Trouble

Eight Years Old.

“Trouble, get back here right now,” Mr. Lowes demands.

Trouble. It’s the name I’ve been called since the first day of kindergarten here. Sometimes I don’t think anyone in this school even knows my real name anymore.

“Stop right now,” the teacher shouts at my back.

I continue running anyway. I’m already going to get sent to the principal’s office. Why not make it worth my while? Clutching the lunch I’d stolen from Mr. Lowes desk to my chest, I race through the hallways until I reach the dark janitor’s closet. Closing the door quietly behind me, I hold my breath until I hear Mr. Lowes’ feet rush past the door before sitting on the floor to eat.

An apple and a tuna sandwich have never tasted better than they do right now. I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday. My stomach growled so loudly during our math test that the kids next to me had widened their eyes in surprise when they’d heard it. Right before they’d laughed at me.

No one was home to cook anything for me after school, and the cabinets were empty like usual. I could’ve gone outside my building and asked someone to help me get something for dinner, but I was tired of asking people for help. Tired of the looks they gave me when I did. I’d been trying to wait for lunch to eat, but I couldn’t anymore.

The door rips open as I finish off the bottle of water from the bag, and Mr. Lowes is bending over, his face red with anger as he grabs my arm. He yanks me upwards and wretches my arm backwards, pinning it at my back. A shout leaves me at the pain in my shoulder.

“Let go of me,” I yell as he pushes me forward down the hallway.

“You little shit,” he spits. “Think you can steal my lunch and get away with it? We’ll see about that.”

“You’re hurting me,” I say hoarsely, trying to hold back tears.

“Good. You should get used to being like this. I’m sure the police will have your hands behind your back many times in your pitiful life.”

My face scrunches up in rage at his words. The same kind of things I’d been hearing all my life. That I was pitiful, a nothing, who could never be anything in this world. That I was going to be just like my mother, my sister. That I was nothing but the name they called me. Mr. Lowes in particular had really made a point of not letting a day pass without reminding me just what future awaited me. One where I ended up in jail, with a needle in my arm, or in a grave. But I’ve had enough of it today, especially from him.

We finally reach the principal’s office, the pain in my arm and shoulder dulling with my planning what I’m going to do the moment he lets go of my arm. And then that moment comes. He loosens his hold, reaching around me to knock on the door, I quickly turn around and bring my open hand across his face. He stands there stunned, a red mark in the shape of my small handprint on his cheek. The door opens behind me, and I hear a deep sigh.

“Why am I not surprised?” Principal Walsh asks.

“He just… He, he…slapped me,” Mr. Lowes sputters.

I shrug and turn around, walking past the principal and into his oh-so familiar office.

“I’ll handle it Mr. Lowes,” Principal Walsh tells him because closing the door.

I make sure to give Mr. Lowes a finger wave and a smirk before it closes completely. Then I sit in the chair that might as well be just for me at this point. Principal Walsh walks around his desk, and the chair groans under him as he sits down.

“Second time you’ve been here this week, Trouble,” he begins.

I shrug. There’s nothing I can say or do, so why bother? Even when things that aren’t my fault bring me in here, my defense, my words are never enough. This time will be no different I’m sure.

“You just got an award for making honor roll, and yet here you are for smacking a teacher. I just don’t understand it.”

You don’t want to, I say in my mind.

“I guess you just really want to live up to that name of yours, huh? Because that’s all you are around here. Trouble. Trouble for the teachers. Trouble for the other kids. Trouble for me. More trouble than you’re worth, quite frankly.”

My eyes snap to his as my top lip curls.

“Yes. It’s that anger of yours that will always keep you right where you are. Being nothing and doing nothing. It’s a shame really. There are some kids who can be more, have the potential for more, and then there are kids like you. A waste of resources and space. Well at least, we’ll be free of you for a week. That’s how long you’ll be suspended for hitting Mr. Lowes. Now, let’s call your mother.”

I throw my head back in laughter. It comes out bitter and hateful. Exactly how I feel every day.

“Good luck. Let me know if you find her.”

Principal Walsh’s eyes harden as his hand tightens on the phone. “Your sister then.”

I shrug again, because, same story there. He makes the calls anyway, and I only smirk as both numbers go straight to voicemail. The phone crashes loudly as he slams it back in its cradle and shakes his head.

“Like I said, Trouble,” he grumbles, a look of disgust on his face.

Instead of stopping his words from burrowing into me, I embrace them. I embrace the name I’ve been given. They want me to be Trouble? Then fine.

I am.

Present “Trouble,” a man whispers. “What you got for me?”

“What are you looking for?” I ask, bored with repeating this same line over and over each day.

Bored with standing on this same corner every day and night. Bored with exchanging drugs for money. Bored with hearing my damn name being called, whispered, and shouted. Just plain bored, and tired. I hate that name as much as I did the day they gave it to me. But it’s all I have now. It’s who I’ve become. Who I am. Trouble.

I exchange drugs and cash with the man, and finally it’s time for a part of my day that I don’t hate so much. When I leave the corner for a little while and go home to check on my brother. It’s a short walk to my building, and I wave at a few of the people sitting on the steps before pushing on the heavy door to go inside. Riding on the one working elevator that always smells like urine, I take it to the fourth floor. I lean my head back against the wall as I ascend, wishing I could be done with this night, but knowing that’s not a possibility.

Opening the door to my apartment, I walk in to see the living room vacant, but the open book on the coffee table and the half-eaten slice of pizza next to it tell me Hudson has stopped playing video games long enough to come out here at some point. Closing the door behind me, I shrug off my light hoodie, worn more for the pockets to hold things than for warmth right now, and walk over to the kitchen. Grateful that Hudson left me a few slices of pizza, I tear off one before heading towards his bedroom. I find him, lying on his stomach on the bed, game controller in his hands.

“Are you done with your homework?” I ask, scaring the crap out of him, if the way he jumps is any indication.

“God. Stop creeping around,” he huffs, sitting up.

“You would’ve heard me if this game wasn’t so loud. Homework, done or no?”

“Yes.” He groans. “You tell me to do my homework before playing the game almost every day.”

“Doesn’t mean you listen,” I grumble, and he rolls his eyes. “How was school?”

“Good.” his eyes dart away from mine at the obvious lie.

“What is it?” I ask, standing straighter in his doorway.

“My new teachers. They’re all ass—"I arch a brow at him, and he cuts himself off. “They don’t like me.”

“You’ve been in school two weeks. They don’t even know you.”

“No. But they knew you.”

My eyes are the ones to look to the side this time. Because yeah, we’ve had this problem before. I wish my mom would’ve given us our deadbeat fathers’ last names instead of hers. Maybe then, some of the teachers wouldn’t have known I was my sister’s brother, and all of the teachers wouldn’t know Hudson is mine. I had hoped Hudson’s freshman year would be different than my own, but it doesn’t seem like it.

“What are they doing?” I inquire, even though I can probably imagine.

“Just always side-eyeing everything I do. If I get done with a test first, they ask me if I cheated. When I hand in my homework, they’re double checking how I got the answer like I’m too dumb to have done it on my own.”

“I’ll go up there and have a word with the principal.”

“No, no. It’s just annoying. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” He smirks, even if it looks a little forced. “They’re just mad I’m too smart for their classes.”

I smile at that. “Damn right you are. Thanks for leaving me some slices.”

“You know it was a struggle.” He chuckles.

“Listen, I gotta get back out there.”

His grin drops, and I hate that I’m always the one to cause his smile to falter.

“Can you play for a little while?” he asks quietly.

Really, I can’t. I have at least another three hundred dollars’ worth of product to sell tonight. But I’m moving anyway, my feet eating up the small distance between us until I’m sitting on the floor beside his bed. His smile returns as he hands me the second controller.

“The point is not to get killed,” he tells me.

And isn’t that what I’ve been doing my whole life? But more than just trying to not die, to survive. And now just truly trying not to get killed.

I play two rounds with Hudson before I head to the kitchen and put my hoodie back on. Grabbing a now cold slice from the box, I walk to the door.

“Don’t open this door for anyone,” I shout.

Hudson comes to stand in his door, giving me an exasperated look. “You don’t have to keep saying that every time. I’m not a baby.”

“Don’t I know it,” I say as I close the door behind me.

It was so much easier when Hudson was younger. I would walk him to school, and work all day. Pick him up and drop him off with the babysitter. Work some more. I’d stay on the corner until I sold everything I had for that day and then get him from the babysitter. After paying her extra for watching him so late, I’d take him home and put him to sleep. That seemed hard then, but was easy compared to now. Back then, he didn’t ask so many questions. Back then, when he tried to be like me, he walked around the apartment in my sneakers, wore my hats.

Now, he’s older. Now he knows more. Now, in trying to be like me, he tries to wears my hoodies and hang out on the corner. Now, he asks where I’m going, where I’ve been. Now he hears the rumors about me and when I refuse to answer his questions about them, he just assumes what and who I am for himself.

He used to call me Justin. Now he calls me Trouble. And it hurts me every time. Because if there’s anyone I never wanted to see or know me as Trouble, it’s him.

I’m not even back on the corner yet before someone approaches me.

“Trouble. What do you have for twenty bucks?” the woman asks in her raspy voice.

I sigh as I finish off the slice and turn to her, ready to begin the rest of my night. All happiness and peace I felt a minute ago in my apartment is gone, replaced with anger and…exhaustion. I’m so sick of it all. This corner. These drugs. The fiends. But what else can I do? I have Hudson to take care of. I have bills and rent to pay. I have food and clothes to buy.

No job I could get is going to be able to let me afford all that. Not when I dropped out of high school my sophomore year because my mother was always high, and there was no one else to keep us from getting evicted. No one’s going to hire me with no job experience other than selling drugs. Not when I need to be able to walk my brother from school to the community center every day to make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble on the way. My older sister used to be able to help with stuff like that, but that was before she ran off with her boyfriend, and we never heard another word from her.

It’s all on me now. And I can’t falter in any way.

I look up at my building a few hours later and see the light in Hudson’s bedroom has finally been turned off. I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing he at least is safe and getting some sleep. I on the other hand, have hours before I’ll be able to go home. So I take a deep breath and let it out, waiting for the next person to find me on the corner. My corner. Whether I want it or not. Because it’s where I have to be. It’s really the only place I could’ve ended up. Right?

I come home a little earlier than usual, hunger making me leave the corner. When I walk into the apartment with chicken and French fries for me and Hudson, I stop short at the silence. No video games or music playing. No school book open on the coffee table. No backpack thrown on the floor. Confused, I walk to Hudson’s bedroom and find it empty.

“Where the hell is he at?” I ask no one.

I walked him home from the community center an hour ago. After setting the food on the kitchen counter, I get my phone out and call him. It rings and rings until it goes to voicemail as I leave the apartment. Walking down the steps, I ask the people sitting there if they’ve seen my brother. One thing about living in Newport, everyone knows everyone. You have to. We know each other, for safety, and to know where you are welcome and not. Because although everyone knows everyone, everyone does not like, or tolerate, everyone. Which is exactly why I need to find Hudson, and fast.

After hearing a chorus of no’s, I walk around to the parking lot in the back of our building and get in my rarely used car. I don’t usually stray too far from home, from my corner, so I don’t need it much. But on the odd weekend that I can take some time to myself, I need a car to show Hudson a world exists outside of Newport. I turn down one block and then another before I finally see Hudson.

My brakes screech as anger floods through me. Watching Brandon hold Hudson in a headlock has me seeing red as I throw my car into park and hop out of the car in one fluid motion. Has he lost his fucking mind touching my brother? Then as I get closer, he lets a chuckling Hudson go, and I hear them talking. Some of the tension releases from my shoulders. But only some.

“There you go.” Brandon grins. “You see. It’s easy to get out of if you know how. Then you get back to throwing punches.”

“Okay. What about when…” Hudson’s words drift off when he sees me walking towards him. “Oh shit,” he murmurs.

“Oh shit is right. Get in the car now,” I grit out.

“Ah, let him stay. We were just—”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do with my brother,” I snap, cutting Brandon off. Then I look back at Hudson. “Wait in the car.”

Hudson’s jaw clenches before he stomps to my idling car. Then I’m looking back at Brandon. And the bastard has the nerve to smirk at me.

“I was just trying to help him out,” he explains.

I step closer to him, and he stands straighter at my anything but friendly approach.

“Everyone knows to stay the fuck away from my brother. You didn’t think that included you or something?”

“Hey, he came to me. He just wanted to hang out. Come on man, let him have some fun.”

“And getting shot is fun?” I hiss. “Because, if I remember correctly, someone did a drive by on your corner not even a month ago. My brother won’t be on this corner when someone decides to do another one. Stay the fuck away from him, and if he comes back, tell him to go the fuck home.”

He only smirks, staying silent. Hoping, for his sake, that my point has been made, I walk backwards to my car. First lesson I learned on these streets, never turn your back on anyone. Once I’m in the car, I look over at Hudson’s angry face a last time before speeding down the street. Neither of us says a word on the short ride home. Hudson gets out of the car as soon as I park, slamming the door shut behind him. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself before I go upstairs. I reach the lobby just in time to see Hudson’s eyes bore into mine as the elevator doors close. I wait for the elevator to come back down and get in.

I try to think of what to say, the best way to say it, but all that keeps running through my mind are visions of Hudson in the hospital, or dead, just from being on that corner. When I reach the apartment, I turn the knob, expecting it to be unlocked and finding that it’s not. Frustration rushes through me as I shove my hand into my pocket for my keys. A door slams right as I come inside the apartment, deliberately I know because he would’ve been in his room long before now.

“Fuck this,” I mumble as I stomp towards his room.

I’m not the one who did something wrong here, but I’m the one trying to calm down, trying to tiptoe around his feelings. He shouldn’t be the one slamming doors and sitting around angry-faced. No. That’s not the way this is going to go. He knows, he knows, I will never allow him to hang out on the corners. And he went anyway, expecting I would never know because I shouldn’t have been home early enough to figure it out.

I turn his doorknob and find yet another locked door.

“Open this door or I’ll break it down,” I say through clenched teeth, sure he can hear me.

One second passes, then another. Just as I start to wonder how much a new door would cost, I hear the lock turn, and the door opens an inch. I push it the rest of the way open, and Hudson picks up the game controller, eyes on the TV.

“You aren’t serious right now.” I stare at him with wide eyes. “You really think I’m gonna let you play video games after what you just pulled?”

“You can’t tell me what to do.” He explodes, throwing the controller to the floor. “I’m not a little boy anywhere.”

“No. I guess you’re grown enough to go on the corner you know I told you not to be on, and get shot, or arrested. Why were you there?”

“Nothing.” He huffs. “Just leave me alone. I’m home now, right? Safe in this freaking bubble you keep me in.”

“So I’m the bad guy for wanting you to be safe?”

“You never let me do anything. I can’t go outside. I can’t even walk to school alone. It’s embarrassing.”

My shoulders stiffen at what he means. “And who would make you feel embarrassed about that?”

His eyes go to the side. “Just leave me alone.”

“Is someone messing with you?”

“Everyone messes with me.”

The pain in his voice, the aggravation, kills me. I would take on the whole world, if it meant Hudson didn’t have to. But here he is, having to take it on anyway.

“Everyone? Who? People at school?”

“In school, whenever I do spend five seconds outside. They all think I’m soft because of you. Because I don’t hang outside with them. Because you walk me to and from school like a five-year-old. Because I’m never allowed to do anything. Everyone calls me a punk in school.”

“Has someone put their hands on you?”

“No. But they always tell me when they catch me alone, they’re gonna beat me up.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Hudson?”

“You wouldn’t understand. No one disrespects you. No one calls you names. No one ever messes with you. How could you understand that I just keep my mouth shut to get through the day? That I don’t even want to go to school anymore because I’m so sick of dealing with them every day. So I went outside so Brandon could teach how to fight.”

If only he knew how hard I had to constantly fight for that respect, that fear people have of me. I don’t want him to have to do that. But maybe I have sheltered him too much, especially in a place like Newport. I foolishly thought if I kept him separate from the streets, he wouldn’t be a part of it. That the streets wouldn’t come looking for him if he wasn’t looking for them. I was wrong.

“Come on. Get up,” I say as I take off my hoodie.

“Huh?”

“Get up. I’ll teach you how to fight.”

“Really?” His eyes light up.

“Yeah. If you had just come to me, told me what was going on, I would’ve taught you.”

He rolls his eyes. “You would have waited outside the school and threatened to beat the shit out of anyone who messed with me.”

I grin because, he’s not wrong. But I don’t feel guilty about it. It’s my job. But now, he needs to learn for himself, I guess. As much as I hate that he has to.

“Okay”—I put my fists in front of my face—“block your face at all times…”

He’s a natural, quick and light on his feet. Once we go through what stance works best for him, I put my open hands up so he can throw some punches. And since all fights somehow end on the floor, I teach him what to do depending on whether he ends up on the top or bottom.

“Okay, Justin.” He laughs. “I get it. Go for the other guy’s dick.”

I still for a moment, hearing him call me Justin again. It feels good. I would much rather him see me as his brother than the guy on the corner.

“People might say you shouldn’t go low in a fight,” I say, helping him to stand. “But I was taught that you win by any means necessary. So if that means punching, kneeing, or kicking a guy in his balls, I’m doing it.”

“And you think I could win… If I got into a fight?” he asks, hope in his eyes.

“I’m not saying go out and start fights now, but yeah, I know you’ll win. You’re my brother. Of course you’ll win.” I smirk.

“Whatever. You’re like an animal when you fight.”

I chuckle, even as shame fills me at the fact that he’s ever even seen me fight. One day when I was walking him home, someone thought that would be the perfect time to come up to me for a bag. When I told them to wait until I got back on the corner, they pushed me. I beat them until they lay in the street, face bloodied and body limp. Hudson had found it all exciting. It made him admire me in all the wrong ways. It just made me disgusted that he’d had to see it.

“Yeah well, like I said, don’t start fights. But if someone tries to bully you, then show them they picked the wrong one.”

He grins and nods. Then my phone rings and all the openness, the happiness, drains from his eyes. It’s replaced with a disappointment so deep it makes my chest hurt to look at. I don’t even have to look at the screen to know it’s someone telling me to get my ass back to the corner. I’ve been gone too long. And what hurts even more is that right behind the disappointment in Hudson’s eyes, there’s resentment, anger. And don’t I know those feelings so well? But it stings like nothing else to have them directed at me, from him.

“I uh…”

“Yeah, you gotta go. I know,” he murmurs low. “Thanks anyway.”

“You will tell me, right? If anyone keeps messing with you?”

“I’ll take care of it myself, Trouble.”

Back to Trouble. I sigh as I walk to his door and pick up my hoodie off the floor. Slipping it back on feels like every ounce of happiness I felt for the last hour leaving me.

“There’s chicken and fries for dinner,” I tell him.

He nods, unpausing his game. The sounds of guns shooting blast from the TV as I turn to leave his room.

“Don’t open the door for—” I begin to say when I open it to leave.

“I know,” he snaps.

Anger seizes me as I wait for the elevator, making me clench my hands into fists so tightly, they begin to hurt. Just for once, I’d like to spend a night being Justin, instead of having to go back to being Trouble.