Walking down the streets of New York City, two men stopped before an old cobblestone apartment building. Talking to each other, the pair was unaware of the children sitting on the stoop.
”They need to build that bridge they’ve been talking about, ” the first man said waving around his newspaper like a gavel. “It will create jobs…build revenues.”
“What are you going on about now,” the second man said. “Why do you care? You have a job. You have money. You have a nicer house than me.”
”Ah, what do you know? You’ve heard what they been saying, because of the war the economy is going down. You hear me, we’ll be in a depression soon.”
”You’re all wet. Let’s go inside, I’m tired of ‘hearin’ you,” the two men walked in the building arguing with each other.
”All they do is gripe,” from the arm of the stoop Namor McKenzie jumped down onto the pavement. He wore nothing but trousers rolled up above his knees. Usually shirtless and without shoes, Namor loved the water, and even when not swimming favored the freedom from clothes. Our mothers looked down upon our casual friend for showing so much skin, as it was not acceptable. His jet, black hair was cut short and sleek, accompanied with his green eyes and pale skin, he seemed out of place compared to the Italians and Irishmen of the neighborhoods. We would poke fun at him for his looks, calling him a mutant, which he would say set him apart from us commoners.
”So do you, bimbo,” sitting with his back against the door Jim Hammond smiled over at Namor. His fiery, yellow hair shone in the evening sun against his tan jacket, as his amber eyes stared back at Namor taunting him. The two friends were the same age and the best of friends, though Namor would never admit it. Jim was almost always laughing, he joked about everything and was known to take risks. He almost never went anywhere without his lighter, continually lighting it, running his hand through the flame and blowing it out. Jim enjoyed fire and igniting things on fire, and captivated our friend Tommy Raymond with his flame.
Tommy was the shortest of our group, as well as the youngest, leaving two months between the two of us. The son of two established scientists Tommy was known to be the smartest, though the fact did not carry much weight in our little group. His hair was usually greasy and matted, his clothes often unkempt. He was the stark opposite to Jim, and it was that difference that led to Tommy’s idolizing. Sitting on a step below Jim looking up at his hero he softly laughed at the statement, but was not quick enough to cover it from Namor.
”What are you laughing at short-stuff,” Namor said. Grabbing Tommy by the shirt he lifted him up, off his step.
”Let Tommy go Namor,” Jim said, he lit his lighter and blew it out wit one hand while grabbing a piece of paper from his pocket with the other.
”Why, you gonna do something about it?” Namor smirked down at Tommy raising his arm above his head.
”Maybe,” and without blinking Jim crumpled the paper into a ball, lit it on fire and flicked it at Namor. Tommy fell to the ground sprawled across two steps as Namor jumped back swatting the paper away. Tommy scrambled to get up, rushing to sit behind Jim.
”You think you’re tough don’t you Tommy, hiding behind your big friend. Just wait…he won’t be there one day,” Namor turned his back to us, going to leave.
”What are you lollygaggers doing?” opening up the front door of the building Stevie Rogers stepped out and looked down at his friends. “Namor you going somewhere?”
Stevie was the leader of our group, the same age as Namor and Jim but still their older. He stood taller than all of us-his golden hair and pretty-boy features made him the center of attention. Everybody liked him, and there wasn’t a single girl in the neighborhood that didn’t love those blue eyes. His reputation even extended to the adults, and all our parents would at least once say, why can’t you be more like Steve Rogers? If Tommy idolized Jim, than I worshipped Stevie and the ground he walked on.
Namor grumbled but turned back around jumping up again on the arm of the stoop. Stevie smiled as he sat down next to me on the bottom of the steps. He looked out at the street, at the people walking by, and up to the nearly cloudless sky.
”Some picture, huh, Bucky?” Along with his amazing looks and smiling attitude, Stevie was becoming an artist. He would draw all sorts of pictures, from nature to city life, in his free time. Stevie’s artistic skills was most known for a fairly accurate picture of an older man who lived down the street and had fought in the army, holding an American flag.
”Yea, I guess so Stevie,” I said.
”What should we do today Buck?” Stevie had given me that nickname a few years ago. My full name is James Buchanan Barnes, but as there was already one Jim he said everyone would call me Bucky. I was two years younger than the older guys; at ten I still wore the mother’s comb-over hairstyle that would stay with me for years to come. My hair was a plain, indiscriminate brown, and my eyes followed suit. Compared to the camera boy that was my icon, I was boring and painfully normal.
I shrugged my reply, and sat back laying my elbows on the step above. Next to Stevie I felt strong, there was no one and nothing that could hurt me.
”Why should he get to pick,” Namor said, grumbling to himself. “All we do is sit around beating our gums, can’t we do anything exciting.”
Jim’s head popped up, “I’m up for exciting.”
”Fine Namor, what do you have in mind?” Stevie looked up at Namor with his calm behavior that always unsettled Namor.
”Well-well how would I know?” Namor stammered. “You’re the leader, cake-eater.”
”I saw some gangsters going into an old warehouse,” Tommy said talking to Jim.
”How do you know they were gangsters? You wouldn’t even know if Lou Gehrig walked right into you,” Namor said.
”Lay off him Namor,” Jim said, standing up to face Namor. “I’m tired of you hassling Tommy.”
”Oh, is big bad pyro gonna hurt me? I’m so scared. I forgot you have to protect your little follower there, wouldn’t want to lose your best buddy,” Namor again jumped from his seat and scowled at Tommy.
”Jealous no one likes you, fish boy? Stevie over there has Bucky, I got Tommy, you seem to be friendless,” Jim said.
”Okay hot heads, let’s just calm down. There is no reason to fight just because we’re a little bored,” Stevie got up calmly and stood in between the two friends. “You are just going to get us in tr-” without warning a baseball flew at Stevie’s head but he was able to avoid it. In the direction the ball came, a boy ran off into an alley across the street.
”After him,” Jim yelled. The group of us all ran after the mysterious intruder, Stevie being the most athletic of the group was in the lead, spurred on by his outrage of being threatened. Stopping at the entrance Stevie waited for everyone to catch up and looked down the long backstreet. A small rock went by Stevie’s head, missed again, but hit Tommy in the nose. Tommy fell to the ground, clutching his bleeding nose, crying out in pain. Namor looked down at the younger friend, ground his teeth and took a step towards the alleyway.
”Don’t Namor,” Stevie said calmly. Surprised at the composure of his friend, Namor jerked back when Stevie lifted his hand to stop him.
Down at the end of the lane, caught in a dead end stood Johann Schmidt, the neighborhood bully. If we had been in a comic book Johann would be Stevie’s archenemy; Johann picking on any younger kid while Stevie watched out for them. Johann had been hurt in a terrible accident that burnt his head and face leaving both scarred. Because of the cruelty of children he was tormented for his looks, until he decided to take out his anger on any deemed weaker.
”Aw did da big ol’ pebble hurt da wittle baby,” Johann said. Laughing at Tommy laying on the ground, Johann casually tossed another stone in his hand. “What are you looking at Rogers?”
Without a word Stevie picked up a metal pipe lying on the ground and took a step towards the bully. Swinging the pipe to feel the weight in his hands, Stevie walked closer when Johann threw the second rock. Stevie rolled, hitting the side building but stood up unscathed picking up a trash can lid for protection. The projectile soared past the target and was caught by Namor, who gripped the stone so hard his knuckles turned white. Walking right up to Johann, the pipe raised menacingly Steve stared the bully down.
It seems one of the biggest injustices of childhood is the appearance of any parent when these situations occur. At that moment Mrs. Rogers, seeing Tommy on the ground, came to see what was going on. She first saw Tommy’s face covered in blood, but Jim assured her he had helped to stop the bleeding and that Tommy was fine. Looking down the alley Mrs. Rogers saw Stevie threatening Johann and exploded. She yelled for him to come to him and scolded her for even thinking about hurting that frightened boy with a pipe.
”If I ever see you holding that pipe or anything like it again you will be punished mister,” and with that Mrs. Rogers left walking back to their apartment. Snickering to himself, Johann slipped behind the group and out of the alley running down the street. Passing a younger girl walking the opposite direction, the bully pushed the girl into a garden of flowers and continued on. Running after Johann, Stevie threw his trash can lid hitting the boy in the back causing him to fall. Before Stevie could catch up Johann had jumped up and run around the corner to safety.
Walking back with lid in hand Stevie checked to make sure Tommy was all right and helped him up. The older boy spun his tin shield in anger, upset that he was unable to pay back the bully for what he did. Namor threw the rock down the backstreet where Johann had been standing a few minutes ago and sighed. Jim stood flicking his lighter on and off in obvious agitation. I stood next to Tommy, as we both looked between the three angered friends and then to each other sharing worried glances.
”We have to do something about red face,” Namor said. But neither of the two other friends said another word about the bully.
”Maybe we should all just get home,” Stevie said still looking down the street where Johann had fled.
”You aren’t going to go after him,” Namor said. “You know all he is going to do is hurt other little kids. Why don’t we just take care of him, and teach him a lesson once and for all.”
”Stevie’s right Namor. There is nothing we can do right now anyways. You’re mom might not care where you are, but my dad will kill me if I’m not home soon. Come on Tommy I’ll take you home,” and with that said Jim and Tommy walked back in the direction of their houses.
Stevie left without another word or a glance to Namor or myself walked back to his house, up the stoop and closed the door hard behind him. Namor slumped his shoulders and walked off in the direction of his house, leaving me alone. I stood there for a little bit longer. I could hear Mrs. Rogers yelling at Stevie for what he did, and how his father would react when he heard about it all. As the sun set on our quiet street, the wind picked up and blew into my face pushing in my breath. I was left balled up and speechless as the neighborhoods mightiest hero seemed fallen by parental imperceptions.
”Tomorrow we’ll get him Stevie, we have to,” I said and left for my house.
Gail Davies sat on a park bench, crying. I walked with Stevie through the park, looking for some guys to play ball, when we saw her. Her reddish-brown hair drooped over her face as she sobbed into her hands, rocking back and forth. Stevie ran to Gail’s side and asked her why she was crying. Standing to the side I kept to myself, not wanting to intrude, though I moved close enough to hear them.
”Yesterday I took my mom’s golden necklace, so I could show it off to everyone,” Gail said, sniffling. “I was coming back from school and Johann was walking down the street…he broke my mother’s necklace.” Gail started crying again and Stevie wrapped his arm around her shoulder trying to make her feel better.
”It’s going to be ok Gail,” Stevie said. I had never seen him act so caring in all the time I knew my friend. Stevie was known for being considerate of everyone; in fact it’s what I admired him most for-he always looked out for me. But sitting there with Gail crying, Stevie was tender. “Bucky and I are going to make sure he gets what is coming to him, don’t you worry.” For the first time since seeing her, Gail looked up and smiled at the both of us. I understood the change I saw in my best friend-Gail was beautiful.
Making sure she was fine by herself, Stevie and I left Gail to go find the rest of our friends and tell them what happened. Sitting on our stoop, Stevie coordinated how he was going to get Johann back.
”So do you all understand the plan?” Stevie said. “Namor you’re going to have to go get a wrench from the construction site for your part. Jim, get Tommy to help you get as much paper as you will need, you’re the fire expert. But when it comes down to it, Tommy and Bucky, you two need to stay clear of the fight. Bucky your mom will tell my mom, and I’m already in enough trouble from yesterday.”
”Tommy same goes for you,” Jim said. “Your parents don’t like you hanging around me anyhow.”
”This ain’t gonna work,” Namor said.
”It will if you actually listen to Stevie, flipper boy,” Jim said.
”Trust me Namor, if everybody does what they’re supposed to do, it will work out perfectly,” Stevie said, and with that the group split up. Namor walked down the street, turned the corner and disappeared in the direction of the construction site. Jim and Tommy walked to the bottom of the stoop and turned to cross the street to their houses. Stepping on the sidewalk, Jim bent down to pick something up and turned back around.
”Catch, soldier,” Jim threw the trash can lid from the day before to Stevie, threw him a fake salute, and walked off with Tommy.
”That gives me an idea. Come on Buck.”
A few hours later, after all the preparations were finished Stevie positioned everyone for their contributions to the plan. Jim kneeled behind a Ford Model T, with his paper and lighter ready, along with some liquid Jim said would help the papers burn. When Stevie wanted Jim to start the attack, and move from his position he would whistle once. Namor would sit up on a tree on the sidewalk that grew next to a fire hydrant; he was to stay unseen until Stevie whistled twice. Stevie would stand across the street, hiding in the alley next to the neighborhood butcher and wait until Jim and Namor took Johann by surprise. I was to watch everything from the end of the street, on the stoop of where Mr. Metzger, the butcher, lived. Everything started with Tommy, who Stevie gave the job of enticing Johann to the spot everything would go down.
”Now Tommy, you have to make sure Johann sees you,” Stevie said. “He should be coming by any time soon, and should walk right by here. Make it look like you’re upset and I’m sure that bully will not miss an opportunity to make fun of you. The moment he comes up to you I will whistle for Jim to start, so don’t be worried that you will get hurt. When Jim starts you run off and go meet Bucky over at Mr. Metzger’s, you got me?” and with Tommy’s nod Stevie ran off to his hiding spot.
After a few moments, Johann came around the corner walking towards where Tommy stood alone. The bully had his hands in his pockets, a smirk on his pimply, scarred face. Tommy was brilliant; the moment he saw Johann coming nearer he put his hands over his face and started sniffling. A few steps away Johann heard Tommy crying, smiled even wider stretching the scars across his face, and walked up to the younger boy.
”Your nose still hurting baby Tommy,” Johann said. “Or did you realize your mommy and daddy love science more than they love you.” Johann snorted as he laughed and did not hear the whistle that came from across the street; the first signal.
All in one motion, Jim dipped a ball of paper in the mysterious liquid, lit the paper on fire, and sprung from his position quickly throwing the ball of flames. Tommy sprinted in my direction, leaving a surprised Johann behind him just as the ball hit at his feet. The flammable liquid splattered fire in every direction when it hit the ground, spraying Johann’s feet causing him to yelp in pain. Infuriated, the bully turned to see his aggressor just in time to dodge a second projectile thrown at his feet. Johann screamed at Jim and moved towards him, but jumped back and ducked, as two balls of flame came at him, first at his feet then his head.
While Johann cringed, Stevie signaled Namor with two whistles, and the shirtless boy fell from the tree. Namor grabbed hold of the wrench he had tightened earlier around the valve of the fire hydrant pointing straight at Johann. Pulling down, releasing the built up pressure, water sprayed directly towards Johann and hit him, knocking him on the ground. Drenched and staring at the pavement, Johann roared his frustration and stood up. Looking around, both boys could not be found, and the hydrant had been closed off as if nothing happened. Angered and confused, Johann glared between the hydrant and the parked car, grumbling to himself and looking up Johann saw Stevie across the street.
”What are you looking at Schmidt?” Stevie said, mocking Johann. The boys stared at each other from opposing sides of the street, and for a moment everything was still, nothing moved.
”Rogers…” Johann said, mumbling under his breath. Without another word, Johann picked up two rocks from the ground, tossed the first at Stevie’s head and the other slightly lower. Stevie ducked the first as it flew past, crashing through the butcher’s window, and stood up ready for the second with his trash can shield.
Earlier, as everyone was getting ready for the fight, Stevie had taken me up to his room and pulled out some of his paint supplies. Grabbing a brush and tubes of red, white and blue paint, Stevie sat down on the floor with the lid in front of him.
”These are left over from that painting everyone thinks is the bee’s knees,” Stevie said.
”What are you going to do with them?” I asked. Stevie simply smiled and got to work, painting the one side of the lid.
Standing across from Johann, Stevie held his shield out in front of him, colored with red, white and blue rings and a white star overlaid upon them. The second rock hit off the shield and fell to the ground at Stevie’s feet. It was exactly as he had said would happen, and as I knew it was my part of the plan, I turned and knocked on Mr. Metzger’s door.
”Are rocks all you have to fight with Johann?” Stevie called out. Johann was getting angrier, as Stevie taunted him from across the street, but only picked up more rocks to throw.
Johann threw another at Stevie’s face, which was easily blocked by the emblazoned shield but also caused Stevie to obstruct his sight. The second came low and to his side, but again Stevie blocked the rock, swinging his shield out and batting it away. Stevie’s swing left his chest open though, and knowing this would happen as he threw the second rock Johann looked for his next hit. There on the ground by his feet was a rock that had been splattered with Tommy’s liquid fire. Johann quickly picked it up carefully, threw the stone at Stevie who could only roll to the side to dodge the attack. The burning rock sailed passed the older boy and broke another window in the butcher’s shop, falling on a chair and lighting it on fire.
The moment Johann threw his final shot at Stevie, Mr. Metzger had opened the door to see me pointing out the bully down the street. Understanding, instantly what was happening to his store, Mr. Metzger ran off to see the damage that was done. Stevie ducked back into the alley he had hidden in earlier without Mr. Metzger noticing him.
”Johann Schmidt come here,” Mr. Metzger said, pointing at the sidewalk. Johann reluctantly obeyed, crossing the street and Mr. Metzger barged through the door to put out the fire.
”Guess that is it for you, Red Face,” Stevie said coming out of the alley. “You finally get what you deserve.” Without another word, Stevie gave a farewell salute to Johann and ran off to where I was still standing. Jim and Namor had joined Tommy and I earlier to watch the fight at Mr. Metzger’s stoop.
”See,” Jim said, nudging Namor’s arm.
”Steve got lucky,” Namor said. Namor crossed his arms but could do nothing but smile as Stevie ran up to our group of friends. Each person patted Stevie on the shoulder or on the back, telling him how well it all went down. Stevie, always humble, congratulated everyone on doing so well, and told us he could not have done it with out us. As I stood next to Stevie, looking up at the proud older boy, I knew that this was a moment we would never forget.
”We got him Steve Rogers, we did it,” I whispered.
just as a note all the characters, though my own personal take, are created and copyrighted by marvel comics. the plot is my own and not a take on any other previous story of the invaders
