Boys Life

Nemo’s chest shook, and the first sob squeezed out.
    “Oh, momma’s little baby’s gonna cry now!” Gordo said, grinning.
    “I… wanna go… home…” Nemo began to sob, the tears flooding up behind his glasses.
    There is nothing more cruel in this world than a young savage with a chip on his shoulder and anger in his soul. It is worse still when there is a yellow stripe down his back, as evidenced by the fact that the Branlins never went after boys their age or older.
    I looked around. A car was passing the field, but its driver paid us no notice. We were on our own out here, under the scorching sun.
    “Put the baby down, Gordo,” Gotha said. His brother shoved Nemo to the ground. “Feed the baby, Gordo,” Gotha said, and Gordo unzipped his blue jeans.
    “Hey, come on!” Johnny protested. “Don’t!”
    Gordo, holding his exposed penis, stood over Nemo Curliss. “Shut up, niggerblood, if you don’t want some rain in your face, too.”
    I couldn’t take any more of this. I looked at the baseball in my hand. Nemo was crying. Gordo was waiting for the water to flow. I just couldn’t take it.
    I thought of Rocket being kicked over. I thought of the tears on Nemo’s face. I threw the baseball at Gordo from about ten feet.
    It didn’t really have a lot on it, but it made a solid thunk as it hit his right shoulder. He wailed like a bobcat and staggered away from Nemo just as his fountain arced. The urine wet the front of his jeans and ran down his legs, but Gordo was grasping his shoulder and his face was all screwed up and he was yelling and sobbing at the same time. Gotha Branlin turned toward me, the cigarette clenched between his teeth and smoke whirling from his mouth. His cheeks flamed, and he propelled himself at me. Before I could think to dodge, he rammed me full force. The next thing I knew I was flat on my back with Gotha sitting on top of me, his weight crushing my chest. “I… can’t… I can’t… breathe…” I said.
    “Good,” he said, and he hit me in the face with his right fist.
    The first two punches hurt. Real bad. The next two about knocked me cold, but I was squirming and yelling and trying to get away, and the scarlet blood was all over Gotha’s knuckles. “Ohhhhh shit, my arm’s broke!” Gordo moaned, on his knees in the grass.
    A hand grabbed Gotha’s peroxided hair. Gotha’s head was jerked back, the cigarette fell from his mouth, and I saw Johnny standing over him. Then Davy Ray said, “Hold him!” and he smashed his fist into Gotha’s nose.
    The lump of flesh burst open. Blood streamed from Gotha’s nostrils, and Gotha roared like a beast and got off me. He attacked Davy Ray, hammering at him with his fists. Johnny went after him, trying to grab Gotha’s arms, but Gotha twisted around and swung a blow that crunched against the side of Johnny’s head. Then Gordo was up again, his face a blotched rictus of pure rage, and he ran in kicking at Johnny’s legs. Johnny went down, and I saw a fist bust him right in the eye. Davy Ray shouted, “You bastards!” and flung himself at Gotha, but the older boy grabbed him by the collar and swung him around like a laundry bag before throwing him to the ground. I was sitting up, blood in my mouth. Nemo was up and running for his life, but he tripped over his own tangled legs and fell headlong into the grass.
    What followed in the next thirty seconds I don’t like to think about. First Gotha and Gordo left Davy Ray crumpled up and crying, and then they pounced on Johnny and worked him over with brutal precision. When Johnny was gasping for air, the blood bubbling from his nostrils, the Branlins advanced on me again.
    “You little piece o’ shit,” Gotha said, his nose dripping. He put his foot on my chest and slammed me down on my back again. Gordo, still holding his shoulder, said, “Lemme have him.”
    I was too dazed to fight back. Even if I hadn’t been dazed, I couldn’t have done very much against those two without a spiked mace and a broadsword and fifty more pounds on my bones.
    “Stomp his ass, Gordo,” Gotha urged.
    Gordo grabbed the front of my shirt and started to haul me to my feet. My shirt ripped, and I remember thinking that Mom was going to tear me up.
    “I’ll kill you,” somebody said.
    Gotha laughed like a bark. “Put it down, kid.”
    “I’ll kill you, I thwear I will!”
    I blinked, spat blood, and looked at Nemo Curliss, who stood fifteen feet away. The baseball was in his hand,