4811 W. Walton Street

The building is no longer there. It is just an empty lot. But back in the early 70s a brick monstrosity stood there. I think there were six or eight doorways. Each door led to six different apartments and a basement. Grandma and grandpa lived at one side and mom and dad had an apartment at the other

The courtyard is where we played. It’s funny, because we weren't allowed outside to play by ourselves as we got older, but at age five or six we could go and play in the courtyard with little supervision.

As a young child, the courtyard looked like a poorly maintained NASCAR short track.
There was a small amount of grass next to the building, then a sidewalk raceway, and in the center of the sidewalk, there was dirt.

I know there should have been grass-- logic tells me this. I saw pictures in books. I saw other courtyard buildings in other neighborhood--- but not here. There was just dirt in the summer. When it rained, in the south east corner of the half block long dirt oval, there was a mud puddle/ sinkhole.

One day, as I was jumping rope- Johnny started to tease me. Johnny was the cute blond haired boy from down the block. He was about 2 years older than I was. Johnny always wanted the girls to put their hand down his pants. Yep-- every neighborhood has a Johnny.

Johnny kept getting in the way of my jumping rope. He would jump in front of me; put his foot out, what ever it took to get my attention.

Then Johnny did the unthinkable. He took the rope away.
I did what any little girl would do-- I chased him!
Round and round the courtyard we went. Funny, even thought there was no grass to step on in the center, we never cut across the courtyard -- we always went around the cement sidewalk instead.

I continued to chase him, whining about my jump rope. Now, Johnny stopped running. Little Johnny did something different.
He stopped.
He took the rope and lassoed me
He wrapped the rope around me

“What are you doing?”
“I'm dumping you into the mud”
“You are not!”

He pulled on the rope
“Yes I am”
I laughed. Who the hell did he think he was?
He couldn't
He wouldn't
He wasn’t big enough
He wasn’t strong enough
I fought hard

Pull
Push
Pull

I continued to fight and I was winning

And then
All at once
Splash
I landed in the mud puddle

I was mad
I think it was the first time in my life I felt rage
I sat there
In mud up to my waste
And I whaled.
I let out a blood curdling scream, the likes no one had ever heard.
One I didn’t even know I was capable of
This was the definition of screaming bloody murder
But in my case it was muddy tooter---- or something like that.

Johnny did what most little boys like Johnny did when something like this happens
He ran
He ran away fast
Olympic sprint fast

Almost simultaneously-- the windows in the Court yard opened
Heads, Body's came lunging forward from the cells above to see what the noise was about. As I think back, I have to ask myself--- didn’t anyone in that building have a job??? Why were they all at home this summer afternoon?? Everyone stared down at me as I continued my lament.

Then, in one of the few time I can remember being watched by her, my mother came to her window.

“What the hell are you doing?” She screamed loud enough to make my own shrieks sound like a whisper.
“Johnny put me in the mud” I sobbed
“Well stop your fucking screaming and get out of the mud” she shouted indignantly at me.

Stop my fucking screaming and get out of the mud
No sympathy
No calling Johnny's parents
No coming down from the second floor to my rescue
Stop screaming
Get out

Since that day, when things go wrong, I still feel rage. I sill get angry at the Johnny's of the world. But I’ve learned no one will save me, especially not when I want them too.
So in the mud of life, I’ve learned to stop screaming and just get out.