“What’s all that damn racket?” Dad said.
James, with tears running down his face, walked spread-legged toward Dad carrying his shoes. “Wesley kicked me in the privates.”
I was about to tell my side of the story, when Dad said: “If he did, you deserved it. Now why don’t y’all take your asses back across the street. Wesley has another friend over today.”
“You ain’t got to worry about us coming back,” Roger said, still holding his side. “You can have your new-bought friend.”
“You’re just mad you lost,” Rubin said. “Sore losers, that’s what you are.”
Roger stopped and faced Rubin. I feared that he might want to finish the fight, but he took James by the arm and walked across the street.
“You boys handled yourselves well,” Dad said. “But, son, you should’ve been paying attention when James rolled you up from the back. You gotta always be alert, don’t let no one grab you from behind. Remember: beat the other man to the fuck.”
I heard Dad, but my eyes were on Roger and James as they entered their grandparents’ home. Seeing them disappear into that house, I realized that I’d lost them as friends. But trading those two for Rubin, my mentor and new friend, was more than an even exchange.
“Let’s swim, Wesley.”
At the dojo I was scared the other kids would see the top of my flabby chest and swimming with Rubin I risked showing all of it to him, exposing myself to his ridicule. A white T-shirt would be of no use; Rubin could see right through it, and once it was wet, it would cling skin-tight and accentuate my chest. Besides, women and girls swam in shirts and tops, not men or boys. Dad thought the T-shirt under my gi was gay, and he’d think the same if I swam in one, and if he thought so, Rubin probably would too. I’d bare my chest and take the chance.
I pulled my shoulders back and sucked in my stomach, making it firm and lifting my drooping chest. I waited until Rubin was in the pool before taking my shirt off, and as I did I kept my back to him. I glanced over my shoulder, keeping my chest out of his view, as he jumped off the diving board. While he was under water I jumped in, feet first and got low in the water. I relaxed a little, realizing that it wouldn’t be too hard to keep my chest out of sight while we swam. I just had to remember to stay in the deep end and not get out often, which wasn’t a problem since I was a swimmer, not a diver.
Swimming, I soon discovered, was an activity that I did better than Rubin. While I performed the backstroke, free-style, and butterfly, Rubin did the dog-paddle. He could, however, dive with all the grace that he possessed when he performed a flying side-kick.
Because of this, Rubin dove more than swam.
We stayed in the pool for a few hours, and I made sure to get out first, so all he saw was my back, and once I made it to the towels on the pool-side table, I immediately threw one over my shoulders like I saw boxers and wrestlers on TV wear their towels.
I went into my room to change and Rubin followed. I didn’t tell him where to change, but I figured he would use the bathroom. Instead, he undressed in front of me, not showing any
shame. I, on the other hand, turned away from him and had my pants on in seconds, but it seemed to take Rubin extra time to get dressed. I didn’t know if he was a slow dresser or if he was simply taking his time, but I made sure not to look at his nakedness. Or at least as little as I could, though it was difficult not to notice a naked Puerto Rican teenaged boy in my room.
Once dressed, we hung out in my room. I was nervous, having limited experience at entertaining guests. My room didn’t look a thing like Rubin’s. There were no posters on the walls, no models hanging from the ceiling, no comic books stacked in view. Compared to his room, mine was sterile and boring.
“You like video games?” I asked. “I’ve got football and Space Invaders.” I didn’t see any reason to bring up the educational games.
I held out both games to him, and Rubin took Space Invaders. We sat on the floor and began playing. Space Invaders had three settings: beginner, intermediate, professional, and the difference between the three levels was the speed at which the spaceships came at you. They looped down from above and you had to move side-to-side and shoot them. If one of them made it through your electronic bullets, then it was up to you to dodge it. At the professional level, this was difficult because spaceships kept coming at you without any break.
I loved playing football, but of the two games Space Invaders was my favorite. Its graphics were better, and with every shot you took, it beeped, and when you shot a spaceship, you heard it dissolve. Once you were hit, a quick triple-beep sounded, letting you know you were dead. I wished Rubin had selected the football game.
“What’s your high score on here?” Rubin asked. He’d been playing the game for ten minutes and I had yet to hear him die.
“Eight-hundred thousand and something. I’ve been trying to get to a million just to see what’ll happen. How many points do you have?”
“A half-million.”
A half-million points and he still hadn’t died. When I earned my high score, I did it by using all three of my men.
“Damn it!”
I heard his first man die.
“You want something to drink?” I asked. “We’ve got some Coke and juice.”
“Coke’ll be fine,” he said, not looking away from the game.
“What’s Rubin doing?” Dad asked. He was in the kitchen eating a baked quail with his hands at the sink.
“Playing Space Invaders.”
“Y’all having fun?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Good.” Dad pitched the last bite into his mouth and threw the tiny carcass in the trash. “While he’s here, you oughta get him to help you prepare for that belt test.”
“Can’t we just play today?” I said. “There’s all next week in the dojo, and I’ll practice more at home too.”
Dad cocked his head at me and squinted.
“Hell, even God took Sunday off. You boys hungry? I’m gonna cook some burgers. Go ask Rubin how many he wants.”
I got two Cokes from the fridge and went back to my room.
“Look, man.” Rubin held the game where I could see the score at the top. It was nine hundred thousand something and the numbers kept growing. The cold Coke cans burned my hands, but I didn’t put them down; I stood where I could see over Rubin’s shoulder. “Yeah, baby! A thousand points away from a million.”
His first time playing the game and Rubin was going to break a million points. I had had the game since Christmas, six months worth of sore thumbs and endless spacemen, yet I’d never broken a million.
“What man you on?” I asked.
“Third. What do you think it’ll do when I score a million?” Rubin says.
“Stop, probably.”
“Don’t be a sore loser like your friends.”
“I ain’t no loser. You ain’t beat me.”
“I beat your score, I beat you,” Rubin said. “Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, a million!”
“What’d it do?”
“Started back at zero.”
Good. No sparks or fireworks, nothing special marking the moment.
I wanted to knock the game out of his hands, but I knew better than to get into hand-to-hand combat with Rubin. His beating my high score was one thing, but where did he get off calling me loser?
I handed him his Coke and somehow, in the process, I blocked his view of the screen and I heard the triple-beep.
“What’d you do that for, man?”
“What?”
“Made me die.”
“Don’t be a sore loser.”
“I get sore when little shits make me lose,” Rubin said.
“Why do I have to be a little shit because you lost?” I was being smart with him again, and I knew this wasn’t good for my tae kwon do future or keeping him as a friend.