Psycho

They say "You can never go back." Perhaps a more accurate statement would be "You should never go back."

I grew up in Corona, moving to Sacramento when I was fourteen. When I was twenty one my friend Dan and I decided to visit Corona while down south working for Spike and Mike's Festival of Animation. I looked up my old friend Jamie and minutes later I was in the passenger seat of his gorgeous, classic, red Chevy pick up truck. Dan was riding in the trucks bed, which must have been horrifying as Jamie took to the freeway at 100 miles per hour. As he flew the truck from lane to lane Jamie explained to me that he was suicidal. This certainly explained the driving. He saw that I was having a hard time understanding. I was in shock as Jamie had acquired huge muscles and a Mexican accent in the three years since I saw him last. He did eventually get me to understand. Jamie was a member of a gang, The Suicidals.

When Jamie and I were kids the Mexicans and the Whites would fight. We all lived together in the same crappy little suburb, and so all the Mexicans had white friends and we all had Mexican friends, but every few months a fight would break out, sides would be taken and you'd have to kick you friend's ass for being Mexican (or for being white). After I left Corona a lot more black folks starting moving in and the Mexicans and Whites now got along as they had a common enemy. The Suicidals dressed like Vatos but listened to speed metal and punk and skateboarded. It was quintesential Southern California.

Jamie took us to his apartment. He didn't live in his apartment. He kept his drugs and guns there and lived at his mom's place. His two cars, his motorcylce and his jet sky were in his parent's names. He was smart. He'd set it all up so that if he got busted he wouldn't lose any of his goodies and his parents wouldn't lose their house. We made several stops to deliver baggies of weed and collect money and finally we arrived at the old neighborhood.

We visited Erick first. I hadn't seen Erick in seven years. I asked Jamie to let me go to the door alone, to surprise Erick. I knocked on the door, the same door I'd banged on at least once a day through most of my childhood. Erick opened and seeing me, now a full grown adult, he said, "Hey dude,what's up."

It was if he'd seen me yesterday. Erick was a mess. He still lived with his mom and he worked a few blocks away at Del Taco. He'd worked at just about every minimum wage paying fast food joint that had popped up in the giant shopping centers that had replaced the fields I'd remember from my childhood. Erick came out front and shook a bush in front of his house. He gave the bush a few kicks and a short stalky Mexican man climed out of it.

"Hey Psycho what's up?" Jamie yelled climbing from his truck. Psycho dove back into his bush and came out with two cases of luke warm beer which we all dove into.

"Hey, why are we hanging out with a skin head?" Pycho wanted to know. He meant me.

"I'm not a skin head. I just have short hair." I hoped that would be in the end of that, but a few minutes later Psycho asked it again.

"Wait, I still don't know why we're hanging out with this fucking skin head."

"Uh, yeah, listen man. I'm not a skin head. I'm an old friend of Jamie and Erick. I grew up here man. I just have short hair."

"You down?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm down, I think. Jamie, am I down?"

"He's down man. This is my bro!" Jamie helped.

"If he's down he should fight me."

!!! I guess I was destined to fight this guy either way as he was obsessed now and he still had many beers ahead of him to help fuel his obsession further. I could tell by looking at him that he'd be hard to hurt. He was a brick wall. And chances are he fought regualarly. I was from a different world now. I was a Northern California, artsty fartsy liberal. I was no Suicidal.

"Alright, fuck it. Let's fight. But please, no hitting in the face and no hitting in the balls, okay?" I figured I'd minimize the damage at least.

Psycho answered with a hard solid puch to the center of my chest. I attempted to block it, but the hand I tried to sweep it away with was as powerless as it would have been trying to brush a tree out of the way. I backed up and tried to come up with a strategy. I took another hit to the chest. Damn! I was in some pain now.

I danced around a bit and the next couple of punches grazed me, doing less damage but still letting me know I was alive. Finally I managed to pick up the guy's rythm. I dodged a punch and caught his arm and lock it up. I laid into him. I punched him in the ribs, repeatedly, as many times as I could. When I'd drilled him enough times, when I was sure that upon my letting go of his arm he'd hit the ground, I stopped punching.

Psycho laughed and said, "Ouch!" He balled his fist back up and nailed me hard in the chest again. I was fucked.

"Okay, so you see, I'm down. I think you cracked my sternum, but I'm definately down."

Luckily, Pyscho agreed and the fight was done. Jamie was crackin' up. "Damn Keith you can still fight. Come on man, I want a go at you."

I had kicked Jamie's ass through out elementary school and had gotten in many fights protecting him in Junior High when he was a cute little Ricky Schroeder look alike. This was to be a real right of passage for him. Truth be told, I was enjoying the adreneline rush and I was happy to keep fighting, as long as it wasn't with Psycho.

"Alright, but no hitting in the face or balls." I answered.

Jamie stepped in and took a swing. I took it in the shoulder and seeing Jamie wide open I delivered a good solid punch to the gut. I followed up with another and I was sure now that I had him. He nailed me in the balls.

I fell to the ground. "You asshole. I said no hitting in the balls."

"There's no rules in fighting." Jamie laughed and cracked open another beer. Once the fighting starts it doesn't want to stop. Psycho approached my friend Dan. Dan sat there with his long red curls and his thick glasses sipping a beer and wondering where the hell I'd brought him.

"Hey, are you down?" Psycho inquired.

"What? Me? Oh, yeah, I'm down for sure and I'd love to fight you, but I can't, because, I'm Jewish."

Psycho blinked in the afternoon sun. He'd never met a Jew in his life. If Dan said he couldn't fight because he was Jewish, well Psycho would just have to take him on his word. Psycho and Jamie beat up Erick instead.

Dan, the little Jew bastard, was a god damn genius.