Franklin

Franklin was the kind of kid that you could always count on. He always had an extra Twinkie for you. He always knew the best shortcuts around town.

Franklin could tell you what kind of car was coming up from behind us as we would all walk to the comic book store JUST by the sound of the car. "Definitely a GM, big 8 cyl, Galaxy definitely." A second later a giant Ford Galaxy would thunder by.

"Geez man, how you do that?" Said some kid who for the life of me I can't remember.
I know he was Puerto Rican... Or Dominican. Joey Rodriguez! That kid is definitely dead now. Not because he was crazy or a bad person. Quite the opposite, he was the nicest kid in the world. HE was the kid that when you played Cowboys and Indians, was always the Indian. Or Robber, or Super Villain's Assistant or Viet Cong. You get the idea. He was just too naive and accommodating to live in a sewer like Gary, Indiana and escape alive. Poor Joey, you know he either went to prison for holding a briefcase for his buddies or got arrested for picking up his buddies in a hail of bullets outside the Federal Treasury building.

"Simple, the tranny on that car makes a gear switch like clik, skree, click, skuh-ree." Franklin responded to the question at the beginning of the previous paragraph.

"Man, I need issue 101 of Fantastic Four, but it's like fourteen bucks now." Said Joey.

"'Course it is, on page seven in panel three there's complete nippage on Sue Richard's costume. Silver Dollar pancakes."

We all "whoa." You have to remember; this is the early eighties.

"Whatchu' got there?" He flipped through Joey's stack of trade-ins. "Betty and Veronica? Richie freakin' Rich?"

"They're Dee Dee's." Joey's little sister.

We all "yeah right!"

"Well, you sure as hell ain't getting a wooden nickel for this baby girl crap. We're gonna' have to make a transaction -- getchu' some better collateral."

We all look at each other, having no idea what Franklin is talking about. But, as always, we're on board any Franklin idea.

"Over this fence." Just as we go up the fence and have one leg over... "And don't forget to haul ass, Timmerman's Scottie died."

"So?"

"So, I heard he got a dober..." The biggest, most angular product of German cross-breeding cruised out from behind Timmermans garage. Even at slow, this THING was like mist -- flawless in its movement. Time stood still as we stood 30 feet away from the other side of the yard. A thousand years as the dog caught a whiff and aimed it's jagged snout at the five of us. The smart thing to do would have been to retreat, this dog was way out of our league. We grew up in a neighborhood of mutts, strays, misfits and relics. Up until today, the most terrifying animal in our neighborhood was the tartantula in Kevin's big brother's aquarium in his black lit bedroom in the basement. This dog was like going from playing whiffle ball to playing against the Yankees.

"Run!" Franklin took off first. And as always, we followed. Terror knows no words to describe the rush of fear and adrenaline. On this day, our fifth grade bodies got our first taste of the change that we would undergo in the next few years. Joints and muscles, not to mention reflexes, were pushed to new levels. And sweat, real man sweat burst through my pores like a revelation. As we pounced on the chain link it was clear that one of us was going down -- I didn't take the millisecond to look back, but I could feel the Kraut dog at my heels. As I hit the ground, thanking the Lord for the pain in my elbow; I saw behind the waffled wire of the fence -- Franklin swinging his coat around... With the Doberman clutched to the sleeve. Franklin slipped the other sleeve through the criss-crossed thatching of steel, giving the dog enough resistance to believe that someone was at the other end of the blue parka with fake fur lining. Franklin was bigger than the rest of us and his eleven year old brain knew that time had to be bought.

"What about your coat?" I asked as the rest of them congratulated Franklin and teased the newest predator on our block.

"I'll come back for it later." We shared a look. I lived next door to Franklin and I knew full well that Mr. Brooks would "tan that hide something fierce" if he found out that Franklin destroyed his winter coat in January. And Mr Brooks was from a different school of discipline than my father. Mr Brooks didn't use his hand or a belt -- he used like extension cords or like a loose shingle if they were outside. No, Franklin could not "afford" to lose that coat and we both knew it. So, while the other three pals were relishing the victory over German engineering -- I was ruing the upcoming "re-match" that Franklin and I would undoubtedly have to endure on the way back.

"Isn't that Timmy Hoolihan's house?" Sheed asked as he nodded toward the almost Candyland looking ranch style house with the ceramic deer that one day quite soon would be destined to have their big eyed heads smashed into oblivion by aluminum baseball bats by the graduating senior class.

"Why we going to the retard's house?" Stokes asked. Feel free to hate Stokes, he turned out to really suck.

"Where else do you think we're gonna' be able to trade 5 Bettty and Veronica's and three lame ass Richie Riches for something worth enough to get Joey his fourteen dollar Fantastic Two?"

"You mean Fantastic Four right Franklin?"

"I was talking about Sue Richard's nipples."

You know how hard it was to not laugh as the door opens to reveal the "special kid's" mother (who by the way had knockout boobs) right after a great nipple joke?