Some Folks Are Just Born Without A Chance

Ricky’s old man was killed in November of 08, if my memory serves. He was a drunken gambler, who was stabbed during a game of cards, or over a can of soup or something. The gossip mill was operating in full force when this went down, so I still don’t know which story was true, and which were fabrications. This was right at the onset of the recession, and people were looking to cling on to anything that wasn’t their own life. And Ricky’s situation provided just that.

I really felt bad for him, you know? I really did. But part of me realized that yeah, of course your old man getting murdered was going to mess with your head, but had he stayed alive, I think the damage would have been just as bad; you know? Maybe that’s a terrible thing to say, but we tend to make martyrs of the dead. That man was no father of the year.

Anyway, the guy was just a sad case all around. I truly believe that some folks are just born without a chance. It’s like everyone tells them from birth that they’re nothing, and that they’re never going to amount to anything, and the trauma brought on by all of that creates its own self-fulfilling prophecy, if that makes any sense. You know, if you hear something enough, eventually you’re going to accept it as the truth.

Poor Ricky just had nowhere to turn. I was his friend, but I realize now that I could have been a better one. I could have asked him if he needed to talk, or told him that things would be fine in the long run. But I never did. We just played Xbox and then basketball down at the Gyrel, which was a small little skatepark on the corner of Aaron and Normandy. And when the guys from across the river would come over to play some pickup, they’d start razzing Ricky like you wouldn’t believe.

You see, it wasn’t just his father dying that made Ricky the brunt of adolescent brutality. His mother shacked up with one of her nursing friends, and swore off men forever not long after, and his older sister, Jenna, downed a bunch of sleeping pills and found herself in the emergency room getting her stomach pumped on more than one occasion. Real suicide attempts or a cry for help? It’s hard to tell, but either way, the gossip spread through the town like wildfire, making it impossible for Ricky to get away from it.

He would go to the Gyrel to distance himself from everything that was going on in his house, only to find that his dirty laundry was the main topic of discussion amongst his peers.

Ace Langston, Jerry Barthe, and Jeremy Mann were the worst. Those guys would never shut their mouths and I mean like never. They’d say things like, “Man, I’m hungry, I’d sure kill for a can of soup,” or “I’m starting to get a headache. Does Jenny have any pills, or did she take them all?” They’d even ask Ricky if it was okay if they asked a girl out because they didn’t want his mom to get jealous. You know the kind of stuff that if you hear it all day, every day, you’re bound to crack, right? And, of course, I stood to the side as quiet and still as a porcelain monkey.”

But Ricky didn’t always stand around and take it either. He stood up for himself on occasion, but again, like I said, some people are just born with no chance. The guys from across the river were sons of councilors, city cops, and even school district officials. So, the couple of times that Ricky took a swing at one of the guys, he ended up getting suspended while they walked away without so much as a slap on the wrist. And being suspended meant even more time at home with his mother, her lover, and his depressed sister. Not an ideal situation for him.

So, anyway, getting to the day in question. It was in April; the snow was melting, but there were still small dirty banks up against the fence. We were playing a game of 21, me, Ricky, and Jordan Anderson. Jordan was another buddy, but much like myself, was timid and afraid of confrontation.

We played, and Ricky was actually laughing, you know? Jordan and I got there before Ricky, so we told each other that we weren’t going to bring up his situation at all. Like nada. Not a word. So we kept that promise, and he was having fun. It was nice. But then, of course, Murphy’s Law reared its ugly head. We used to say that Murphy’s Law was Ricky’s shadow, for how closely it followed him around.

The three numbskulls showed up and wanted to play 3 on 3. We said sure. Ricky’s smile faded, but he never turned down a pickup game. It wasn’t long into the game, though, before the taunts and the laughter started. They were dirty players too, elbows to the ribs, knees to quads, all of that. But it was pickup, so we never called anything.

Ricky threw out the occasional, “Shut up, man,” and “let’s just play ball.” He was getting more and more aggravated as the games went on. His face was fiery red, like he was going to burst a blood vessel or something.

Anyway, we still won the game, dirty or not, they couldn’t hold a candle to our skill level, ya know? As they’re leaving the Gyrel, Ace says, “If I had a lezbo mother, and pill swallowing sister, I’d never show my face in public. I’d probably just kill myself.”

And that was it. The straw that broke the camel’s back. Ricky was sitting on the asphalt, and he picked up a rock, probably a little smaller than my fist, that was sitting right under the hoop. He gets up and beams it as hard as he can. Whether he was expecting to come anywhere near them, I’m not sure. But it hit Ace right in the back of his head, and he dropped like a sack of potatoes. Within a millisecond he was eating pavement.

I don’t know what got into me. I think it might have been the look of raw horror and regret painted on Ricky’s face. It broke my heart. And when the guys turned around, I yelled. “Karma’s a bitch.” Ricky looked over at me, and I told him I was going to take the blame. Jerry and Jeremy came at me, and they gave me a pretty good beating. Ricky and Jordan wanted to jump in, but I just told them to get out of here. They went to help me, and I screamed, “GET OUT OF HERE, NOW!”

I don’t know why I took the fall for Ricky. I guess I just wanted the guy to catch a break for once in his life.

Anyway, I might not have said anything had I known that Ace was dead, but it was too late. The other two had called the cops and said it was me, and Ricky was long gone.

I did some time in juvi, keeping my mouth shut, figuring it wouldn’t be long, anyway. I had a clean record, and it was an accident. I just had a bad feeling that Ricky would have been worse off? Like, Murphy’s Law would have sent him away for life or something.

But when I heard that Ricky hung himself. I knew I had to tell the real story. The fact that his guilt over letting me take the fall resulted in his own death, is proof enough that Murphy’s Law did follow him around every step of the way.

Some folks are just born without a chance in hell.