What I Didn't Know Back Then
By Space Toaster
Part One
1979. The year I turned twenty. Most of those in the gang scene would remember it as that year where the Warriors fought their way back home from the Bronx all the way back to Coney Island. They had over a hundred gangs out howling for their blood after they’d been accused of shooting a man who had the potential to bring all the gangs together. In the end, all the information was wrong. The Rogues had done it, and to this day no one knows why. Swan of the Warriors had supposedly asked Luther, their leader. He replied there was no reason; he just liked doing things like that. I found that very hard to believe, but then again, he rarely told me the straight story anyway. It’s true; he was reckless, impulsive, violent, and most likely insane. What isn’t true is that he never did anything without a reason. Most often, that reason would benefit him somehow. Maybe, that was why I ended up with him. I was young, I wasn’t sure of myself, he could control me, but I didn’t mind it much. I only wish someone had told me that he would only end up hurting me in the end. By Space Toaster
Part One
I was a natural born wallflower. Even after the shaky voyage through puberty, where I actually came out looking all right, (so I was told) I kept to myself. To me, there wasn’t much to see in the mirror. Red-brown hair, big brown eyes, and an okay looking face, willowy body. But he saw something he liked, though I will never know what. It was early May. I was quiet and kind of shy, but I was wary of all the gang activity in my neighborhood. Even with this knowledge, I still walked the streets at night by myself. If worse came to worse, I was a fast runner. However, running wasn’t an option, because I was squashed in the backseat of a Cadillac hearse between a window and a guy in all black pleather. I should have started running when Luther started walking up to me.
“We’re headed up to a party in Gravesend,” He’d said as if he wasn’t so obviously mentally undressing me. “Pretty girl like you looks like she could use some action.”
For some reason I said yes, and that’s how I ended up in the back of the hearse. Rock music crackled out of the old radio and every time we hit a bump, someone’s hand would ‘accidentally’ brush my leg. Luther kept glancing back at me and grinning, which made me a tad uncomfortable. I was already uncomfortable because I refused to sit on someone’s lap and was squished between two guys I didn’t know. The one to my left also kept popping his gum, which bugged the hell out of me.
“What’s your name?” He asked, acting like I didn’t notice he was staring down the front of my shirt.
“Freddie….you?”
“Tommy.”
Tommy was breathing spearmint everywhere, and I was contemplating crawling out the window, but we arrived before I could. True to my wallflower nature, I ended up sitting by myself in the corner with a half-empty bottle. Luther had been watching me most of the time, and soon he was walking over and pulling up a chair, turning it around to sit on it backwards.
“Hey Freddie, what are you doing here by yourself? You should be dancin’ or something.” He sat very close to me, acting like we were best friends rather then someone I met half an hour ago. Maybe it was because I was tipsy, but I noticed he had a really nice smile. Our knees touched whenever he shifted in his seat, which happened often like he had too much energy.
I shook my head, taking another swig of whatever was in the bottle. It tasted like cough medicine. “I’m too sober to dance.”
I ate, or more like drank those words an hour later when I was drunk as a monkey. I was completely surrounded by people, hardly even dancing, just moving. Luther was in front of me, talking but I couldn’t hear a word he was saying over the noise. He was grabbing my hand, touching my arm, laughing about something. I stumbled and fell into him, but he held me up. I remember the smell of his vest, the booze on my own breath, a hand cradling the back of my head. He might have grabbed my butt but I don’t remember. I do remember slouching in his lap in the hearse and waking up on my couch with a splitting headache. I sat up…and nearly had a heart attack when I saw Luther lounging in the armchair nearby, watching the TV.
“Oh hey, you’re up.” He said, looking over at me.
“Unfortunately.” I rubbed at my eyes. “How did you know where I live?”
Luther grinned, getting up out of the armchair. “You talk way too much when you’ve had a few." He ruffled my hair. "I’ll be seeing you around.”
To cut an extremely long and rather boring story short, I hung around with the Rogues a little while longer, and a few weeks later I was hanging off Luther in a Rogues vest. I wasn’t an actual member, but the other Rogues never questioned Luther about it. He was always joking around with me, pinching me, slapping me on the ass, but only in front of the guys. He never used my name, he called me Baby. I didn’t like it, but could take it, so I just laughed along with him. We all learned very quickly how possessive he could be.
Cropsey was only one out of the guys who wasn’t ‘scared’ of me because I was the Warlord’s so-called ‘arm candy.’ We got along well, maybe because two punching bags can sympathize with each other, even though I didn’t know I was one then. Luther was extra possessive about me towards him especially. He was always telling me to keep away from him, or making sure we were never too close to each other in the room. ‘Not asking why’ could also be added to the list of things I should have done, but didn’t do.
