I once farted my way out of a beat down in the Bronx

On a brisk october night in the late 80's, the very natural but highly unappealing phenomenon of flatulence became, for me, a very effective theft deterrent.

I was riding the subway home through the Bronx one evening. it was well after dark because i was on the Fieldston soccer team and practices ran late. i remember i was with three friends, Ages, Dear, and Andy (Andy didn't tag so i can't think of a good alias for him, hence his actual name). Ages and Andy were both stars of the football team and pretty large in stature. Dear is a relatively large guy too. but up there, at that time of night, their kind of size didn't come in all that handy.

we had just binged on chocolate milk and Twinkies, as was the norm after practice. there was a deli right before the 242nd street station that gladly unloaded it's junk food on all the kids going home. i guess i had eaten rather quickly because my stomach was killing me. i was also blasting KRS-ONE on my walkman and i always had huge headphones at that time in my life. we were basically the only people on the train, as often happened because we were going against traffic headed into Manhattan. plus it was late and we were in the Bronx.

at 232nd street, about 15 very large, very intimidating guys got on our car. they took one look at us and immediately we were surrounded. back then, it was always good to run at the first sign of trouble. but sometimes running was too late, and would just turn violence into a certainty. plus my belly was starting to feel really funktastic in a bad way.

immediately there were hands darting in and out of our pockets, and one of them was already wearing my headphones. he seemed like the comedian of the bunch because he started dancing and saying "the white boy likes BDP, yo!", they slapped a few pounds after one of them made another joke about my whiteness. something i grew used to back then. whenever somebody tells me i can't possibly know what racism feels like, i just think that they didn't grown up being a pale jewish kid in a domincan/peurto rican neighborhood. believe you me, i took plenty of lumps for my ethnnicity, or perceived lack of. i know thats not the same as the historical socio-economic injustice of racism, which i don't face, but at least i know what it's like to bleed because of my *lack of* color. but i wasn't getting offened, namely because i was feeling like i had a brick in my gut.

so there we were, wondering when the fists and kicks would start flying. andy's eyes were darting wildly around, looking for an out. then, for no reason and like a complete fuck up, andy said "yo gabe, why'd you give up your headphones like that?". he said it loudly enough so that everybody heard him. Dear gave me a look as if questioning "what the fuck!?" about Andy. i could have kicked him right there if things weren't already so tense. but instead, all i could think of was the huge pain in my belly, and how far i was from a toilet. the ache had swiftly evolved into a large explosive pressure on my intestines. the danger of the situation had actually been demoted to priority number two. it was sudden enough that i didn't even get a chance to respond.

the jokester who had my headphones on looked at andy somewhat annoyed, and started reaching inside his jacket. he pulled out what looked like a curved walking stick with something metal running along side of it. he said, "yo bitch, if we wanted to take your shit we would, you know?" and to make his point, he flicked the wooden handle, and out flipped a fucking SAW. with teeth and everything. this crazy mofo was carrying a wood saw under his jacket. andy nodded at him and fell silent.

the tension was now at an all time high, but so was the pain in my stomach. all i could think was that i must be having a baby. it was moving south, and i was just more then ready for whatever to come out, even if it meant shitting in my pants in front of everybody. the pain was incredible.

so what happened next, is an amazing event, one that has me owing my butt hole for more then just relief. it saved my ass in more ways then one. it ignored the tension in the train car, and just did what it had to do. it, or i should say I, farted.

it was one of those huge, bass toned, seat vibrating explosions. kind of like a fog horn. the guys who had placed themselves so carefully as to cut off my escape melted back from me yelling and screaming," oh shit" and "god DAMN". before i was even through releasing all that Twinkie and Nestle's Quik pot pourri, the gang had retreated to the other side of the car. then there was silence. we looked at them, they looked wide eyed at me. and then the laughter started. the fart had flipped the situation completely, and these guys clearly thought i was crazy. or funny. either way, i had somehow managed to earn respect, because in a few minutes of "yo, you crazy!" to "damn son, what did you eat?!". we were all exchanging names, and i was given back my headphones.

they went to the school down the hill from us, De Witt Clinton. a school where i had wrestled a guy who had a beard and a wife and kid. a place that was ROUGH. but somehow we all managed to enjoy the rest of the trip. without saws, and stomach cramps.

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