That Kid, Jersey
He was simple. Just a kid. Everyone we knew referred to him as That Kid, Jersey. He was just as midwestern as any of us. Honestly, I am not even sure he made it to the East coast.
He wore a dark grey Champion sweatshirt. He wore it everywhere. It had to be 90 degrees out to find him in anything but that sweatshirt.
As well worn as it was, it was equally cared for, That dark grey color, black scripted screen print reading “Jersey” on the front. It was hoodless. Odd in a time where nearly everyone wore hoodies.
The kid was normal, mostly. He had an older brother who really took out his teen angst on Jersey. There were times I would wake up to find that kid on my back deck. He liked to watch the sunrise. We had an Eastern facing deck, and his was Western facing. I am not sure if he liked to watch sunsets too.
Summer mornings were always a great time for the kids in the neighborhood. By the creek we would walk slowly hunting for snakes, turtles and occasionally we would find a muskrat dodging the sticks we tossed its way.
That Kid, Jersey always seemed to be a bit more ballsy than most of us. More often than not, we ran in a group of 5 or 6 kids. Jersey, me, Chris and his brother Andy. My brother and another 5th grader, would show up and follow behind us mimicking the things we did.
As odd as anything, I am not sure that any of us ever asked him about the sweatshirt. I suppose it was just one of those things that we just accepted as normal. Really, it was normal. The only odd thing was that we never introduced him by his name to anyone we met. He replied to Jersey. We called him Jersey and introduced him as the same.
Chasing Freedom
Our neighborhood was a mix of 1970’s houses and new developments. Back in the 80’s we had the freedom we needed to really discover the world around us, we were free.
I am not sure if it belonged to him or his older brother, but Jersey had a BB Gun. Nothing really high powered or dangerous. Well, it could puncture the skin up close.
My brother learned this the hard way. Jake keep goading Jersey into letting him use the BB gun. Jersey didn’t let anyone use it. Maybe that was because it was his brothers, or it was his, and he cherished it.
Jake didn’t stop with the nagging and finally he reached for it. A quick burst of air and shrill scream later he ran off, limping slightly. Jersey indicated to me and Chris that he thought he may have shot Jake in the leg. Each of had been pinged from a dozen yards away, and it stings, but not enough to chase after him and see how he was doing.
This BB gun was as fun for me as it was for Jersey. I never shot it, but, I was not allowed a BB gun myself. I would stack cans, bottles and makeshift targets against trees all day just to be out and watch them dent and fall. I did get to reload the gun occasionally, it was nice to do, I had a steady hand, and very few BBs were lost.
So it was a couple days later when we heard mom yelling from the kitchen. Luckily we were not far, and she did not have to yell for long. Mom would yell until we were home, it never failed. Jake was not with us, so Jersey, Chris and I hustled over to see what was going on.
Mom opened the door and pointed right at my brothers knee. Red, white and swollen it looked like an ogre’s pimple. It looked like what I would imagine an ogre’s pimple to look like. She had been poking at this thing, spraying copious amounts of Bactine on it and by now Jake was in tears.
He had no idea what was going on, but Jersey looked at me with eyes saying, “Remeber when I shot him?” I froze, chills ran down my spine and I told Chris and Jersey to head home, we would play later. After a few minutes of groans and moans Jake relaxed. Mom stepped out to get a bandage. I asked him if there was a BB in his leg. When I said that, he remembered that he did get shot recently, and completely forgot about it.
Now this BB was being pushed out of his skin by his body, and looked pretty bad. When mom got back, he mustered the nerve to say he was shot. Now, when that comes out of a fifth graders mouth a mom either laughs or freaks out. Mom freaked out.
He said that as she was trying to get some of the pus out of the wound. Thinking it was just an infection or cut that she could clear up. She freaked, squeezed that wound and the BB shot out as fast as it went in. We heard a small ping as it hit the metal floor vent on the other side of the room.
Jake teared up, but did not cry. I knew that for me it was, ‘Wait til your Father get’s home.” So I slipped out to my bedroom. As Jake was patched up and covered in more Bactine, he sat silently on the chair at the kitchen table.
In my room, I whispered through an open window to That Kid, Jersey about the BB shooting across the room, the reaction Mom had, and the pending drama we should expect.
Looking out the front window, we saw Dad’s card turn the corner, and knew that we would talk about this more soon.
