The Bike Lottery

The call to prayer echoes out from the top of the minaret of the local mosque across the two storied row homes of the dreary North Philadelphia neighborhood. The sun, just starting to peek out over the horizon, looks a reddish-purple as it struggles to force it’s way over Roosevelt Boulevard and through the dark thunder clouds hovering over the skyline.
Down the street from Luzerne and Fairhill a small crowd carries tables, chairs and tents from white vans parked on the grass of Hunting Park. One of the women in the group, who was about five feet tall and tugs at the too short blue shirt, hammers a sign reading FAIR into the ground. It’s a simple sign with a painfully simple message.
But this meant next to nothing to Jay who wakes up to the sound of hammering and loud, obnoxious prayer calls when he would rather have stayed asleep far away from the realities of everyday life in this little section of Kill-a-Delphia. He rubs his eyes with closed fists and lowers his feet to the floor.
Jay still smiles though as he slips on his shoes as he hunched over the bed. Day ago he bought a new pair from the paycheck he received at his new job as a clerk at a local deli on Erie Avenue near the El. Jay had been released from the Youth Study Center on 20th Street not too long ago. Living with his grandmom, he promised her he wouldn’t get into anymore trouble. He was only 12.
For Jay, life had not been so kind, as it was not so kind to so many of the residents of Hunting Park. A neighborhood plagued with late night crack deals and a section of the city that went well beyond the call to kill your fellow man for no reason whatsoever other than an unwanted glance.
Jay went to Juvie for selling rocks on Fairhill Street. Some bum came up and wanted a bundle, and, since Jay was stoned at the time, he didn’t think anything out of the ordinary about how a homeless man could afford that much rock. Well, he was no homeless man; he was undercover. Since he was so young he only did a year, but the urine-stained walls and lingering smell of feces didn’t exactly make the place some kind of locked down Radisson. Not only that but when he was arrested his bike was left on the side of the one rowhome on the corner with the boarded up windows and porch with a giant hole in the middle of it.
“Man, I wonder if there’s any soda in the fridge or somethin’,” Jay mutters under his breath as he trudges through the pile of clothes on the floor of his bedroom. As he enters the kitchen he sees his grandmom sipping on a cup of coffee.
“Jay honey, someone’s throwing a fair today down the street. Maybe you should go it would be fun”
“A fair. You talking about a fair. Nah, me and Nate were thinking ‘bout hitting up the bowling alley on Erie.”
“It’s a free fair and there’s even prizes.”
“I don’t know, Gran. I’ll see what Nate wants to do.”
Just then, Nate knocks on the door. “It’s unlocked, bitch. Come in.”
“Don’t talk like that. You need to learn manners young man. You can’t end up like some no good loser. You get good grades and you’re going to college and back to school at the end of August. I won’t, I won’t have you end up like that no good Son of mine.”
“I’m sorry Gran. It’s just words, for reals.”
Nate and Jay pound each other’s fist and then walk out with a passing hand motion to grandmom as they open the door and let it close slowly as it creaks.
They head down the corner and walk into a deli and both grab an energy drink from the refrigerator. They pay for it in dimes and quarters and leave.
‘Hey, man you see dat fair they throwing in Hunting Park. I hear they giving away a bike and they got cotton candy and shit.”
“Fuck, man I thought we was going bowling.”
“Fuck bowling, dat always there and this fair is a one time thing.” “Ar’ite let’s go. Just for a minute though to check this whack shit out, yo. I ain’t tying to go on some fairy ass merry-go-round and to win stuffed animals.”
The cars whiz by down Luzerne. Some are nice. Others squeal like dying pigs left in burning engines. Still other hunker buy as if they had hit a roadside bomb that only damaged the car slightly.
The sounds of hip-hop reverberate through park and kids run around all over. Some with painted faces. Others munching on cotton candy. Parents stand by trees seeking shade and talk. Some drink beer out of bags. Some slug down water. Others just stand there and pay no attention.
“Hey, man look at dat. It’s a bike and you can win it. Let’s go enter. Man and maybe if you win you’d have a bike again. That would be phat, man.”
“What? That probably is my bike and they all painted it and shit to make me not notice. I shoot those mutherfuckers.”
They both walk over to the booth where a lady and man stand handing out raffle tickets. “It’s completely free they yell. Free bike. Enter to win. Free bike. There’s only a limited amount of tickets so enter now.”
“Shit man I’m gonna enter as many times as possible. You see dat thing it be sweet as hell. I be getting all the honeys.”
“Man, are you fucking stupid. You ain't gonna win that bike. Shit’s fixed. That guy probably gonna give it to his little girl or something. Seriously, you think two niggers like us are ever gonna win anything? You better wise up Nate, for reals.”
“Man, you stupid. I’ll win and then maybe I let you ride it. Maybe.”
The man at the counter glances over to the two boys and shakes his head, turning away. Nate walks over to the man and asks for a raffle ticket and after filling it out, the man folds it twice over and drops it in the box.
“Good luck wit dat shit, yo. Man, why even bother.”
“Man, you way to bitter for a 12 year old.”
The two walk away and start picking up branches that the storm knocked down the night before. “Stick fight,” Jay yells. The swing the sticks at each other like they were Obi One Kanobi and Darth Vader battling it out in the first Star Wars movie—the one that doesn’t suck.
The two, after finding the fair rather boring, headed down Eight Street to buy some ice cream. The little carnival was winding down anyway and the raffle stand had run out of tickets hours ago so the two stopped their game of stick wars to indulge in a summer delight for children.
The street, lined with garbage pushed to the curb with flyers floating about and bouncing up and down in some random fashion throughout the road, was dangerous. A tall man in baggy jeans and an oversized tee-shirt hands off a large yellow bag filled with even smaller yellow bag to what appears to be a cancer patient—though he is no cancer patient. A sniper sits on the rooftop waiting for any would-be rivals from capping them. Another younger looking kid stands on the corner with a cell phone in hand and with shifty eyes makes sure no police cruise down the street.
The two walk past without a glance though jay notices and looks back t the BMX that looks just like his. “Don’t fuck with them, man. Even if it is yours, they shoot you man. They don’t give a fuck. Look at ‘dem. Let’s go get that ice cream.”
“‘Ah’ight. It cool.”
The reach the store and step inside asking the Chinese man at the counter if he sells soft ice cream, which he does. They both buy the chocolate and vanilla mix and leave. “Man, you shoulda’ got strawberry cause you a fruit, nigger.”
“Man, you the nigger who was too dumb to fill out a free raffle to win a bike. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.”
“Man, you and your fantasies about something better really starting to get on my nerves, seriously, this a white man’s world my daddy used to tell me.”
“Yeah and where’s he? Prison. My momma says you don’t wise up that where you be to.”
“Yeah, see that bike man. We should take that shit than we can ride to the zoo again and sneak in.”
“Man, nah. I’m gonna win that other bike fair and square. You see.”
“I’m takin’ dat shit.”
Jay runs across the street hops on the bike and takes off towards Fifth street where he zigs and zags down alleyways and side streets to escape the wrath of the Seventh Street Gang.
Nate watches across the street as the men shrug and pull a phone out of their pocket and make a phone call. Nate, so frightened by the fact the gang saw him, doesn’t move but leans back against a wall, acting as if he never met Jay. Several, minutes later a police cruiser pulls up and the men move to the window and tell the officer something. The police vehicle cruise away and the men walk inside.
Shit, Nate thinks as he scratches his head baffled by the fact that the meanest gang in Philly called the cops and not their own personal army. Nate starts trudging down the street kicking a can for fun until he reaches his stoop.
“Nate, Nate thank God your home. I have great news and sorta bad news, but not so bad.”
“What, ma. I’m tired.”
“Did you sign up for that bike contest today?”
“yeah.”
“You won.”
“For reals? That’s awesome. Can’t wait to tell jay,” he yells gleefully as he lunches at his mom to give her a hug.
“There’s just one problem honey. Some kid stole the bike that a group of ministers who cleaned up Seventh Street were giving away. But there can buy another one.”
“I think I’ll call Jay now.”