would keep him in a never ending mission to provide something for someone else when he could make it on his own. But with no father around, and a mother that didn’t really seem to push them in any one direction other than not getting dirt on the carpet, he felt burdened with the responsibility to have it hard, to stay trapped and be a father figure for others, specifically Johnny.

Kenny spent most of his day looking after Johnny while their mother was at work, going out late at night after his brother had fallen asleep, and right before their mother had gotten home from work. She had worked dozens of various jobs in the past few years, never able to hold one down longer than a few months, and many of them not being legit jobs. Her most recent source of income came from dealing, but after getting arrested once and getting off by ratting out her supplier, she decided it was best to lay low and do under the table jobs, although that didn’t stop her from bringing drugs into the house for her personal use, and whatever man was staying the night. Those two things were what really caused the most friction between her and Kenny. For as long as he was alive, Kenny never knew his mother to be the go-getter, the one doing everything in her power to advance her family, and he grew to expect that, but the consistent drug use in the same household as a ten-year-old, not to mention the fact that they were on food stamps and lacked money for basic goods, drove Kenny up the wall. It’s fair to say he believed her mind set was if she wasn’t going to make it, why sacrifice for someone else.

It wasn’t uncommon for kids like Kenny to go out late at night, but most kids would go out to drink at their friends’ place and wander around the town, becoming de facto owners of the town while the shop owners and teachers slept in the dead of night, releasing their power to the mob of teens. Kenny, however, went out to learn. Ever since he was just a small child, Kenny had grown to adopt an obsession with what he did not know. While most kids his age viewed the world as a dispensable arena that was only useful as to entertain and advance themselves, Kenny viewed the world as the work of God. He was taught by one of his favorite teachers that business and science were important in the advancement of human life, but human life itself was pointless without nature and arts. The beauty that spread across the horizon was what gave us the meaning to live, and that to forget this would be to betray our quest for happiness and fulfillment. It was this idea that inspired Kenny to observe every inch of the beautiful canvass God had created.

Kenny wasn’t able to afford books, movies, or the equipment to make art, other than the sketches he would jot down on his notepad, so late at night he would walk around town, looking for any escaping beam of color, any proof of God’s existence that could enhance the mind. He dreamed of getting one of the newest iPhones, the same ones that kids across town had received for Christmas and for their birthdays. He understood, that while most kids played games and tweeted on them, it was a gateway to infinite information. All the stories he could read, all the plays and movies he could watch, would be accessible within a small, electronic brick.

Kenny had become somewhat of a night owl the past few years, unable to sleep for more than a few hours at night, his mid wandering to spaces in his brain he could not explain, nor knew existed. He would wander back from his nightly adventures, returning home just in time to grab a snack and head off to bed, catch some sleep not long before the crack of dawn approached the horizon, spreading God’s light to His people. It was in those nightly walks where Kenny found peace in his life, where the silence of the night could block out the fear he carried with him everyday.

One night coming home, Kenny passed something he wouldn’t forget. Every night on his walks he would always carry his notepad, whether to jot down notes of the evening or to piece together images, despite the fact that he was not a great artist. In his mind, the practice of drawing and sketching was the only way he was going to see any improvement, and regardless, he himself could see the beauty in his own artistic work. On his way back from his nightly trips he passed a weathered brick wall, the same brick wall he typically passed, plastered with different gang signs graffitied, scattered along with racial slurs that was seen as an eye sore.

Passing it once without paying much attention, he stopped dead in his tracks, after his eye caught the slight different in the wall that sparked his interest. Backing his steps up, he came across the had to be the most beautiful sight he had ever seen in town. What used to be a wall covered in sinful images coinciding with gang signs was covered up with what must have been the most beautiful peace of artwork west of the Mississippi. What Kenny gazed up was the scene of humanity, running amuck, living our lives unaware of the beauty we were allowed to witness, screaming and yelling and killing each other over trivial topics. But what seemed bleak of the art was overshadowed by the large force of God, looking down on His own people, sending down a wave of love, forgiveness, and wisdom that would hopefully find a home in us. The edges of the painting stretched all across the wall, bright and beautiful, expressive colors fading down to dark, deep colors that lay deep below the face of God.

The beauty of the work overwhelmed Kenny, easily becoming the greatest work of man he had encountered in his life. The beauty and majestic nature of God was a humbling experience, always his favorite image after the disappearance of his own father, the emptiness that came with the lack of a guide in life.

Kenny spent the next two hours situated below the small light that shown on the wall, doing his best to describe the beauty of the painting into his own drawings. He made sure to make a copy, however poor and unprofessional it looked, for he knew there was no chance this image would not last in a city like El Monte. He predicted by next nightfall, the artwork would be gone, vanished from the Earth.

Sure enough, walking home from school, Kenny passed the same wall that had occupied his thoughts all day, taking hold of his imagination, just for Kenny to find what he had expected.

The painting was no more.