Free Adrian Del Valle - Diego's Brooklyn by Adrian Del Valle

through the school year and time to give out awards. The assembly room is now full with every seat taken and many of the parents left standing along the back wall.
    “It’s too bad mom couldn’t come. I know she really wanted to.”
    Beulah patted Diego on the knee. “She proud a yawl anyways, son. She woulda been here if it wern’t for no hip a hurtin’ her so. And yawl doin’ all o’ this here learnin’ all by yo-self? It jus’ be makin’ us so proud.”
    After the Pledge of Allegiance, and God Bless America were sung by all, with the accompaniment of the school band, and more than a few out of key voices, as well as no clue as to the lyrics, a few speeches were made. A poem was recited on stage by a student, and then a piano rendition of “Flight of the Bumblebee”. (No pun intended) (Okay, so it was) This was followed by a medley of Christmas songs sung by the ninth grade chorus.
    Mr. Ratzfarb, awards in hand, once again graced the stage with his pomp-ass presence. “I would now like to express my deepest gratitude and appreciation for…”
    “You know somethin’, Beulah?”
    “What’s that, Mista Jackson?”
    “I’d like to kick that man so high, birds would build a nest in his ears before he hit the ground.”
    “Now, you know that ain’t polite like.”
    “Well, I ain’t lookin’ to be polite like, no-how.”
    Beulah took the moment to ask Diego something. “Do you thank yawl might git one of those awards today, Diega?”
    “I was hoping I would. I got straight A’s. Remember the report cards I showed you?”
    “I sho do, and we so proud a yawl, too.”
    (“And for perfect attendance…”)
    “I got an A+ for my book report, so…we’ll see, but there’s a lot of smart kids out here, and besides, I don’t think Mr. Ratzfarb really likes me.”
    “Aw, shush,” said Bill. “He ain’t gonna pay that dart thang no never mind. His pea brain done forgot it already. Don’t you fret none.”
    (“Now, in science we have…”)
    “It don’t matter if’n you don’t get nothin’” Diega,” said Beulah, with another reassuring tap on the knee. “We gonna give you our own award, ain’t we, Mr. Jackson?”
    “We sho is. We gots somethin’ await’n in the wings. Yawl sit tight, son.”
    Both Beulah’s and the Principal’s words melded into the background as Diego transcended to an ancient gladiator’s ring. There, he stood steadfast with a Roman pugio in his grip. Ratzfarbius stabbed at him with his sword and missed, to which Diego kicked and knocked it out of his hand, casting the weapon to the side. He reached for his opponent’s bronze, frowning face mask and grabbed it underneath the jaw. With the good hold he had, he threw him viciously to the ground. He stepped on his hasta sword, still in its sheath, squatted over Ratzfarbius and pointed the pugio at his throat.
    As a cloud of sunlit dust settled around them, Diego cocked his head to the side to find Tiberius, who was sitting in his gilded cubicle high above the horde of cheering spectators. Beneath a blue and unhampered sky, the Emperor leaped up from his throne, and in response to the jeering crowd, his thumb, like theirs, thrust suddenly downward.
    “Spare me, oh master Diego,” Ratzfarbius pleaded. “I faulted you and now I feel nothing but shame. Wilst thou ever forgive me?”
    Another look at the Emperor and the decision was set. Diego raised the pugio high and…
    “…and for excellence in Math, Diego Rivera. Diego, come up and receive your award.”
    “You sees! I told you so! Now git on up there and see us proud.” Bill winked at Beulah and turned to watch the boy as he headed down the aisle.
    The grin on Diego’s face stretched as pats on the back followed him to the end of the row. He trotted up to the stage, quickly made his way to the podium and shook hands. “Hello Mr. Ratzfarb.”
    “Hello, Rivera.” The principal covered the mike and softly spoke in a half whisper. “You did really well for