The Eyes of a Fighter: A Serial Novel

Chapter 2

The playground of the Southside Community Center was a total mess. The concrete paths were cracked and littered with trash. Beer bottles, candy wrappers, and soggy cardboard boxes lined the chainlink fences as if even they had tried to escape but had been caught.

The playground and basketball court were empty of people, especially now that night had fallen. A few streetlights tried in vain to stay on and illuminate the area, but they tiredly blinked on and off.

Carson's shoes were almost worn through at some parts, so he tried to avoid the shards of broken glass as he walked through the parking lot approaching the abandoned community center. He took a deep breath and scanned his surroundings. A street-wise kid even at fourteen, he had seen enough of these places to know he had better be looking out for himself.

He had come here to play as a kid. He remembered his mom and older sister taking him to this playground back when it was full of kids in the summer. He had learned to ride a bike here and had played basketball on the court. A drunk guy waving a knife around had been shot by police a few years ago and after that his mom never let him come back.

The community around there had initially been outraged about the shooting. For a while, there had been a shrine built in his memory with flowers and photos. People had organized and protested. Things got a little out of hand and some people had smashed windows and got into fights there near the playground. The shrine had slowly blown away with the wind and flowers were scattered around.

The next year, one of the neighborhood gangs and taken it over for a while, and anyone that tried to come and play basketball or use the playground got harassed and attacked. Heavy police presence came soon after that. The community just wasn't willing to keep the place nice and families were scared to attend any events put on by the center.

Soon trash started to pile up and kids started to use it as a place to go get drunk. At night, you could hear smashing bottles and yelling. Carson shivered a little but forced himself to stand up straight as he walked. He had nothing to be afraid of now. Practically a man, his face was known around here. He knew he wouldn't be messed with but still knew to keep his guard up.

Around the back of the community center, there was a garage. The door was halfway up and light and music emanated from inside. Carson approached carefully. He could see legs and shoes moving inside and he tried to get a feel for who was there before he went in. Always better to be prepared, he thought.

He bent down at the waist and stepped under the garage door. The bright light made him wince a little and he wasn't prepared for the volume of the music. There were about eight older guys in the garage, and they each turned to look at him. A few were smoking and all of them had beer or liquor bottles in their hands. While these guys looked older, he knew some of them were barely seventeen or eighteen.

A few weren't wearing shirts, and Carson admired their long curling tattoos that covered their arms and chests. They were all a mix of skin colors, mostly black and brown, but a few whites too. Some had definitely been spending time using the dumbells and the weight bench that stood off to the right-hand side.

He was young and small, but when he was here he felt welcomed. He felt like one of them. He couldn't wait to get his first tattoo. He pushed out his chest and walked toward the back. He walked as if he belonged, and soon the men's attention went back to their conversations. A few were shooting pool in the back corner on a table they had moved from the game room in the community center. A haze of cigarette smoke lingered up at the ceiling.

This was the "new" community center, and it wasn't paid for or supervised by the community. It was run by the Southside Eagles, one of the local gangs that had sprung up over the past few years. The gang had roots in the juvenile detention center that was a few miles east of the area. many had been in and out of jail and prison, some had rap sheets as long as their arms.