Day 409: Tuesday, August 23, 1983

Okay, I'll say this.

I like my teachers! Yes, teachers. Plural. I think that's the word for more than one. Now in third grade, we switch teachers for different classes. The best news is they also teach fourth grade, so if I pass third grade, I'll still have them as teachers!

My reading teacher and homeroom teacher's this woman, Mrs. July. She's this lady from Africa, so she tells all these cool stories about her life and her family over there. Her family owns a chocolate plantation somewhere there, which I never knew chocolate was a plant. I'm not attached to chocolate or anything, but does that make it a vegetable we can eat? Or a fruit?

Anyway, the plantation her family owns provides the village she grew up in over there with food, money and jobs. Her family funded her to go to college here using their plantation money. She became the first in her family to graduate. I find that cool, how people dump everything they have in life just to try to make it better, armed only with the support from their family. I wish I had that.

But she's friendly! She's the nicest person I met. The past week I've been in her class, she asks me how my life is every day and cheers me on. She brought donuts in last Friday; she said we deserve to be rewarded for surviving the week of school. She gives us hints for our classwork from her class or from other classes.

She's just great.

My math teacher's another woman, this thin, blonde lady, Miss Smaha. She's not as open with her life, but she makes us laugh with these word problems about some idiot falling "48 divided by 8" times on the ice when it snowed. The moron should worry less about the times he fell and more about wearing some golf cleats to school. Have you ever seen what golf cleats look like? There's no slipping in those.

She also cares for us and tries everything she can (at least in the first week) to help us with problems we might be stuck on. She shows us the steps and everything with a similar example, then watches us try to solve it. It's really neat.

My last teacher is my social studies teacher, Mr. Powell. He used to be a comedian, so he makes constant historical puns and jokes that even I find funny. And... I don't know. He makes history not boring. And he's chill too.

Anyway, I have respect for them, and I actually trust them more than I have anyone else in my life (except Pauline, of course)... And that was just in a week. If I need to be open with anyone about my life, I might with them.

Maybe they'll be the closest thing I have to a family at this point.

But I probably should leave that point out whenever I talk to them.

Pauline's also been great company, even if I only see her for a few minutes a day. Whenever I take the elevator, she asks me how my day's been, followed by my general wellbeing. We've gotten into some more personal topics, but even then I haven't told her about Kamella's guardianship (lack of), because I fear she'll tell the staff which will get me evicted. I like living here. It's the only home I know.

That's one reason I'm still hesitant in finding my past. Kamella always told me we were from some place called the Soviet Union, and that I appear how I do because of an experiment that went wrong, but I always hear bad things about that place in school. What if I don't like that area I came from? What if I'm forced to be there, and I can't come back?

-Roy X

Day 418: Thursday, September 1, 1983

I was bored, I have money from exchanging more of those gold coins, and the Yankees were playing at home tonight against the Tigers, so I did what any other person with a brain did.

I went to the game.

I guess a lot of people had the same idea, because they were all wearing Yankee clothes as we sat in the subway going towards the Bronx. Almost everyone got off the subway when the Yankee Stadium station came, and they all walk towards the stadium.

I never been to the stadium, and I've only been to the Bronx once – that was by accident – so I followed them as they crossed streets and overpasses. I study the borough more; it's definitely not Brooklyn, and a lot of buildings looked abandoned, but it still wasn't terrible either.

When we all arrived at the stadium, we all stood in line to buy the tickets. I was lucky and got in line not long before all the seats were sold out. I took my seat in the center field area and I just watched.

The game was interesting for the first two or three innings, but then my great Yankees pulled ahead. The Tigers tried to score, especially in the fifth inning when they had the bases stacked, but they were struck out before any runs could be made. The six, seventh and eighth innings were worse for them, but the Yankees never scored during them either.

I left the stadium sometime during the ninth inning. Ever since my experiences with fireworks during July 4th, I wasn't trusting of being around them, so I made sure to leave before they start. I think they do fireworks? I know some teams do. But count me out of the rocket's red glare and the bombs bursting in air.

Plus, a sudden eight-point upset won't happen in an inning for a team that didn't score. That'll be a miracle.

After I left the game, I try to take the subway station, but something broke at that station that will take at least a few hours to fix. They had buses as a backup, but they weren't leaving for an hour and a half. I didn't know where to go, but from a map I looked at before I left, I knew there were some transportation areas to the south.

I decided to keep going south. Originally, the plan seemed great, but the farther I walked, the darker the area got, and the streets got... Sketchy. Worse off, I'm not familiar with the Bronx at all, and I have no idea where I am, especially with the Sun gone by now.

By this time, I'm in a neighborhood full of destroyed buildings, run-down barred businesses and almost no street lighting. Trash and house pieces fill the streets and the brown lawns, while the sidewalks, if even in existence, are almost unwalkable. Trees and big bushes grow inside crumbling houses. I knew I wasn't in a friendly place, especially at night, but I also didn't know how to get out of it either.

I perk up as I hear noise behind me. It's probably some of the stupid wind trying to scare me. The wind dies down a bit, but the sound behind me continues. Confused, I look behind me: a crew of masked people, probably teenaged guys, stand behind me. Despite their masks, I can still spot hostility among them.

Catching my stare, the men spoke to each other in some other language before they approach me.

"Yo dude, da hell you doin' on our turf?"

"Wha-" I responded before I'm suddenly pushed to the ground. The group of guys surround me, each looking down at me. Caught off-guard from the initial push, I couldn't do anything but stare back at them, helpless.

"Wrong answer, punk!" one of the guys shouted before kicking my sides, causing me to yelp, "Shut yer face or we'll do it for ya!"

"Why... Just let me go-" I cried as I try to get back up, disoriented. As I do so, one of them punches me in the face, knocking me back down, and starts kicking me again. By this time, I felt pain everywhere; I thought I was about to die. Trying to lessen the punch's pain, I cover my face with my hands as I try to hold back sobs.

"Hahaha. Dis punk's so pathetic," one of the guys stated before spitting on me and joining in on the kicking. As I lay on the ground, I realized something: I wanted to do something to protect myself or to even fight back, but I found myself too weak and too exhausted. I'm much more pathetic than I thought, and I hated myself for it.

What seems like an eternity of abuse and kicking, and me being too weak to do anything about it, I hear what sounds like a pickup truck pull up. The group pause their abuse to me and look towards the truck. Finding the energy to look up with them, I see two overalled men get out from the truck.

"What do you think you're doing?" one green-clad guy questioned in a light accent that I hear from the Italian immigrants in South Brooklyn, "Go back home, or you'll regret it!"

"Oh please, dis punk intruded," one of the guys beating me up replied, "Just teachin' him a lifelong lesson!"

"You get off him right now, before we teach you another lesson," the red-clad guy threatened. Despite the darkness, I can still see the anger on his face.

"Don't you-"

"NOW!" the red-dressed guy shouted, causing my abusers to flee the scene. Still lying on the ground, I continue staring at my two heroes as they approach me. The green-clad one holds his hand for me to grab on, which despite the pain, I did.

"Hey," the man addressed me as he helps me stand up, "What's your name?"

"Uhh, Roy," I said as I brush myself off, wincing from the pain as I do so.

"Well, Roy. I'm Luigi," the man stated, "You sound like a fellow Brooklyner. What are you doing in the Bronx?"

"I wanted to see da game," I answered, afterwards noticing how defensive my tone was.

"Well, okay. But, tip for you. You're no longer in Brooklyn; you can't randomly walk everywhere and be safe. We're in South Bronx. Unless you have business here, South Bronx and Upper Manhattan should be avoided like the plague. They're extremely dangerous areas. Next time you want to mindlessly explore, you're better off going to a Mets game. You won't die in Queens."

"Gee, thanks," I replied as I try to rub one of my hurting eyes, but I flinch the moment my hand touches it.

"You have a black eye," Luigi informed me, "Get in the truck. We'll take you home."

I still didn't trust this Luigi figure and I wanted to protest the suggestion, but the moment I took a step, I realize that my body's too sore, and that every step will only hurt more.

"Fine," I sighed as I get into the truck. I squeeze into the middle seat, between Luigi and the red overalled man. The man gives me a small smile before shifting the truck into first gear.

"I'm Mario," the guy introduced himself as we drive off, "You're lucky we had our last plumbing appointment of the day up here. We've dealt with those thugs before; that's why they ran after we came. Also, NEVER do what we done; any thugs down here could have guns, and they will use them. Luckily, they didn't."

"Wait! You're plumbers!" I exclaimed, "We need a plumber. Our bathroom plumbing sucks, and no one else can fix it."

"Here's our card," Luigi digs into his pocket, pulls out a business card and hands it to me. I observe the card. Mario Brothers Plumbing; I haven't heard of them, but then again they're based in South Brooklyn, away from us Northerners... Wait, how do they have Bronx appointments? "We have a spot open for Tuesday at 11am. In fact, that's the last appointment of the day on Tuesdays."

"I'll take it," I stated before giving him the apartment's address, unit number and phone number.

"Good deal," Luigi stated, "Is this your complex?"

I look outside the window, for once relieved about seeing my complex. All I want to do is sleep for a week and forget about everything in life, including this miserable night.

"Yep."

We pull up to my high-rise. I get out and limp towards the lobby, pretending that all's well. About halfway towards the building, I had to pause, the pain being too great to bear. At that point in time, I didn't care who noticed my weakness. I couldn't press on by myself.

My eyes started watering. With my black eye, I couldn't wipe the tears or else I'll be in even more pain, resulting in me looking like nothing else but a pathetic mess in public, in the middle of a busy Brooklyn night. I knelt on the pavement, wishing for the pain to go away, or for me to at least have the strength to push on. But it never came.

I couldn't even walk.

I'm pathetic. I hate being pathetic.

I now understand why Kamella isolated me. Because I'm a wimp. Hopeless. Useless. An outcast. A waste-

"Roy?" a voice broke my thoughts. I look up at the source, stunned.

"L-Luigi," I uttered, surprised and thankful that he stayed long enough for me, "I thought y-you left."

"I wouldn't ever leave someone injured behind," the plumber comforted as he holds out his hand for me to grab, "Now let's get you to your apartment."

I continue looking up at him in shock before I reach out for his hands. He helps me up, and I lean on his shoulder, expecting him to offer up the support. Instead, he swoops me in his arms.

"I can't have you walk. You're in too much pain," Luigi replied as he walks inside the building. I stare at him in awe; not once in my life did anyone show any sort of affection or selflessness to me, and now I'm getting it from someone who I met an hour ago. A bundle of confusing, undiscovered emotions burst within me, but I didn't—I couldn't—express them in any way but with a grin. I didn't know how else.

"Elevators?" Luigi inquired before heading to our typical eastside elevator—he answered his own question before I was able to. Pauline's shift ended hours ago—she'd probably hunt down Kamella if she saw me like this, and I didn't want that anyway—so instead, Luigi has to operate the elevator himself, "Floor?"

"13," I heaved.

As the elevator rose, I felt even more reassured, sleepy and safe in Luigi's arms. All I remember is the elevator arriving at the eleventh floor, then I was out cold.

-Roy X

Tuesday, September 6, 1983

I didn't leave the apartment at all ever since last Thursday. I didn't want to deal with the world; I didn't want to look weak. I hardly ate because food, other than some leftovers and frozen meals I happened to have in the fridge, either required energy to cook or energy to walk and get, and I wasn't feeling either.

I lied in bed literally all day Friday, other than using the broken plumbing. I didn't even go to school. I was too sore and weak to move into another position in bed, let alone get out of bed. Saturday wasn't much better. Sunday I still felt pain, but I could begin to move again, and I felt better yesterday.

Today, I'm more bored than anything, but I also debate staying here. I'm for sure not going to school. My black eye hasn't healed, although it's not as painful as it was, and I didn't want the world to see it. Mario and Luigi are coming at any moment to fix this stupid plumbing, but they at least already know about my current condition.

Oh, crud! The rent! I was supposed to pay it after I got back from the game on Thursday, but... The obvious stuff happened!

I call the downstairs lobby about the rent. Despite them only allowing payments up to the 5th four times a year, they still allowed me to pay the rent, albeit giving me a warning. Ten minutes after that call, a collector comes to my room and collects the check that I forged Kamella's signature on.

I frown. The collector was none other than Pauline.

"Roy!" she exclaimed as she saw my face, "What happened to you!"

"Nuthin'," I muttered, "Let's drop it."

"That is not nothing, Roy!" she raised her voice, concern leaking throughout, "Where'd you get your black eye?! Where were you the past week? And why are you so skinny?!"

"It doesn't matter! Just drop it!"

"Yes it does!" Pauline retorted, "Roy, I care about you. Was this from Kamella-"

"Would ya just leave me alone and get out of my life! Now take your stinkin' money!" I shouted as I shove the check in her hand and slam the door. I hear a slew of poundings on the door, which I ignored. I feel bad for exploding on her, but everything I try to forget about, she becomes nosy in, and it's just exhausting.

The poundings stop, but a few minutes later, I hear another knock, this time gentler. I open the door and spot two overalled men carrying various tools, one wearing red and the other green. I give them a little smile; Mario and Luigi.

"Good morning, Roy," Mario greeted as he holds out his gloved hand to me. I shake it, although careful to not injure my arm further.

"You're looking better, although your black eye's still there," Luigi observed, "How're you feeling?"

"Yeah, I've been doin' better," I replied, "I'm still a lil' sore. Haven't left da apartment since; I don't wanna with my black eye."

Mario and Luigi raise their eyebrows at the information before exchanging looks between each other.

"You know what? I'll fix the plumbing," Mario offered, "Luigi's gonna take you around town. You need to go outside."

"But my eye-"

"I know a few places where we can get that fixed. I promise, you'll enjoy it," Luigi interrupted as he grabs my hand, "Follow me."

I try to decline the offer, but the plumber drags my arm to the point where I have to follow him. We take the elevator down to the ground floor—as we used the west elevator, we didn't encounter Pauline—before we exit the lobby and cross Willoughby Street.

"Where we goin'?" I questioned as we stumbled upon the mall across the street from my complex.

Luigi smiles as he holds the door open for us. The mall was huge; it bustled with hundreds of people going into different stores and checking out the deals. The multiple sounds of people talking comforted me, despite my unwillingness to leave the apartment in the first place. Still remaining silent, Luigi guides me to a vender in the middle of the walkway who is selling sunglasses.

"Look at these," Luigi showed me, "These shield your eyes from the Sun's light, but they can also mask a black eye.

I look at the sunglasses, amazed at the selections, the colors and the styles. I put on a few of them, impressed at how they dim the otherwise bright mall. In fact, my eyes feel more relaxed with them on than without them.

"Cool!" I exclaimed as I try on different ones. Although they were all cool, the colors didn't really fit well with me.

As I hesitate on which ones to get, Luigi comes towards me, a reddish-pink pair of shades in hand.

"Try these on! I think they match you."

I put them on and look in the mirror. They fit perfectly with my pink head, plus they hide my eyes! These are a keeper. I grin as I give Luigi a thumbs-up. Nodding, Luigi pays for them before crumpling the receipt and throwing it away.

"How are they?" Luigi questioned me.

I continue grinning, "I'm diggin' dese."

Luigi smiles as we walk towards the exit, but when he notices a large machine by the wall, he moves us towards it instead. Luigi pulls back a curtain, revealing a bench.

"Uhh..." I stare at it in confusion, "What's dis?"

"What?! You never took pictures in a photo booth before?" Luigi questioned in surprise.

I shake my head, unsure of what a photo booth even was.

"Sit down in there. We're doing it!"

I get into the machine as Luigi inserts a nickel. Afterwards, I notice a flashing red light followed by a flash. The process occurs three more times before it ends, printing two strips of four pictures.

"Heh. They're fun," Luigi stated as he puts in another nickel, "Now that you know what it is, let's do some more."

The red light flashes again, and this time we start doing poses. The first pose was a picture of us being serious; the second one was both of us making the peace sign with our hands; the third was of us laughing, and the fourth was the two of us giving each other bunny ears. As the pictures end, two strips of pictures, each containing the four we took, print out. Luigi grabs them and gives one to me. I pocket it.

We decided to go to the food court afterwards, where we ordered pizza slices. Luigi got a loaded sausage while I got a meat-lover's. Luigi paid for them, once again hiding the price, while we sit at a two-seater table towards the middle of the food court.

"Dat was fun," I stated, still wearing my new shades, "I needed it."

"I'm glad you liked it," Luigi nodded, "The mall's one great area to relieve stress."

"Yeah..." I trailed off as Luigi continues staring at me.

"So, I noticed both when I brought you to your apartment and earlier today. I haven't seen either of your parents."

My heart sank. I only knew Luigi for a week, yet he's the one I'd feel the worst about lying to. He's been there for me that whole time, and I wanted to tell him the truth and my entire situation, but I didn't know if that was the wisest move either.

I sighed, making my decision, "I don't have parents. I don't even know where I came from. I have a... 'guardian' who isolates me. I pretty much live alone."

I expected Luigi to laugh, freak out, call me a liar or phone Child Services, but the plumber only nods.

"Mario and I were the same way."

I widen my eyes, not expecting anyone else to understand my condition.

"We don't know where we came from either. We were raised by Italian immigrants down in South Brooklyn, but they told us they weren't our actual parents. We don't know who our biological parents are, but I always considered Ma and Pa to be our true parents," Luigi sighs as he takes off his cap and pulls back his brown hair, "I miss them. Ma and Pa passed on when Mario and I were ten. Ever since then, we raised each other. We went from the streets, to going to school, to owning our own plumbing business and apartment here."

I nod my head, shocked at the story. I never expected anyone's story to be like mine.

"So, Roy... You're not alone. I always wanted to pay it forward to someone else in need, just like Ma and Pa did to me, so if you need anything or any company, just let me know."

"Wow," I exclaimed, not expecting compassion from anyone, "Uhh, I-I don't know what to say."

"Just promise to remember that you aren't alone. You are never alone," Luigi requested, "I know how hard it can be being alone. It sucks; it felt like the world went against me growing up. Every time I had a success, I felt like ten failures accompanied it. But the one thing that kept my spirits up was the support from Mario. If you ever feel like you're in the darkest pits, just let me know and I'll be there for you."

I beamed. For the first time in my life, someone truly cares for me and can relate to me.

"Now, let's go back. Your plumbing should be fixed."

I nod and I get up, following my new friend out of the mall. At least everything doesn't feel so dark and lonely anymore.

-Roy X