Ravens by George Dawes Green Page A

end of this.”
    After Shaw went inside, Romeo did another counterclockwise turn around the city. Rt. 17 to Clio’s. Up to Belle Point, where
     Shelby and Miriam lived with their kids. Then west on Chapel Crossing to Altama Avenue, to Poinsettia Circle, Vanessa and
     Henry’s.
    I told you I needed you and you were there.
    In fifth grade, in Ohio, Romeo had heard about these kids who had gone under the Vandemark Bridge and with a Swiss Army knife
     had carved the letter D on their chests and rubbed gunpowder into the bloody wounds so the mark would never fade. No one knew
     what the D stood for. Romeo wasn’t acquainted with any of these kids. He just knew he wanted to join that club.
    All through the school year, he obsessed over it. Having that mark. Having blood brothers who would die for him, as he would
     happily die for them. Then one day he was on Hardy Street, walking home from school, and he saw the club’s leader, alone,
     coming toward him. Romeo summoned up the courage to stop him. “Shaw?”
    The guy squinted at him. “Yeah?” He had no idea who Romeo was. “What?”
    This took place in front of Wendy’s (at that time there had still been a Wendy’s at the corner of Hardy and Pine). It was
     in October, and the wind was kicking up yellow and maroon leaves.
    Say it,
Romeo thought. But he couldn’t. “Nothing.”
    Shaw started to walk away.
    “Wait. I want to join. Can I join your club?”
    Shaw turned. “What club? Who are you?”
    “Your club. I’d be a good member.”
    “There’s no club,” said Shaw. “And if there was a club why would we want you?”
    Romeo didn’t have an answer. Nothing was in his head but the prayer that he wouldn’t start crying while Shaw McBride was glaring
     at him.
    Shaw walked away.
    But a week or so later Romeo was walking up Adams Street after school and Shaw was waiting for him.
    “So suppose there
was
a club. What would you be willing to do to get in?”
    “Anything.”
    “
Anything
? Why?”
    “I don’t know,” said Romeo.
    “That’s like, fucked,” said Shaw, and again he walked away.
    The next day, when Romeo came up Adams Street, Shaw and some other guys were there in a kind of huddle. They called Romeo
     over to them. He was scared but he went. They said, “Come with us.”
    They took him down below the Vandemark Bridge, for his initiation.
    The initiation was this: you had to take a dump on a piece of cardboard and then rub it on your face like warpaint. Then go
     to the river and jump in, and stay under for thirty seconds. Then you’d be in the club.
    Romeo did those things. He rubbed his own shit all over his face, and jumped in the icy water and stayed under for half a
     minute and came up choking. The boys were gone. His clothes had been cast into the water. He swam out for them, rescued them
     from the current, and dragged them ashore. He wrung them out and put them on. He was freezing and hyperventilating. But he
     knew the boys were hiding nearby, spying on him, and he kept himself from bawling as he climbed up to the bridge.
    Next day in school was the first time that nobody called him ‘Wherefore art Thou’. Instead everyone called him Shitface. Everyone
     except Shaw — Shaw didn’t call him Shitface. Shaw didn’t recognize his existence in any way.
    Romeo spent the next few months thinking up ways to kill himself. But he never did cry in public, and never complained and
     never ratted anyone out, and endured his new name and the interminable passing of time until one day in December Mom came
     to Romeo’s room and said, “A friend is here for you.” And there was Shaw.
    Mom made a fuss over him, offering cookies and lemonade and all, and Romeo was mortified. But finally she went away, and Shaw
     told him, “Hey, I’m sorry I was such an asshole back under the bridge. All that shit we did — it wasn’t my idea.”
    Romeo shrugged. “It’s OK.”
    “ ’Cause you were like a good soldier about it.”
    Romeo tried not to