Diamonds in the Carpet

Diamonds in the Carpet



My friend Sherry had one of those dreams that makes a huge impression on you. She was holding a bag of diamonds, teeny tiny diamonds hardly bigger than dust specks, and she knew that she had acquired them illegally. When the cop raided her house, she dumped the diamonds into the carpet. But the cop didn’t seem to care about the diamonds. After he’d left, she got down on her hands and knees looking for the diamonds. The carpet was filthy, and she frantically sifted through the dirt looking for these mini diamond specs hidden in the carpet.
Sherry’s always taking care of her family and friends – taking them to the hospital, giving them a place to stay, taking them to methadone programs. The way I see it, the diamonds in the dream are Sherry. Anyway, here’s the story that came from the dream.

Diamonds in the Carpet

From the time he was three, Hero knew that he was destined for greatness. That’s when he found out what a hero is – someone who takes great risks and accomplishes wonderful things requiring strength and courage. The Power Rangers were heroes. So were Superman and Batman and Spiderman. Hero tried shooting webs out of his fingers and he tried flying through the air from his bed to the desk, but landed on his stomach and knocked the wind out of himself. And even though super heroes don’t cry, he shrieked for twenty minutes and Ma swatted him on his backside.

When he was four he could pour a bowl of Lucky Charms without spilling any milk. Hero tried feeding some to Itch and Twitch, but they just coughed and made wheezing sounds.

“Watcha go and do that for?” Pa’s voice was a cross and gurgly – somewhere between a growl and a grunt. “Don’t 'cha know you can’t feed cereal to babies, leastways not till they get some teeth in their mouth? Dumb kid. You could have killed ‘em”

“But they was crying,” Hero said.

Ma wasn’t listening and Pa went into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. “I have to take medicine,” said Ma and locked herself in the bedroom.You didn’t go into Ma and Pa’s bedroom when they were taking medicine. Sometimes the medicine worked really fast, and Ma would wash the dishes and bake cookies, and sometimes they’d need a nap and sleep through lunch time.

That night Pa had to go out for his mental health and Ma was too sick to cook dinner so Hero tried making Spaghetti Os for Poppy and himself, but he wasn’t strong enough to work the can opener. So they had to settle for Lucky Charms, only the box was almost empty and the milk had gone sour. That was Hero’s fault. He had forgotten to put the milk back in the fridge because of the twins choking and everything. Poppy started whining, and Hero was scared he’d get in trouble on account of the milk going sour, so he climbed up on the counter and got the sugar bowl down for Poppy, and that kept her quiet.

They made him go to school when he was five, and Hero liked it. “You know what a hero is,” he asked Miss Catherine. “It’s like Power Rangers, and I’m gonna be a Power Ranger when I grow up.”

“Power Rangers ain’t real,” said Hymie Simpson whose dad was a checker at Safeway. “My Dad says TV’s pretend and Power Rangers are pretend.”

“Well your Dad doesn’t know everything,” said Hero.

At school they had to learn how to write their names, and Miss Catherine showed Hero how to write his. ANTHONY.

Hero tried to sound it out. "That doesn’t sound like “Hero” to me," he said.

“It’s how you spell Anthony,” she said. “That’s your real name.”

“Is not. It’s Hero, and that’s what I want to write. ‘Cause I’m a hero.”

“You’re too wussy to be a hero,” said Hymie. “You got spaghetti arms; you couldn’t lick a mosquito let alone a bad guy; your teeth stick out a mile, and your face looks like a couple of fried eggs stuck together with peanut butter, and a bacon booger covering where your nose oughta’ be. And besides, what hero stuff have you ever done?”

Hero had to look down at the paper so they wouldn’t see him almost crying. Because everything Hymie said was true. And he hadn’t done any real hero stuff.

“I have an idea,” said Miss Catherine. “Hero’s have to train just like baseball players and rock singers. Maybe you’re a hero-in-training.” Hero perked up at that. “Why don’t you write both names, Hero and Anthony?” Hero had to stay in for most of recess to finish writing his name, but that’s what heroes had to do. He even added on his last name, “Delvechio” just to show that he took his training seriously.By the end of kindergarten, he could read and write better than some of the big kids.

Ashleen moved into the neighborhood when Hero was seven, and Miss Vicki introduced her to the second grade class. Hero noticed that Ashleen smelled of cinnamon, and he couldn’t take his eyes off of her orange red hair that hung full over her left shoulder like a horse’s mane.

At recess, Hero told her, “I like you.”

“I like you too.”

“So…”

“So what?”

“Let’s kiss.”And they did.

The next week, he found out that heroes can’t have girlfriends. “It’s to protect you from bad guys who might hurt you on account of me,” he explained.

Hymie Sympson heard this and cracked up. “Don’t you even know that ‘Hero’ is short for heroin?” he asked and he whooped and howled until he spit.

Hero jabbed a pencil into his math paper. He had to think. The clues fit together like jigsaw puzzle pieces: Ma and Pa’s medicine… the kids’ nick names - Poppy, Itch, Twitch, Hero… the dizzy uncles and aunts who’d show up at his door when he was supposed to be asleep.

“I knew that,” he said. Like a wall of water crashing over him came the realization that he wasn’t very special after all.

“Do you want to share my Twinkies,” Hymie asked Ashleen, and she giggled and took his hand.

When Hero was eight he made himself stay awake till three in the morning, and crawled out of his window, hoping to make his first buck – a whole dollar. That was a lot of money. Canti had said so.

“It’s an important job,” said Canti. He was big enough to shave and he scowled like a hooked catfish. He handed Hero a cell phone with a number already typed in. “Watch the street and if anyone comes this way, push the green button. That’s all you have to do. Got it?” Hero nodded. And Canti, George, and Skeeter ran down the street towards the Bucket ‘O Suds Laundromat.

Hero watched carefully. And he hoped someone would come so he could push the button. A very long twenty seconds went by. Then another. He heard scuffling sounds behind him, – a skinny tom cat pawing through the garbage. Probably a cat counted as someone. So he pushed the button, and turned to watch his three accomplices run away.

The next day, after school he sought out Canti. “Where’s my dollar?”

“You don’t get no dollar lessn’ we get some cash. And last night we didn’t get no cash ‘cause someone came by and we had to run so we wouldn’t get busted. Remember?”

“Aw, that wasn’t anyone ‘cept an old tom cat.”

“You pushed the button for a damn tom cat! Man, don’t you know anything?”

“But I pushed the button. Just like you said.”

“Push it if a human comes by that's not a customer. ‘Specially a cop, not a stupid cat. I don’t know if we can trust you with the cell phone. The button-pushing is just too complicated for a pea brain like you.”

“Give me one more chance,” said Hero. “I won’t mess up again. I swear.”

For the next three months, Hero practiced being a lookout while Canti and the boys peddled their cigarettes and their packets of medicine.And finally, Hero got his big break. At that time, he was acting as look-out and trying to set a record for hopping on one foot, and at first he didn’t see the cop car pull over to the curb and the two cops getting out oh, maybe twenty feet away from him. And then he saw them.“Poker face, you moron,” he remembered Canti telling him. He stopped hopping and stared at the cops for a second and his eyes got huge and he inhaled a monster sigh. And he pushed the button on the cell phone as hard as he could. “I’m not doing nothin’,” he yelled and took off down the street.

The next thing Hero knew, a hand the size of a six-pack grabbed him by the back of his shirt, dragged him to the waiting patrol car and shoved him into the back seat. “Kinda young to be out this late,” said the cop.

“I can take care of myself,” Hero answered.

The police man scowled and he stuck his head into the back seat, his face nose to nose with Hero. “What were you doing?”

“Nothin’.”

“Why did you run if you weren’t doing anything?”

“’Cause.” And Hero started crying. The tears just poured and he started shaking and screaming, “Don’t hurt me. Don’t kill me. Don’t take me away.” And he wiped his nose with his shirtsleeve.

The cop’s partner had blue eyes, and a smile under his mustache. “It’s okay, L’il Dude. No one’s going to hurt you.” And he put his hand on Hero’s shoulders and rubbed his back and neck until Hero finally relaxed. “Where do you live?” he asked and Hero told him and he got to ride home in the patrol car.

“Thanks, officer,” said Hero’s Pa. “I don’t know how he got out, but I’ll see that it never happens again.”Hero climbed into his bed and under his covers, and a smile played across his lips. So it had all worked out exactly as Canti had said it would.

Later the cops traced the cell phone to Canti, and he thanked them for finding it, and, no, he didn’t know how he’d lost it. He’d gone to bed early that night. So by the time Hero was twelve, he’d been part of a street gang for four years.

Ashleen developed early, and by the time she was thirteen, her body had a way of disrupting class, the eighth grade class in general, and Hero in particular. Ashleen mostly hung around Hymie, or sometimes she hung around Allen and Russell because they were older and could usually score some beer.

Hymie said he’d done it with Ashleen lots of times. Hero didn’t believe it because Hymie was always full of it, but still… Hero was always feelilng like he wanted to punch Hymie, but he never did.

Hero hardly ever found Ashleen without one or two of the other guys wrapped around her, and they were usually laughing and acting all like they were so smart and like they were so superior. Meanwhile, Hero’s voice was cracking on every other word, and he knew he didn’t stand a chance with Ashleen. Unless he did something bold and fearless.So one day, he saw Ashleen alone. She was walking down the steps outside of school, and, when she saw him, she turned her head down to the ground and walked faster.

“Hey, wait up,” Hero yelled. Ashleen kept on going.“Wait,” Hero gulped.

“I gotta go,” she said She looked miserable, as if talking to Hero was making her want to throw up. “I’m supposed to baby sit.”

If Hero was ever going to do anything huge, now was the time. “I can get some grass,” he said. Ashleen stopped walking and stared at him. Hero wished she’d say something, or giggle, or do that head tossing thing that made her hair whip around. But she didn’t. She just stared with a sort of a disapproving fown.“I can get grass,” he said again. “I got connections.”

“Like who?”

“Some guys I know. I can’t de-vulge their names.”

“What?”

“I can’t tell you who they are.”

“Oh.”

“So do you want me to get the grass?”

Ashleen looked away. “I guess so.”

“Meet me after school on Friday.” Ashleen walked away before he could say anything else. Hero knew he could buy some pot from Canti.

Back in his house, Hero looked in the coffee can under his bed where he’d stashed some bills, but it was empty. Hero refused to worry about what had happened to the money. No point in worrying about it when he could be thinking about Ashleen. He figured Canti was his friend and would give him some slack, and he ran all the way over to the Bucket of Suds Laundromat. Canti sometimes hung around there in the daytime as well.

But Canti said, “seventy-five buck, dude, and it’s got to be up front or no sale.”

Hero had to think. There had to be a way to get some weed by Friday. Wandering around the streets, he ended up in a down-on-its-luck shopping center a couple of blocks from the Bucket o’ Suds Laundromat. He walked along the alley behind the stores looking for a quiet place to think. There just had to be a way to score some pot.

I’ve always played it straight – well almost always – and it never got me anywhere. All I need is a little money. Just seventy-five dollars. I just want one good break. That’s all.

The dumpster behind the New Age Cigarette and Liquor Market was open, and Hero saw something in it reflecting sunlight, gleaming at him from underneath the garbage, like diamonds mixed in with the rubbish. It was way in the back of the dumpster; a slate-grey barrel poking out from behind a black plastic trash bag, and Hero could just reach it, standing on a five-gallon plastic bucket.He fingered the cylinder, the trigger, the handle. How much can you get for a pistol, he wondered. It had to worth at least seventy-five dollars, he figured. It just had to be. Can you even pawn a gun?

Or maybe, maybe instead of pawning the gun…He wouldn’t ever actually shoot anyone. But he could just sort of….sort of...use it to persuade…someone. Seventy-five dollars worth of persuasion. But he’d only do it one time... maybe. After all, he should have had seventy-five dollars in the coffee can, so he was just getting what belonged to him all along.

He practiced his gunslinger’s stance copying what he’d seen in old Western movies. “Just hand over the money and no one has to get hurt.” He said the words out loud. That sounded about right. He made impatient gestures with the pistol.

Deep in thought, Hero didn’t notice a car in the alley behind him until a voice boomed out. “Police! Freeze! Drop the gun.”

Hero was so startled, he jumped and screamed, and the gun flew out of his hand. The voice was deep, and loud, and it hit him like Pa’s fist.Hero turned around slowly. “I found it. You don’t understand,” he tried to explain. But his voice cracked badly. I wouldn’t believe myself either, he thought.

At the station, he got to call home, but Ma was sleeping, and he had to leave a message with Poppy. Then they transferred him to the juvenile facility. It all happened as if in a dream. Fingerprinting, and dozens of interviews, and hours of staring at nothing with the sound of his heart pounding into his ears.

They got him a public defender, a skinny black lawyer named deMarcus Jones. He looked about seventeen, and he talked with a flat nasal twang. “Tell ‘em what they want to hear,” he said.

“But it’s the truth,” said Hero. “I found it in the dumpster.”

“They’re not buying it,” said deMarcus. “Would you? The gun was involved in a shooting that happened a few minutes before the officer found you with it. And it’s unregistered, and the serial number’s been shaved off, and there aren’t any prints on it except yours.”

Hero got a letter from Ashleen.

Dear Hero,

Your Mom said you were in Juvie, and I figured I could write to you since you’re in as much trouble as I am. I’m pregnant. I told Hymie, and he told everyone all over school, and now no one wants to have anything to do with me. I feel like a big fat loser.I can’t tell Mom and Pop. Pop’d kill me if he found out. He’d really kill me, or at least he’d beat me so badly, I may as well be dead. Because we’re Catholic, and we’re not supposed to do it like everyone else at school.

Hope it’s okay to write to you. Anyway, I had to tell someone.

Ashleen

And they kept asking him about the gun, and he kept telling them that he found it in the dumpster, and they asked so often, Hero was beginning to doubt his own story.

A week later, his Ma came to visit. “I’ve been real sick with the flu, and I couldn’t come to see you till now, but I’ve been thinkin’ about you the whole time. And don’t worry. You’ll be out in no time. You’re a good boy. You didn’t do nothin’. You’ll be out quicker than…well, you’ll be out in a jiffy.”

Hero thought a lot about what to write back to Ashleen. So many things he wanted to say, and he knew he’d sound like a certified dweeb if he actually said them.

Dear Ashleen.

That’s rough.I wish I could really be a Hero and take you away from everything, and take care of you. But right now I’m stuck nose –deep in trouble and I’m not much use to anyone.If I ever get out of here, maybe we can hang out together.

Stay cool,

Hero

“It’s looking bad,” said deMarcus. The victim’s still critical. If he dies, you’re looking at murder, and we’ll have to bargain it down to manslaughter. If he lives the DA has a slew of assault charges, he can throw at you, but, since your record’s been clean up to now, you probably won’t have to serve too much time.

“But I didn’t do it,” said Hero, and he knew that even his defender, the one guy who was suppose to be on his side, didn’t believe him.

Dear Hero,

It’s all over school. And everyone hates me. If you ever get out of Juvie, maybe you could get me some of your Ma’s pills. I don’t know what else to do anymore. I figure I have about another month before the baby starts to show.

Ashleen

Hero’s Pa came to see him. He didn’t have much to say to Hero. Just that he was disappointed, and what was he thinking. “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this,” he said and walked out.

Dear Ashleen,

You’re the most terrific girl in school. And if those idiots at school try to give you a hard time, they can all just drop dead.There’s got to be someone who can help you. I wish I could. Maybe Mrs. Jackson. She seems nice.

Forget the pill idea. It ain’t worth it. Honest.

Your friend,

Hero

DeMarcus Jones was in the room anytime one of the cops asked Hero any questions. At first, Hero would glance at deMarcus, hoping for some kind of help. But deMarcus usually had a glassy look on his face, and during most of the interviews, he just stared at the ceiling and chewed gum or drank coffee. So Hero just told the cops that he found the gun in the dumpster. At first he left out the part about wanting to get pot for Ashleen, but he finally admitted it. Only he said he wanted to get it for Tanya Moskovitz, and he said that she didn’t know anything about it.

“You’re lying so badly, you’re about to wet your pants,” said the cop. “Do you want to tell me what really happened, or do you want to stay in jail till your fifty?”

Dear Hero,

I have to ask. Why do you care?

Ashleen

Hero blushed and he almost didn’t send the reply.

Dear Ashleen,

Because I’ve been in love with you since the second grade.

Hero

It seemed like every day, the cops had new questions for Hero. “What do you know about Canti Edmonds?”

“Not much. I know him,” said Hero.

“He’s been telling us some interesting stories about you and how you were bragging about how you were planning to waste some dude. Your crackerjack lawyer over there can tell you – that means premeditated. Now do you want to make this easier on all of us and tell us the whole story?”

“I didn’t mean to do it. It just happened,” said Hero.

“Tell us about it,” said the cop.

Later de Marcus Jones said, “You shouldn’t have said you knew Canti. They’ll give you a longer sentence if they think the shooting was gang-related.

Dear Hero,

Pop found out about me being pregnant, and by the time he got finished, there was no baby left.Some of the guys are speaking to me again.

Ashleen

Hero wrote a few more letters to Ashleen, but she didn’t answer any of them, and finally Hero gave up writing. Apparently, he was the only loser left in the crowd.

Meanwhile, Hero’s first court date was coming up. He’d never been in a court room for anything before, and he felt like he was going to throw up. DeMarcus Jones had coached him. He was supposed to plead guilty. And he was supposed to say that it was an accident. He had just wanted to scare the man. He never meant to shoot him. DeMarcus said he’d only be charged with assault, and he’d be out of Juvie in no time at all.

He wrote to his parents telling them about the court date. He hoped they’d come, but he figured they’d be too busy to make it. The night before, he was so nervous he didn’t sleep at all.

The court room looked like the ones in the TV shows. The chairs where a jury was supposed to sit were all empty. Besides the cops and lawyers, and court recorder, there were about a dozen spectators sitting in the back. One of them sat in a wheelchair and looked pretty bad off. He was probably the man Hero was supposed to have shot.They all stood up when the judge entered, and the judge asked Hero to approach the bench.

DeMarcus Jones had prepared Hero. The judge would ask Hero, “How do you plead, guilty or not guilty?” And Hero was supposed to say, “guilty, Your Honor,” and deMarcus would take care of the rest.

Only the man in the wheelchair in the back of the room said in a loud voice, “Your Honor, that’s not the kid who shot me. I’m positive. He looks a little like him, but he’s not the one.”

A lot of commotion followed. Was he absolutely sure? He was. Then why, in his earlier statement, had he identified Hero? It seemed to go on forever. Hero was more dazed than on the day he was arrested.

“Now can I plead not guilty” he asked deMarcus.

Way in the back of the courtroom sat Ashleen, watching it all. She gave him a shy wave when he caught her eye, and he blushed a manly shade of red.

Hero’s parents hadn’t shown up, so the cop who had arrested Hero volunteered to drive him home. Hero looked around for Ashleen, but she’d already left the courtroom. Hero expected to have to sit in the back seat, but the cop ushered him into the passenger side of the front seat. Hero looked at the officer's badge for a name. "Thank you Mr. Ingram - Sir," he stammered.

“You can call me Harry.” Officer Ingram said. “You know, every speck, every ounce of evidence pointed to you. If the victim had died, or if he hadn't come to court today, there’s no way you’d ever have been found innocent.”

Hero gulped.

"By the way, what were you planning to do with the gun?”

Hero just about choked. “Nothin’, nothin’ much.”

“Nothing?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t going to use it or anything.”

“What would have happened if you hadn’t gotten caught when you did?”

“I wasn’t actually going to shoot anyone.” Hero whispered the words. He was just going to sort of persuade someone out of seventy-five dollars. Freakishly enough, it was almost like the story he and deMarcus had put together for his guilty plea.

“There was this girl,” he finally said.

The officer smiled. “There’s always a girl. Tanya Moskovitz?”

“Ashleen O’Connor. She’s got this red hair…And she’s always… there’s this guy, Hymie, and, hell, what does it matter? I don’t stand a chance.”

“Is she the redhead who came to court for you?" Hero nodded. "You doofus! She wouldn't do that unless she liked you."

Hero hadn't considered that. The day was getting better and better.


“So where did you get that nickname, Hero?”

Before he knew it, Hero was talking about Power Rangers and saving the twins from claw monster, and other kid games. "See, I was always sort of taking care of my brother and sisters."

Harry spoke slowly. He sensed that their conversation could be important.

"That sounds like a cop to me... You might make a good cop someday. If you still want to be a hero - I mean a real hero, not the Superman, Power Ranger variety, find a real life hero to hang with - a teacher or someone you can talk to if you're in trouble. Not a flash-in-the-pants like Canti."

Harry spent too much of his work day arresting kids like Hero. Opportunities to keep kids out of trouble were all too rare. He handed Hero a card with his name and phone number on it. "I'd like to be someone you could talk to," he said.

Hero tucked the card into the back pocket of his jeans. "What do you have to do to get into the police accademy?" he asked.

The End