Bad Television

            by James Nolting

 

I shielded my  eyes from the afternoon sun and stared across the field. I could make out about twelve figures silhouetted against the bright light. They grew larger as they approached, and soon, the shapes began to take form. Removing the Aviators from my pocket and staring down at a lens, I examined a handsome young man of thirteen, with light brown hair and the wide smirk I always showed off when expressing my authority. I put on the glasses, realizing that the crowd had stopped its advance.

            The boys were all in their early teens and wore loose jeans and T-shirts. Nobody really stood out in the suburbs. No one was special.

            "My paralyzed grandma could've gotten here faster than you Pablo," I sneered at the tallest boy in the crowd.

            "Shut up you sack of rat shit," Pablo cut back at me. "My mom was baking cookies." His group, who had hardly cracked a smile at the previous joke, nodded fiercely in agreement with Pablo. Apparently his mother made very good cookies.

            We were standing toward the back of Lockwood Park, next to the fence that shielded several house's backyards from view. I looked over at the street bordering the park, pleasantly deserted on this fine, summer afternoon.

            "All right Pab-ho, who's it gonna be today?" I asked sweetly. I heard a few snorts of laughter from the group behind me. Pablo frowned at me and took a second, thinking about his response.

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you about this whole thing," he said rather nervously. "See, we've been thinking," he indicated the rest of the boys standing behind him. "When it was at the dump, it was fun 'cause we didn't have to worry about nothing. But now there are so many things that could go wrong."

            "Aw, you're just sore cause you keep losing!" I responded quickly. "You thought it was a good idea before, anyway. You said the dump was getting boring!"

            "Yeah, I know it seemed fun a few days ago. But, I mean, what if we get caught or something?" He looked around for support and a few of the boys behind him nodded their heads in agreement.

            "Quit bein' a little bitch!" One of the boys behind me shouted. There were several shouts of assent at this and I knew it was time to get things started.

            "Well if you're through crying, I thought today we could have a little two on two." I said in an officiating kind of tone. "Sound good to you Poobles?" He looked around nervously.

"All right, I guess we'll give it a shot. Um... You two! Jordan and Trevor." Pablo stated, apparently deciding it was time to act like he was in charge. The two stepped forward. Jordan hardly reached Trevor's shoulder but he was much heftier and looked pissed about something.

"Well I've got Warren and Doug," I told him pointing out two of my larger companions. My team stepped out from behind me and Trevor stared at them wide-eyed, looking like he was about to wet his pants.

"Okay, so this isn't even that different than the dump," I said, looking around at them. "We just have to decide on something to get, and the first one back with it wins!" Most of the boys looked excited, but a few were obviously terrified. I was glad no one could see my eyes, rapidly darting around behind the dark lenses, making sure there wasn't anybody watching us.

            "So what do you guys want?" Pablo asked the crowd. "Anything we get here is gonna work so whoever wins can keep it if they want."

"Make 'em get TV's," One of my guys pointed out. He was shorter than the rest of us and looked three years younger. I couldn't remember his name.

"Yeah TV's sound good. Any objections?" The four that had been chosen shook their heads. "So first team back with a TV wins!" I shouted. "Ready?" They lined up a few feet back from the fence. I realized then, looking at the houses we were standing in front of, that my mom's friend Ms. Eggleston lived in one of them. Guilt tried to seep in, but I beat it out. She would be at work anyway. No one would find out.

"GO!" I jumped, and it took me a second to realize Pablo had started the race. The four boys threw themselves at the chain link fence and vaulted over it. We ran forward and pressed our faces into the cold metal, watching eagerly as each pair approached a separate house. Pablo's team wasted no time on Ms. Eggleston's sliding glass door, as Jordan smashed it with a large rock from her garden. He and Trevor sprinted through and out of sight.

My two criminals, however, had given up on the sturdy, wood door they were trying to kick through, and focused their efforts on a window. Doug grabbed a steel lawn chair and stabbed a leg of it through the glass. Dropping the chair, he crawled through, Warren right behind.

 

I felt someone touch my shoulder. I felt terrible. How could I have let this happen? With a lot of effort, I turned my head and looked into the face of my mother. She seemed worried and her eyes were red. I had heard her crying a few minutes before, when they had told her why I was here.

The room we were in was cold and unfriendly. I was sitting at the only table in the middle of the hard floor. With a click, the door opened, and then slammed shut with a such a force, I was sure my unsteady mother would fall over. An officer had walked in. He was scowling and his red, tough face was offset by a large black-eye and I had to fight off a smirk. The name on his badge was Sgt. Wallace.

"Ma'am, at 1:30 this afternoon, we got a call from a resident on Quinella drive, who told us she was hearing loud crashes and shouts coming from the house next door. On our way over my partner pointed out a large group of boys, crowded in the back of the park directly behind Quinella..."

I recalled how much noise the four boys in the houses had made. It sounded as though, in their excitement to bring out their TV first, they were knocking over anything in the way. After about five minutes, my team had returned, carrying a 32", flat-screen Panasonic, much to Pablo's horror. I stared at the ground, avoiding my mother's eyes while Sergeant Wallace continued.

"My partner and I felt it was best to scope out the scene, before we just went crashing in." I observed a large coffee stain down the officer's shirt, and a bit of powdery residue on his mustache and wondered if he was telling my mother the entire truth. "Well, they were all pushed up against the fence in the back, looking at something, still as a rock, but then we heard shouts and they backed up, about half of 'em cheering like they'd won a football game. That's when we saw it. Somebody on the other side was passing a large Television over  the fence to the boys." Wallace licked his mustache and smacked his lips, apparently satisfied with his account of my criminal activity. My mother burst into tears.

"But why! Why would he do this? I thought he was such a g-g-good b-boy!" She had chosen to ignore me and she wasn't exactly talking to the policeman either. For the first time, I felt sorry for her, and tears started welling up in my eyes. I started at the blank wall and forced myself not to cry as my mother sobbed in the seat next to me. I glared at Wallace the Cop instead, and smiled this time when I saw the bruise on his face.

 

"I swear there wasn't a TV in that entire house," One of Pablo's boys shouted, as he exited the Eggleston residence. "Oh shit." he gasped,  staring at something behind us, mouth agape, rooted to the ground. I turned on the spot and saw two police cars speeding across the field in our direction.

"RUN!" I shouted and began shoving bodies out of the way in my rush to get over the fence. For a brief moment, my eyes flashed across the small boy who had suggested we steal TV's. He was trying, pitifully, to climb the fence, but kept getting shoved off by the other boys feverously throwing themselves over the metal barrier. I did not pause. It wasn't any of our problem.

Once safe in Ms. Eggleston's backyard, I glanced over my shoulder to witness three policemen rushing after those who were still struggling to hop the five foot obstacle. A large, red-faced cop seized the smaller boy by the ankle. The kid lashed out violently with his foot, and connected with the officer's face, sending him reeling backwards, clutching his eye. His cursing brought me back to the moment and I raced through the garden and into the house.

"We were, of course, well prepared to intercept your son and his friends on the other side of their escape route," Sergeant Wallace said with a smirk, which reminded me of myself. He had continued his testimony to my mother, who had stopped crying but was still not acknowledging me. "We had several cars parked on Quinella, outside, what we believed were the vandalized houses. That's where we caught your son and several others before bringing them into the station."

I noticed he had left out that the other police had not been parked in front of the correct houses, which is why so many of the boys escaped them. By the time I had made it out the front door, however, the cops had realized their mistake and relocated. If I had not hesitated in the backyard, I was positive I would've gotten away. Instead,

 it was me sitting in the chair instead of that jerk Pablo.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that my mother's face was now directed at me. I sighed and turned to face her. A tear escaped my eye. Flowing through the grooves etched in my face, it reached the corner of my mouth and paused.

My tongue darted out and licked my lips, snatching the droplet of salty water with it. I looked into my mother's tear-stained eyes and let the shadow of a smirk pass over my expressionless face.