Sebastian Andrews Senior English G Lefcourt January 25, 2010 Short Story: The Boy The sun was

in full blast. The air was choking the moisture out of people, morphing their calm walk into an uncomfortable swagger. People hustled and bustled about with a sense of urgency. Everybody was rushing to take care of something extremely important. No stopping to smell the roses, not that there were many to smell. Such was life in the city, cluttered, active, yet isolated. You could live right next to somebody and know them as well as you would someone who lives across the country. The people did not mind this of course, their saying was Keep to yourself and Ill keep to myself. This adage was understood and repeated, especially by those on First Avenue and East 106th Street. Ironically people kept to themselves less often than one would expect, and inevitably altercations arise. Like for example the following minor exchange; a young man is walking down the street while an older man deliberately bumps shoulders with him. The younger man apologizes, Sorry, while the older man tells him off, Jey ese, I hear your talking shit about mi casa! The decision the young man makes decides how this clash will resolve; he turns around and addresses the man, Usted tiene la persona incorrecta, no le conozco. The older man sizes up the younger man, he has light tan skin with jet black hair and dark brown eyes. The boys features communicate honesty and little desire to elevate the situation. The man replies, Si eso es verdad, your lucky, if not, I had better not be seeing joo tonight with a derogatory hand gesture. Culo, the young man whispers under his breath as he turns away. The run in dissipated just as quickly as it had formed, after all it was nothing abnormal. The young man checks his watch, mierda! His stride turned into a jog as he rounded the corner of a tall red brick building. Soon he was sprinting, his destination in sight. He was up the stairs and through the front doors in five seconds. Echoes of his shoes could be heard around the entire building. Then he stopped, opened the door and sat down in the nearest available seat. He recollected his breath and looked up at a man pointing to the clock. Youre late Pablo, thats the third time this week! How do you expect to improve if youre always missing class!. Thank god, says Pablo. The bell had just rung, exercising its indisputable sovereignty. It was time for G period, Pablos favorite. Time always seemed to go by slowly for every class but G period. Pablo walked through the hallways with anticipation surging through his body. He came to the wooden door scarred from years of usage and opened it. Inside the room were numerous cases, all different shapes and sizes. Pablo walked all the way to the back and picked up on of the cases. After carefully removing the lock and latches, he opened it. Inside was faux red fur and the smell of an old furniture. Pablo picked up his sunburst guitar and plucked the strings softly. Shes in tune. Beep! Pablo returned to now and shut the case, hurrying over to the next room. Soon he was in his seat with his music out. Mr. Griffith called out the song, and started the horns. The tune was Blue Bossa, Pablos favorite. Band was always Pablos favorite, it was the only subject he could truly express himself. Every time he picked up the guitar, he put down his outside life, and lived in the moment. Time always flew during band, and sooner than he should have liked, Pablo was packing up his guitar and walking down the same steps he had scurried up early that morning. up Pablo took an unconventional route home, checking behind him every minute to see if he was being followed. Growing up in Spanish Harlem Pablo has seen the worse of the worst. The first time he was abruptly stopped and held at knife point was on the day after his 14th birthday, the time that his

parents thought he was old enough to go to the convenience store on his own. He hadnt been carrying much on him, but other times he would not be so lucky. Five times he has been successfully mugged, and thirty times he has been threatened. The other twenty five times he had either been carrying nothing of value on him or he had been able to turn the tables. Sometimes he could sense a potential mugger was not entirely invested in this idea of stealing from another individual, which gave Pablo the chance to turn the tables. That was life in the city, either you ate or you were eaten. Today was no different, only with a higher risk. Pablo knew this too, but seldom could prevent it. He had no idea what he had gotten himself into when he first started. Pablo shifted through the alleys of New York, stopping only to make sure he was not being watched or followed. He came upon two areas separated by a large metal fence, an open for which was hidden behind a number of crates. He squeezed through the crates and opening, stopping on the other side. He pulled out his cell phone, pushed a few buttons then stowed it away. He checked his surroundings once more then and stood behind a dumpster that concealed him from view. There he would wait for ten minutes exactly. Pablo knew this because he looked at his cell phone every 20 seconds, frustrated with how slowly time was moving. The sound of footsteps became louder and louder, indicating to Pablo that his wait was over. Pablo had done this so many times before he knew exactly when to start the count off, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. A man who Pablo called Julio turned the corner and walked towards Pablos hiding spot. Pablo could smell the burnt cigarettes emanating from the mans person. The man turned the corner and was within eyesight of Pablo. He was shorter and stockier than Pablo, had darker skin than him and a thick untamed beard. Weve got a grande regular load, says Julio. Muy bien, replies Pablo. Julio took off his black Underarmor backpack and unzipped it. He pulled out a sketchy parcel that weighed about 10 pounds and handed it to Pablo. Pablo took the parcel and put it in his own backpack. The two dispersed immediately, going back the way they came. Pablo had known Julio for two years now, ever since he had first started this business. The business the two were in operated on a compartmentalization theory, meaning knowledge was dispensed on a need to know basis. Pablo didnt need to know much, besides that Julio handed the goods down to him and that he needed to split them between five dealers. Pablo did it for the extra money. He had no other choice really and had he been given one he probably would have taken it. Pablo was soon in the kitchen of his parents house, subject to the question of where he had been for the past hour. Pablo told his mom he was playing soccer with his friends, she did not need to know anything else. By the next day on Saturday Pablo had been able to get in touch with and dispense to four of his men, the last one of which he could not get in contact with. That did not matter; the issue at hand was that Pablo had to get rid of 2lb of cocaine in five days so he could make some profit from this weeks load. He knew what he had to do, and set out immediately at 12:00PM to get it done. It was the first time ever that Pablo had to do the dealing directly, and honestly it was the last thing he wanted to do. He called up a few of his friends whom he knew did coke, and spent some time in areas he knew that coke deals went on in. By 6:00 o clock Pablo had rid himself of 1.5 pounds of cocaine, and was on his way to a park to deal the rest. As he entered the park a familiar rhythm crossed his ears. Pablo couldnt help but follow the rhythm as it got louder and more apparent to a patio where a circle of people were gathered. The people were obstructing the source of the noise from sight, so Pablo walked amongst them to the front of the circle. A few feet away, were some various metal items, pots, pans, trashcans, and metal tubes, all set up around a young looking African American boy. The boy himself sat upon a wooden box and was playing these common items like an instrument. The boys hands were experienced, moving with impressive speed and accuracy. The boys left foot was stomping on a trash can lid, and his right foot

was back kicking the wooden box he was sitting on. All four of his limbs played synchronously all the while spelling out a beat that sounded like two people at the same time. Sooner that Pablo would have liked the boy finished, ended with two consecutive hits reminiscent of the way Pablos band ended Blue Bossa. The crowd gave a hearty applause; some even dropped money into a metal can. The boy waved his hand around and grinned in a way that communicated happiness. Im done everybody, today was a great day thank you all! God bless you! cried the boy. The crowd slowly walked away while Pablo stood there. Pablo quickly noticed the boys less than presentable clothes, a tattered white shirt with muddy jeans. The boy started packing up his instruments, loading them onto a shopping cart. It took a minute until the boy recognized that Pablo was there. Yes, may I help you? asks the boy. Why dont you pick up your coin jar first, so that no one steals it? replies Pablo. The boy laughed, Because nobody would steal it, How do you know that? This time the boy looked amused, Are you going to take it? No, Well, there you are. There was a moment of silence as Pablo realized this boys life was none of his business. Pablo began to turn away when the boy chirped up. My name is Delian, and you? Pablo did not expect the boy to continue talking to him, but nonetheless responds, Pablo Where are you from Pablo? First Avenue and East 106th Street replies Pablo, expecting Delian to gasp. Ah very nice says Delian without a gasp. And you? I live in the orphanage right across the street, Im sorry, Oh please do not be! There was a pause, I like it there; all of us orphans get along very well. But it looks like you dont even get clean clothes. The boy chuckles, Oh we do usually, its just our washing machine is very old and has recently broke down. Oh how did that happen? Time flew as the two conversed; Pablo didnt even look at his watch once. The boy was so interesting, and apparently so was Pablo. They shared their backgrounds, their passion for their instrument, and their take on the city. Pablo could not believe how this boy talked always with a smile and laugh. It was not until later that Pablo received a text message from his mom demanding he come home. Pablo promised to bring his guitar down sometime that week so that they could play together. Oh theres something else I forgot to mention, says Pablo Yes? Do you want some coke? The boy looked confused. You know, cocaine like Pablo made a gesture of snorting something Delians eyes opened wide, No, no, no, why do you ask? Well, I have some that I need to get rid of Throw it away. Throw it away, are you crazy? Do you do it?

Me? No. So you dont need it. I need the money though, The boy again laughs, Money means nothing; nobody needs money With that Delian began pushing his shopping cart full of makeshift instruments, every now and then jumping on the back of cart so as the ride it. Pablo watched the boy until he turned around and waved goodbye. Pablo waved back, and began the trip back to his own home. As he was walking home he passed an alley with a large green dumpster. He stopped and looked at it. Next thing he knew Pablo was unzipping his backpack and dumping the remains of the cocaine he was carrying. Pablo shut the lid of the dumpster and turned away. Later that week Pablo had decided to make the trip down to the park again to see Delian. He brought his acoustic guitar with him and told his mom he was going to go see the boy he had met earlier that week. The walk to the park took its time, all the while Pablo anticipated the moment that he would be sitting next to the boy on his own wooden box while people watched. Pablo did not even care about the money, he wanted Delian to have it all. When Pablo finally came to the entrance of the park, he stopped to listen for Delians rhythm. There was no sound in the air, so Pablo assumed Delian was taking a break. When Pablo came to the patio where he had seen Delian last, there was nothing. No crowd, no improvised instruments, no jar of change. Nothing. Pablo directed his sight at the orphanage Delian had told him he was at. Pablo made his way over there, all the while guessing the whereabouts of Delian. He came to the orphanage and entered. Inside was a homely looking wrinkly woman with glasses on. She looks up at Pablo and smiles, How can I help you? Pablo told him about Delian, and asked if she knew where he was. The one immediately looked concerned, and told Pablo she did not want to be the bearer of bad news, but that Delian had been adopted by an Uncle that had come from Virginia. Pablo stares blankly at the lady, and says Thats not bad news, thats excellent news. The woman grins from cheek to cheek, Yes, yes it is. Pablo walked outside of the orphanage and took a deep breath. He put on a smile and walked back home.

Name: Sebastian Andrews Cover Sheet 1. Title: The Boy 2. Assignment type: Short story 3. Purposes: Write about New York city, a place that has always been interesting to me Detail the city life, but in a dark mood. Show the reader that life is what you make of it, when god gives you lemons you make lemonade. To show that kindness is sometimes an underappreciated virtue, but its power to make the world revolve is undeniable 4. Intended Audiences: Anyone, my creative writing workshop class. People who have negative attitudes on life 5. Revision Made: Between 1st and 2nd draft: Added a lot more content, around 3 paragraphs. Took advice of the class to split the paragraph into two. Corrected grammatical errors, like doo to door. Between 2nd and 3rd draft: Finished the story, adding three more pages (single spaced) of content. Took a lot of the advice I had gotten from piers during the workshop day on Friday. Fixed up the 2nd draft, changed the altercation I used as an example to one more violent. Between 3rd and final draft: Holly O read it and corrected grammar/mistakes. 6. Revisions I would make: I would consider adding more to the story of Delian, perhaps having the relationship between Pablo and Delian grow. Making Pablos story more compelling by making his shift from drug dealer to clean more troublesome. Exploring the role of music more Showing more examples of kindness, going more into depth about it 7. Sources and Acknowledgements: Nights/days in the city with my moms cousin, husband and little kid, or with my aunt and uncle. My friend Pablo Arribas Serrano who I got to know extremely well, graduated last year, who was from Spain, inspired my main characters origin. An African American I met my freshman year in high school named Delian who was from New York on an ABC (A Better Chance) program in my town Wilton, whose happy demeanor and name inspired my character of the same name. Holly O for reading it over. My mother for her love and care, and ability to be very accepting of other people, showing me the power of kindness Music for being such a presence in my life 8. Did you enjoy the story? Did you feel the character description was sufficient? What about the New York City description? Did you like the way the story resolved?

Go to our workspace in Cushnet: Period G Open, click on Discussion conference

Pablo Marie-Laio Serrano.

Talented 22 year old spanish guitarist boy who deals and does cocaine. How quickly time passes Live in harlem in newyork city. Meets an African American boy who plays street drums. They begin jamming together. Boy doesnt keep to himself and teaches Spaniard something.