INTRODUCTION
We met each other on my street. Timothy, the person who would become my best friend in my early life, was wandering aimlessly that day, and happened to stroll down Hawkins Avenue, unsure of what he was doing. “Hi!” he called out to me, seeing me on my porch, alone. I’m not sure why he chose me to call out to, given the fact that he passed several people on his way towards his current position. Perhaps it was because he was looking for another ten year old face, or recognized me from somewhere. The former was more likely, as inter-mingling of streets was absurdly rare. Nevertheless, we exchanged pleasantries, and began meeting each other on a regular basis. His name was Timothy Tucker, and he lived on James Street, which was only two blocks away from my Hawkins Avenue. We both loved comics, reading, and music.
At first, meeting was hard. I can now name every spot possible to meet with another streeter off the top of my head. Of course, ten year old me had absolutely no idea where to even begin. Often, older members would catch us, and force us to separate and go back to our respective homes. It took nearly a month to find the perfect spot to hang out: Blessers Park. Blessers Park was smack on the border of Howard Street, Avenue C, and Plight Boulevard. There were often people of different streets at that park; however none of them talked between each other. Still, it allowed us to communicate and not seem suspicious. It was bliss.
A year after first meeting, Timothy and I had our first class together at school. It was sixth grade, the start of middle school. We had math class together, and since we got to choose our seats, we sat right next to each other. Every other student sat next to the people from their respective street, so teachers never bothered to check to see if you were mingling with other streeters.
Math class was the only bearable part of my school schedule that year. I didn’t make friends very easily, for some reason. Whenever I tried to talk to someone, they would eventually walk away, and I had no clue why. It even happened on people who lived on Hawkins with me, which is especially strange considering we all already knew each other. (Later on in 8th grade, I discovered my inability to make friends was due to innate shyness I had to overcome. During conversations I would only listen, hardly ever revealing information about myself. I blame my father for that).
When my father first found out about my inter-mingling affairs, he was furious. I anticipated this, and kept him oblivious for as long as possible, which sadly was only several months. I don’t even remember how he found out about Timothy. Perhaps it was his super-human parenting awareness. Will I someday know when my son is talking to a kid from James Street?
“You cannot see Timothy any longer. Do you understand?” This was my father’s opening statement. Of course, ten year old me had no idea why.
“Because,” answered my father, “one day, he will die, and you might be the one pointing the gun at him.” My father was a rather blunt man.
What my father was alluding to was our annual Street War. I knew of this, but at the time, thought nothing of it, given how I was unaffected by it at the time. Becoming friends with people from other streets is not outlawed or prohibited in any way. However, it was extremely difficult to do so, because once you’re in a Street War, you have to put every friendship aside and fight for yourself, even if that means killing a “Timothy”. Children do not understand this growing up, and it is the adult community’s responsibility to shield the youth from these painful events, meaning they work together to ensure there is no inter-mingling.
Growing up, Timothy and I both discovered this slowly, separately. We never talked about Street Wars to each other; we assumed we never would have to deal with a situation like that. Sadly, six years after meeting Timothy, we both decided to end our friendship. We both knew better. Just like that, our friendship ended, and years later, our first Street War began.
