Lucky Little

inspirational Stories

Lucky Little
the long way home

#58 - Hollywood Bus   (Excerpt)

Summer of 1985. Damn Bobby, what the hell did you do? You’re gonna die out here tonight. Think Bobby think. Stayin’ alive baby, stayin’ alive, think baby. Damn, I can’t make out their colors but I know they’re selling drugs and I know they’re a gang. A block away, they probably won’t even notice me. Five, six... shit, seven. Ok, ok, ok, think. Damn red shirt! Bloods gotta be red right? I mean Crips wouldn’t be red and the Bloods be blue, would they? Blue blood? I don't know! Does it really matter? I mean look at you. What are you Don Johnson? White pants, white jacket with the sleeves rolled up, red tank top and your freaking K-Swiss. Like a lamb in the freaking wolves den. Damn Bobby, dumbass. Just sit still and look straight ahead. They gotta think I’m a lunatic. A white dude that looks like Elvis sitting at a bus stop at 11:30 at night in the freaking hood, wearing all white. Hair all gelled out. Quit looking around! Damn Bobby, what the hell? The bus will be here any minute, come on now, he said you take it downtown, catch the number 7, that’ll take you back to Hollywood. My little 8 by 11 room at the Y is looking like the Hyatt now. Man, home sweet home, right. Get me the hell out of here. Damn Bobby. Always something with you. Always a story. Well, here’s one way to look at it, you’ve only been here 1 week and already you’re about to make the headlines. I can see it now, they’ll be watching the news, ‘Unidentified Body Found in Field’. In the Los Angeles suburb of Inglewood today, police were called out to investigate a man who was seen smoking what is considered to be the new ‘poor man’s cocaine’, what they are calling ‘crack’. This area is known for its heavy gang related activities and rival wars between the Bloods and the Crips. While questioning the ‘crack’ smoking suspect one of the officers noticed what looked to be blood on the bench at the bus stop. A trail of blood led them to a field across the street that was covered in weeds 3 to 4 feet tall. Upon further investigation they found the body of a 6’1, 180 pound white male with multiple stab wounds in the back, bullet holes in the heart and blunt trauma to the head. Shit, sounds like all the reasons I came to this city anyway. Being stabbed in the back, my heart shredded and my mind being made up by others as to what I should do with my life. F**k that. I’m gonna make it here. I’m not gonna die tonight. I’m gonna be famous. Then I’m bringing the whole crew out. I’ll find something for everybody to do. They’re counting on me. Nobody else is gonna do it. Nobody’s gonna do it for you Bobby. Nobody cares. Everybody has their own life to live. Hell, that’s been the story since you were born. Your parents don’t care. If they did they would have found you by now. It’s not like you have moved all around the world throughout your life with no trace of your past. You’re freaking 19. Born and raised in South Houston, one move to podunk Alief just 15 miles away and boom, there since then. Until this little trek to Hollywood. They have the names of the doctors and lawyers and things like that. They could find you. Shit, that dude just looked right at me. Now they’re all looking over here. Shit! Okay, think Bobby. If I run they come after me anyway and I miss the last bus coming through. Oh no, don’t come over here. Shit. You can have my jacket, my wallet, my jewelry, my shoes, even my cash stash I hide in my sock, but just let me not die tonight. Damn, where the hell is the f**king bus? God, I know I've never been to church. I know I’ve done a lot of bad, very bad things, but God, if I have any credit at all, I mean I have done some good things too, well, tonight would be the night I’d like to cash out. This will use up like years of asking you for anything. I swear. Please God do not let me end up dead in that field tonight. I promise I will… No, no. Shit. Do not stop the car, keep on driving. Nothing here but an idiot, caught the wrong bus. I’ll be out of here any time now. There you go, keep driving. Dammit, where the f**k is that f**king bus already?!   Ok Bobby, it’s about to be on. Dammit! I can’t believe this is happening. I’m gonna take 3 of these motherf**kers down with me, I know that. You’ve got this Bobby. Talk your way out of this baby. Talk it out. Talk it out. You’re going home tonight.   Home, tonight baby. Home, tonight. Come on you f**king bus!!

“What’s going on gentlemen?”

HOLLYWOOD BUS

So I'm at George's for a couple days, out in Hollywood. Before my money came in from home. Let me tell you what (especially looking back now), the guy was just a derelict. Had nothing going on. Had no class in his apartment, and had no food, and literally for three or four days, I was eating off one loaf of bread that I scrounged up about 60 cents to go buy. What I'd do with my bread is I'd fold it and then fold it again, squeeze it up in my fist, to where it was like a chunk, like a potato or something, and then I'd take small bites off that. Eating wadded up bread. So I tell you, when my money came in, first I was quick to go get me a meal. Steak, eggs, pancakes, bacon, oatmeal, milk, juice, coffee, Dr. Pepper. Next I was heading to Beverly Hills baby. I knew the bus routes, or I thought I did. I knew what bus would get me to Beverly Center. So I get to the Beverly Center that day, and I’ll never forget; I’m wearing my white pants, red tank top shirt, my white sport coat, the sleeves rolled up, I mean, pure Don Johnson look. Hair all gelled back like I was doing when I was back at home.

          First off, the bus pulls up. Across the street, there's an Army surplus store. All the windows are painted; you couldn't see in, they couldn't see out. As soon as I get off the bus, everybody starts going to the left.

          I get out and I'm kind of moseying for a minute pulling out a smoke, wandering off to the right. Middle of the day like 3 o'clock. Bright sunny day. I'm digging in my tight white jeans for my lighter,looking around, like I know you shouldn't do when you're in unfamiliar places. You start looking around like you don't know where you are and the street crooks pick right up on it. I know now. Next thing you know, this little dude's got me. Grabbing me by the arm, pretty good hold on me. I can see one of his legs is crippled, but he's got an ice pick right down below my boys. Black dude about 5'4, 120 pounds, dressed in camo. Limping, like serious limping. Got a strong grip on me though and all fidgety with this freaking ice pick...a freakin ice pick, right under my crotch, like 2-3 inches away. He's pulling me to the side, "Hey, give me one! Give me one! Give me a light!"

          The guy's saying this while he's got this ice pick all moving around, the guy's all jerking around, and one leg's all gimp and limping while he's got the ice pick down there. I'm standing on my tiptoes to keep this guy from just going crazy and jabbing me---just not knowing what he's doing. I'm freaking out but can't do a damn thing or risk getting an ice pick jammed up in me.

          Fortunately, I had learned by then, keep all my real cash in my socks; keep a few dollars in my pocket. So I pulled a few dollars out, I'm trying to get him to put the ice pick down, and now he's got his cigarette smoldering about to burn my jacket. I'm thinking he's going to jab me. Any second now this crazy f**k is gonna jab me like some ancient Chinese torture and I'm gonna bleed out all over the sidewalk while he scurries off in some alley. I start looking across the street, rolling my eyes, and making head gestures, like I'm talking to somebody, I can of lightly say, "Hey, I don't know. I'll be there in a minute." If there was someone there they couldn't have heard me but I sure didn't want to startle him into stabbing me.

          Boom, next thing you know, all jerkily and schizophrenically, turns around, looks around a little bit, and takes off. I'm like wow, this is in the good part of town? "I mean did anybody see what the f**k just happened here? Nobody? Nothing?" People across the street, outside the mall, going about their business. Not paying any mind. Crazy.

          I'm hanging out at the mall. I'm hanging out there all day, just going through all the shops. I'm not buying anything, but I tell you what, just the people watching alone was a hoot.  So many beautiful people. This must be where all the models hang out. No, just L.A. It would be a couple of days before I'd make another call back to my boys in Texas but I would definitely be including the part about all the beautiful girls. A mall is a mall is a mall. The Galleria in Houston is massive too and probably a great day's outing if you have just stupid money to spend. I mean if you had the choice to either 'go buy a third car one Saturday, or go to the mall and go shopping' stupid money.  Otherwise, I pretty much avoid malls.

          So that night I'm coming out. I figure I'm going to catch the bus. At the time, I'd got a room at the YMCA for a little bit. Sleep at the YMCA one night, next night I'd stay out late, catch some sleep wherever I could in some back bushes or on a bench somewhere somewhat safe, even if uncomfortable. Then I'd go back the next day and get cleaned up at the Y, have me a good night in my 10x6 room that the window looked right out at the Hollywood sign. This Hollywood YMCA was just off Hollywood Boulevard on a street called Wilcox. Don't think it's there anymore. But just right down the road from the Mann's Chinese Theatre.

          Right where they're having the red carpet. In between the red carpet and the Hollywood sign was my room in the YMCA. At least it was a room, and at least, even though they had community phone and community showers, when I was in my room, that door was locked. I was safe and I could sleep.

          So I get on the bus that's going toward Hollywood, so I think. Next thing you know, it starts going, "vroom, vrooooom." Next thing, it turns south. I don't know any better; I'm the only one on the bus. Next thing you know, we pull over to stop, a few people get on, it starts going a little bit farther south, a few more people get on. Next thing you know, we've hit five, six, seven stops. This bus is packed, and everybody on the bus except me is black. And I'm standing out like a sore thumb with what I'm wearing.

          So I'm figuring like before, I get on a bus, I'm not sure where it's going, I take it full circle, it pulls me back around to where I started. I get some advice from the bus driver how to get back home. So I'm thinking I'll just ride this full circle.

          Vroom, vrooooom. Starts heading south. Next thing I know, we're dropping people off. Another stop, we're dropping people off. Another stop. Now we're in the neighborhoods that keep getting worse and worse. Now we're in the neighborhood where people are just walking right in front of the bus. No mind. People hanging out on the corners. Jam boxes going and people hanging out and smoking weed and drinking.

          Next thing you know, the whole bus is empty. Bus driver looks back in the mirror, says, "Hey, bud! Where you going'?" I said, "Man, I'm trying to get back to Hollywood." He says, "Well, you got on the wrong bus." I said, "Yeah, I figured that. I thought I'd go ahead and just stay on for the full ride until you full-circled back around to the Beverly Center." He said, "Oh, no. It's 10:45. I'm not heading back that way. I'm going to the bus barn, parking this thing, getting in my car, and going home."

          I said, "Well, it looks like I'll be sleeping in the bus at the bus barn then." He says, "Nah, you can't do that." He says, "You see that bench over there?" He points to a bench next to a streetlight that's busted out. He says, "You're going to wait on that bench for about 20 minutes, catch the number seven downtown, catch the number one from there, that'll get you back to Hollywood."

          So I'm walking off this bus, eyes on me, go sit on this bench underneath a broken streetlight. There's people out, there's people out on the street, and they ain’t looking like people that are looking for my company.

          I can remember looking over at the field, that was just catty-cornered, adjacent to the bus stop, had about four-foot tall grass. I knew it'd been a couple days since I'd even called home. That's the only way they were going to hear from me is when I called home. I'm thinking, "Man, don't tell me I'm going to end up dead in that field over there. This can not be happening." And I'm thinking, as some other people come up to the bus stop, literally waiting for a knife to go in my back, I'm thinking I'll give up this jacket, I'll give up this shirt, I'll give up these shoes, I will empty my socks of just less than $200.

          But I just sit there. I just sit there, waiting for something to break. Even though I wasn't a praying boy at the time, I imagine I was making some calls out to God. Next thing you know, a Number 1 pulls up, I get on that Number 1, I'm leaving out of that neighborhood. As I'm leaving out, I hear 'em yelling some stuff. I'm thinking, "Man, how did I get out of that? Especially now the way they're yelling?" Like they wish I was back there sitting. They're probably wondering, "How did we let him get out of this?"

          Takes me downtown. Downtown we got some drunks, we got some winos, no problem. I'm happy to give them a couple dollars; they're quick to leave me alone. Get on the Number 7; next thing you know, about 15 minutes later, I'm back on Hollywood Boulevard, and it wasn't pretty. It wasn't anything like they’d told me before I went out there. Sure, there were stars on the ground, but that street had hookers and drug dealers and runaways up and down it, in 1985 anyhow.

          So remember, we're going down Hollywood Boulevard and we're heading toward Wilcox. Next thing you know, that bus is about to take a right, and, "WHOA WHOA WHOA," I holler at the guy, "Let me off right here!" I wasn't about to go through that again.

          I remember I get off that bus. At least I knew Hollywood Boulevard. I knew who I had thrown some change to, I knew who knew not to approach me with drugs and any of the girls I had talked to on my walk down the road---be quick and informal. Sure enough, I am long-stepping it home. And I’ve got to be saying it out loud, “I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive!”

          Next thing you know, this brother jumps out of the alley. Startled me for a minute. But he wasn’t much bigger than me and I knew I could hold my own against one. Especially as vibrant as I felt to be alive. He started long-stepping right along side of me. Looked over at me and says, “Hey, man, you undercover, aren’t you?” I said, “Nope.” He pulled out a bag of white powder. “Wanna buy some white?” I said, “Nope.” He moseyed on back the other way. Then it hit me that as stand down as I was while I was sitting on that bench, the brothers in that neighborhood must have thought, for sure, this guy’s undercover. They must have watched some Miami Vice themselves. And thought some ____ right here and I’m not going to be the first one to touch this undercover cop and have that field light up with cops with guns as soon as I touch him. But fortunately for me that day, I’d dressed so out-of-whack that it might have just saved my life. And the next day, I went over to the bus depot and I get the map and the directions and the route of every bus in that town.