The Streets
Jahnny tightened the frayed laces on his too-small sneakers, his knobby knees poking out from holes in his jeans as he crouched on the cracked pavement. The alley behind their apartment building in Brassvale smelled like oil, damp cardboard, and something sour he tried not to think about. A few neighborhood kids dashed by, their laughter bouncing off the graffiti-covered walls, but Jahnny stayed where he was, focused on his game of stickball with Lila.
“Quit hoggin’ the ball, Jahnny,” Lila said, planting her hands on her hips. Her brown curls were tied back in a messy ponytail, per usual, and she looked annoyed in the way only a big sister could. Lila was eleven, practically a grown-up in her own mind, and not afraid to remind Jahnny of it.
“I’m not hoggin’ it, you’re just bad at hittin’,” Jahnny shot back, tossing the taped-up tennis ball into the air and catching it with exaggerated ease.
Lila huffed, grabbing the battered wooden broomstick they used as a bat. “You think you’re so good, huh? Lemme see you pitch, and I’ll knock it into next week.”
Jahnny smirked, winding up like he’d seen the Red Caps pitchers do on the TV in the laundromat window. The ball arced through the air, and with a resounding crack, Lila sent it soaring over a dumpster and into the street.
“Holy crap, Lila!” Jahnny exclaimed, his voice a mix of awe and dismay. He sprinted toward the street to retrieve the ball, dodging piles of trash and skidding to a stop as a car honked at him.
The driver yelled something rude, but Jahnny just grabbed the ball and ran back to the alley, but not before pausing and looking towards the way of an old park he and Lila would occasionally sneak off to when their mom was busy.
“Was almost as dangerous as your swing,” he said, tossing the ball to Lila as he returned.
She snickered. “Better dangerous than boring.”
With a smirk, Jahnny looked around, asking after a moment of thought. “You wanna do something really dangerous?”
Looking back to her brother, Lila paused and gave a light laugh as he exaggeratedly walked out of the alley, similar to how people in old cartoons would sneak around, on their tiptoes.
Wandering down the block, their feet dragging on the cracked and uneven sidewalk. The dim glow of streetlights cast long, flickering shadows, and the air carried the familiar smells of the Brassvale slums—burnt grease, damp concrete, and a faint whiff of something metallic that Jahnny had never been able to place.
Ahead, the old park came into view. Once, it might have been a place for families, but now the swings hung limp with broken chains, and the slide was covered in graffiti—thick letters spelling out gang names and curses Jahnny didn’t understand, actually, it was fairly similar to their recently departed alley. Still, it was better than sitting on their stoop, waiting for Garth to come up with another excuse to yell or being confined to their closet-sized walkway where their ball would occasionally drift into traffic, one time even busting a windshield, though luckily their neighbor took the fall for that one as they had just tossed a remote out the window, also hitting the car.
“Let’s sit over there,” Lila suggested, pointing to a rusted bench near the edge of the park. Jahnny nodded, though his eyes darted to the small cluster of men loitering near the basketball court. Their voices were low, their movements sharp, and even at seven years old, Jahnny knew what they were doing. Everyone in Brassvale did.
They sat side by side, Lila with her knees pulled up to her chest and Jahnny fidgeting with the tennis ball in his hands. The night was quiet for a moment, save for the creak of the swings swaying in the breeze and the occasional muffled laugh from the men by the court.
“You think it was always like this?” Jahnny asked, gesturing to the park.
“What do you mean?” Lila tilted her head.
“Like…messed up. Do you think it was nice before?”
Lila shrugged. “I guess. Mom says things used to be different in Brassvale. Before people started moving away and the gangs took over.”
Jahnny squinted at the men by the court. “Why don’t they fix it?”
“Who’s ‘they’?” Lila asked, her tone skeptical.
“I dunno,” Jahnny admitted. “Like…grown-ups. The mayor or something.”
Lila snorted. “The mayor don’t care about people like us.”
Jahnny didn’t know what to say to that. He bounced the ball against the pavement, letting the rhythm fill the silence. A shout broke the quiet, and both kids tensed. One of the men from the court was walking toward them. He was tall, lanky, with a mean smirk filled with gold, a typical grille, and a cigarette dangling from his lips.
“What you kids doin’ out so late?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly. His eyes lingered on Lila, and Jahnny’s stomach tightened.
“We’re not botherin’ nobody,” Lila said quickly, her arms wrapping protectively around her knees.
The man chuckled, blowing out a plume of smoke. “Didn’t say you were, sweetheart. Just curious.” His gaze swept over her, and Jahnny felt his hands ball into fists.
“Leave her alone,” Jahnny said, standing up. His voice shook, but he planted his feet firmly.
The man raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh, we got ourselves a tough guy, huh?”
“Jahnny, don’t,” Lila whispered, grabbing his arm.
“Yeah, listen to your sister,” the man said, taking a step closer. “You’re a little young to be playin’ hero.”
“Just leave us alone!” Jahnny snapped. His face burned, but he refused to back down.
The man’s smirk faded, replaced by a scowl. “You got a big mouth for a little kid.” He flicked his cigarette to the ground and moved so fast Jahnny barely saw it coming. The first shove knocked him off balance, and he stumbled backward, his knees scraping against the pavement.
“Hey, man, they’re just kids,” one of the other dealers called from the court, though he made no move to intervene.
“Shut up, Eddie,” the man growled before turning back to Jahnny. “You think you’re smart, huh? Think you’re gonna save the day?”
Jahnny scrambled to his feet and swung his fist wildly, hitting the man’s stomach. It felt like punching a wall, and the man barely flinched. A sharp slap across the face sent Jahnny sprawling to the ground, his cheek stinging and hot tears welling up in his eyes.
“Jahnny!” Lila cried, moving to help him, but the man shoved her back.
“You wanna mess with me, huh?” the man sneered, looming over Jahnny. “This ain’t no fairy tale, kid. You’re in Brassvale.”
“Hey!” A shout came from the court, louder this time. One of the other men started walking over, his hands raised. “Chill, Dee. They’re just kids, man.”
Dee snorted but backed off, spitting on the ground near Jahnny. “Keep your punk ass outta my face,” he muttered before walking back to the court.
Lila helped Jahnny to his feet, her hands shaking. “Are you okay?”
Jahnny nodded, though his head throbbed and his cheek felt like it was on fire. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not,” Lila said, her voice breaking. “You’re stupid, Jahnny. Why’d you do that?”
He shrugged, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “He was bein’ a jerk.”
“You could’ve gotten us both hurt,” she said, but her tone was softer now, more scared than angry.
They sat back down on the bench, and Jahnny hugged the ball to his chest. The men at the court seemed to lose interest in them, returning to their hushed conversations.
“I hate this place,” Lila said quietly, and for once, Jahnny didn’t have a comeback. He hated it too.
The walk home was quieter than usual. Lila stuck close to Jahnny, glancing at him every so often as if to make sure he wasn’t going to collapse. Jahnny’s cheek still throbbed, and his lip was split, but he refused to let her see him cry. The night air was cold now, the kind that bit through their thin clothes, and Jahnny shoved his hands deep into his pockets.
The streets weren’t much safer than the park. Figures loitered on stoops or shuffled through alleys, their shadows long and menacing under the dim streetlights. Lila kept her head down, and Jahnny mimicked her, though his fists stayed clenched. He wasn’t sure who he was angrier at—the man who hit him or himself for being too small to do anything about it.
When they finally reached their apartment building, the door creaked loudly as Lila pushed it open. The stairwell smelled like mildew and something sour, and the paint was peeling in long strips from the walls. They climbed the stairs to their unit, Lila two steps ahead as Jahnny trudged behind.
The faint sound of the baby crying filtered through the door before they even opened it. Marie’s voice followed, a tired hush trying to soothe the wails.
“Don’t slam it,” Lila whispered as she turned the knob gently.
Inside, the apartment was dimly lit, with the flicker of an old lamp in the corner. Marie sat on the couch, baby Betsy cradled in her arms, her shirt unbuttoned as the infant nursed. Lila hesitated before closing the door softly behind them.
Marie glanced up, bags the side of softballs under both eyes from the late nights, jumping between the paperwork of her job and dealing with the baby and making sure clothes and food are taken care of for Clara, Lila, and Jahnny. “You’re late,” she said, her tone sharp but not unkind. “Dinner’s almost cold.”
“Sorry, Mama,” Lila said quickly, shrugging off her jacket and hanging it on the back of a chair. “I got a homerun, though! Jahnny pitched it, and I smacked it right out of the lot.”
Marie smiled faintly. “Good for you, Lila. Maybe we got ourselves a baseball star in the making.”
Lila beamed and scooted into the kitchen to grab a plate. Jahnny stayed near the door, still scowling, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.
“Jahnny, you gonna eat?” Marie asked, her voice steady but with an edge that meant she didn’t have time for nonsense.
“I’m not hungry,” he muttered, his eyes on the scuffed floor.
Marie frowned, adjusting Betsy in her arms. “What’s with the attitude?”
“No attitude,” Jahnny mumbled, his face burning.
Marie narrowed her eyes. “I don’t like lies, Jahnny. You better straighten up and tell me what’s going on.”
Jahnny shrugged, his anger bubbling over. “Nothin’. It’s always nothin’, right?”
The words stung Marie, and she shifted Betsy to her other arm, her expression hardening. “Alright, mister, you’re done for tonight. Go to your room.”
Lila stopped mid-bite, her eyes darting between them. “Mama—”
“Hush, Lila,” Marie said firmly. “Jahnny knows better than to talk to me like that.”
“But—”
“Go. To. Your. Room,” Marie repeated, her voice a low warning.
Jahnny’s jaw clenched, and he stomped toward the small bedroom he shared with Lila and their older sister, Clara, though Clara was rarely home these days. The door slammed behind him, and he flopped onto the worn mattress on the floor, staring up at the cracked, smoke stained ceiling.
In the kitchen, Lila toyed with her fork, her earlier excitement about the game gone. “Mama, it’s not his fault.”
Marie sighed and leaned back against the couch, Betsy now fast asleep in her arms. “I know, Lila,” she said softly, her voice losing its earlier sharpness. “But we ain’t got the food to waste on a kid who’s gonna backtalk me.”
“But he’s not—”
“Lila,” Marie interrupted, her tone weary. “I don’t need excuses. I just need peace.”
Jahnny lay in the dark, listening to the faint sounds of the apartment—Betsy’s soft coos, the scrape of Lila’s fork on her plate, the creak of Marie’s footsteps. His stomach growled, but he ignored it, his anger keeping the hunger at bay.
“Damn park,” he muttered to himself. “Damn stupid park and damn stupid people.”
But the anger didn’t help for long. Soon, it faded into something heavier, a weight that settled deep in his chest. He curled up on the mattress, pulling the thin blanket over his head, and tried to shut out the world.
Tomorrow would be the same, he knew. Brassvale didn’t care about kids like him, and neither did the people in it. All he had was his family—his mom, his sisters, and, when he was feeling generous, even Garth. But even they couldn’t stop the streets from creeping into their lives, no matter how hard they tried.
And Jahnny hated that more than anything.