gilman kid story

It was one of those few, rare great summer nights. The kind that everyone remembers in their own way, with their own moments to reflect on and stories to tell. One of those nights everyone will always remember, the kind that are told forever and never die.

Sitting outside the Gilman, the pieces started to come together. Dalton was 18 and getting off his shift at the front office soon, which meant he would go on the mighty 'Pic and Pac cigarette run with Laz, Calder, and I. Two packs of Camel wides and a pack of American Spirit unfilters (Laz likes classy cigarettes). After that, I was ready for anything. Sophie had weed-a lot of it- and so did Sage. And Dalton had just bought a pipe, just waiting to be christened. We even had an apartment to smoke at. All we had to do was wait for Jacob and a guy we'd never seen before to come back from a beer run.

We all remember being a bit wary of the man buying our friend's alcohol. He had an older face and drying, fried hair under a baseball cap. We never got a good look at his eyes- he was wearing sun glasses, trendy red Wayfarer frames. His shirt was a too tight, bright yellow YMCA camp t-shirt. He looked at me and my friends a bit too intently, he followed us all a bit too closely, he asked too many questions but he never looked us in the eye.

Once he and Jacob got back from buying some sort of malt liquor we all walked to the spot we referred to as 'the creek'. It was a non-fenced off area behind a small baseball field. There was a swamp-like creek with a trail and lots of trees and green- and a perfect dry island to smoke on. We had been there many times before, remembering nights spent smoking, drinking, laughing, fighting, screwing around, and being punk kids out.

Even walking there was fun, running through the street and yelling. Some kids skated there, some ran, some walked, everyone smoked.

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Once we were there, Sophie sat on her longboard and packed Dalton's pipe with her purplish and sticky nugs. The pipe went around and everyone sat in a circle, talking and waiting for their own release. The guy in the yellow shirt stood next to the circle, not smoking but drinking with Jacob. Sometimes he would interject in the circle's conversation, but mostly he kept to himself and Jacob. When people started to get rowdy as they usually do, Laz hushed them and reminded everyone there was a cop stationed a couple blocks away from where we were and that he just got out of Youth Court and didn't want to go to juvie. Reminded of our own felonies and charges, we calmed down. Thorn looked at all of and smiled, with his red eyes and cotton mouth, told us that we were a great group. To that, Val chugged her forty and wrapped her spindly arm around me. The embrace of my best friend and the alcohol in my veins and the THC in my brain made me feel at home, in the middle of nowhere.

The guy in the yellow shirt became more active in the conversation, asking us where we all got to know each other and if came to the creek a lot, if it was our regular spot, if we went to the Gilman a lot. It seemed like he might have been making small talk, asking us where we were from and such, but he asked too many questions in detail. He asked me what I was doing tomorrow casually, but then asked for more specific details like where exactly I would be and when, and then said he might stop by. This might seem like a red flag for many people, and it was for me. When he wandered over down to the other end of the creek, opposite from where we were sitting, people started talking about how freaky this guy was and why was he here. No one knew him from before. Not even Jacob knew who he was, really, besides being over 21 and decent enough to buy alcohol for a minor and desperate enough to try to befriend them.

Eventually we all got stoned enough that we felt we had to DO something. Do you ever get like that? When you're restless and just feel like running somewhere, getting in trouble, laughing and plotting schemes? That's how it was. And that's what we did. We stumbled out of the creek and landed on our feet. Walking down the street and skating down the street, people holding hangs and hugging, we headed towards the train tracks. It was me, my best friend, my boyfriend, the rest of the group of restless friends, and the guy in the yellow shirt.

A few blocks away and then a few more blocks down from the Gilman was the train tracks. Trains running from different East Bay cities passed through regularly, and loudly. We walked down the tracks a bit, and landed at the place we called 'Earth's tit', a large and hard mound of cement and gravel protrouding from the ground. We sat there, talking and horsing around for a while. Then there was a short lull in conversation, and the guy the yellow shirt said that he was going home. He was going on BART, headed towards Gilman street and Ohlone, and we bid him a short farewell.

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After he left, everyone turned towards each other and all the thoughts that had been shooed away, fearing paranoia, came out.

"Dude, was that a narc?"
"Either a narc or a serial rapist. Did you see how he tried to figure out where we live and shit?"
"What the fuck was up with him?"

Sage decided that it was getting sketch there, with the possible under cover cop, and we all quickly migrated somewhere else, anywhere else. Everyone hurried a bit, wind in our lungs and fear in our blood. We clung to each instinctually, making little escape plans just in case. We laughed nervously but kept looking back the tracks, to the street, to any cars going by.

After hopping a fence or two, we found ourselves in a wide field, maybe used for soccer or baseball, dimly lit with lamps. The grass was wet, sprinklers were on. It smelled like grass. The moon was full. As everyone settled down on a bleacher, the general attention of the group was turned to the majestic sprinklers. The water droplets we lit up with the lamp's glow. It was a nice night.

I don't remember who was the first to run through the sprinklers, but we all did. Sprinting through the grass and through the water, back and forth. I lit up a cigarette and ran through the sprinklers with it, still lit. Some people took it as an opportunity to shower. We weren't the most concerned with hygene. We ran until we were soaked and laughing.

After getting back to the bleacher, one of us sprinted by the group, warning of two men watching us from behind the fence. Immediately we all relocated somewhere else, and fast. Valentina didn't have time to put her shirt back on before we were on the road again, through more thicket headed somewhere safer. I held Laz's hand in the dark. We only moved across a small bridge in between the field and another field with more bleachers and sprinklers. We sat and calmed down, wondering if we should smoke another bowl- after all, the night was only beginning.

We sat and talked for a little while, until Sage looked to the field we were just at-which was visible from the place we were- and looked back at us with wide eyes. He grasped his back pack straps on his shoulders.

"There's a guy with a flashlight on the field. Run."

And then he ran. We knew what that meant- flashlights were a red flag for cops. We all ran across the field and next to a long building, eventually crossing a road and leaving the field. We were still running when I lost my breathe for a second and looked back down the road we had just crossed. A man was walking towards us. I could see a police badge on his chest gleam in the light of the lamp post. I had never been afraid like that before that second. I had never been caught by the cops before. And I wasn't going to that night.

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So I sped up, running ahead of everyone and people walking quickly, saying "They're here. Run, dude" and running. I ran until we hit a corner and people continued running towards the Gilman, the safe zone. At the corner Laz ran aside me and held my hand, telling me not to go with the group and stay with him. I watched our friends tear and skate down the street, trying to stay hidden. I followed Laz's lead up the street, away from the group. Dalton was headed in the same direction as us, across the street and a bit further up.

"If anything happens", he whispered hurriedly in my ear while glancing back to check for cops, "just make out with me and everything will be okay. They won't fuck with us, Andy. I promise you. I love you."

"I love you, too."

Then I looked down the street. A cop car was about two long blocks from us on the same street, but it turned right. It didn't look like it was following us. We got them off our trail for now.

"Dalton!", yelled Laz at our astranged friend, "Skate to the Gilman! It's safe! We'll be fine!"
"Okay man!"
"Good luck, brother!" I yelled for a bit of humor. It never hurt to look a serious moment in the face, a scary mother fucker, and laugh. He skated away and my eyes followed him down the street. He would be okay.

We were close to the corner and Laz looked at me and pulled me close to him.

"Andy, make out with me now."

There was a cop car at the corner, continuing down the street Dalton had just started skating down. I grabbed Laz and kissed him like we did then. I hugged him, air was missing my lungs, and I weazed into his ear "I'm so scared." He kissed me back and told me everything was okay. Then I looked and the car had driven by. He smiled at me and I smiled back, grabbing for his hand, and he walked me down the street and to the Gilman.

Once we got to the Gilman, we looked happily and saw that everyone had gotten back in one piece. Sitting outside the club, smoking cigarettes like we had been only a few hours earlier. We were greeted with hugs. Everyone had something to say. The guy in the yellow shirt was discussed, and friends of ours that hadn't been on the adventure agreed that he might have been a narc. And then they asked us why we were all wet. Cop cars passed by regularly, but none pulled over or took a special interest in us.


It was one of those rare nights, the kind that change things and aren't easily forgotten. The kind everyone takes something away from and remembers forever. Bonds were made and times were had. We lost a smoking spot, and we'll probably never go those sprinklers again. We met a new guy, only to have him quickly added to our hit list and possible narc collection. The consequences of this man haven't been fully seen as of yet, but we'll have to wait and see. It was one of those rare nights.