Eli

 On the next block over lived Eli and her family.  Eli was a little younger than I, with long, straight, dark hair and glasses. She was somewhat of a tomboy and she could hang with the boys and deal with our stupidity. She had one older sister and one older brother, who were friends with my older sister.  

We and Eli got along really well - for the most part.  Sometimes "hood drama" flared up and we'd pop off at each other.  It was never really serious, just some pre-teens flexing over disagreements or misunderstandings.  When Eli had beef with you, you were going to hear it loud and clear, sometimes right in your face.  She was always going to have the last word. 

Clockwise from upper left: Katie, Eli, me, Jerermy, Lisa's sister (can't remember her name), and my sister Cheryl

During one of our periods of conflict, I and a few friends saw Eli in the alley we shared.  She was accompanied by some visiting cousins. Some words were exchanged, during which I singled out one of her cousins who had cornrows and baggy clothes and called her Snoop Doggy Dogg.  Even then I knew it was absurd and uncalled for.  We got an earful from Eli's camp and we thought it was over after both sides cleared out.

Later that day, while some friends and I were inside my house, I heard Eli shouting for me to come outside.  I looked out the window and saw her and all of her cousins standing in the alley just outside our backyard, posturing.  I was shook because for all I knew they were going to stand there until we came outside.  My older sister, who came into the kitchen after hearing all the ruckus, poked her head out the window to ask what the problem was.

"Your brother told my cousin she looked like Snoop Doggy Dogg!"

"You're stupid", my sister proclaimed to me, and walked away.

One of my friends that was there with me, Daniel, was going all Scrappy Doo on me.  He was itching to get out there and beat them up.  I wanted none of that.  I shouted at Eli's group to leave, but they held it down for about thirty more minutes before they seemed to lose interest and dissipate.  

When the coast seemed clear, we cautiously exited the house toward the backyard.  Daniel was ahead of me, likely hoping to catch a sight of them wallowing down the alley, tails tucked between their legs.  He reached the alley and peeked around the garage, and in a split second, hightailed it toward the door to the garage.  "Go!  Get inside!", he shouted.  

Nearly as soon as he had peeked around the corner, Eli's crew, now enhanced with the addition of more goons, were right there to fuck us up.  We had been ambushed.

Daniel, my little sister, Kris from across the street, and I ducked into the stagnant, sweltering garage and slammed the janky wooden door.  We were panic stricken as we realized we were totally screwed.  Someone from outside tried to pull open the door we had just used to get into the garage.  We needed fortification and Kris was just the one we needed to keep that door from swinging open.  He held the door against his left shoulder and side, bracing for each repeated attempt to bust in.  Then, out the window to the backyard, I saw a bigger kid I'd never seen before.  An intimidating, older boy, walking around my own backyard, canvassing the exterior of the garage.  I watched him through the ancient, bullet hole-ridden glass.  Where was my older sister to help save us?

In the garage, we were bombarded by punches and kicks to the big garage door which imparted a war-like ambience.  The threats continued.

"Come out, pussies!"

"Ohhhhh shit!  Get those motherfuckers!"

When things didn't seem like they could get worse, someone - maybe the big kid that I saw walking around my yard - grabbed a hold of the handle to the big, heavy garage door, and with superpower strength, began lifting it inch by inch.  They were coming in.

Now, maybe it was the suite of emotions I was experiencing - fear, anxiety, worry.  Or, it was the prolonged exposure to the effluvium of old motor oil and grease in a hot garage.  Or both.  But something happened the moment the big garage door was raised about thigh-high.  In slow motion, I assessed the situation.  There was Kris, still securing the access door with every last scrap of strength he was able to muster.  Daniel stood back and away from the big door as it was opening, returning threats in vain as his bravado quickly began to unravel.  My little sister, an innocent bystander, stood hoping that whatever was about to happen didn't involve her.  It was now or never.  This was my moment.

I spotted a stack of old garden stakes near the back corner of the garage.  They were metal, coated in navy green plastic, and about as long as a hockey stick.  I grabbed one, and advanced toward the big door.  I glanced at the legs of the kid opening the door.  I stepped to the plate.

I swung the metal pole as hard as I could, right at the offender's shin.  It met the pants material with a hard thud, and resulted in a surprised shout of pain.  In quick succession, I swung the stick over and over as the shouts got louder and the heavy door slowly began lowering, until it met the concrete.

As quickly as the altercation started, it ended.  We heard the strongman's wailing subside as the entire group retreated down the alley toward Eli's house.  Kris nearly collapsed from exhaustion, and Daniel reveled in our victory, slapping everyone multiple hard high-fives.  This time we knew that when we emerged from the garage and peeked around the corner, our enemies would be long gone.

 And they were, until maybe a couple days later when we and Eli patched things up, again.