The Comic Book Heist
Back in the 90s, I was living in Queens, one of those neighborhoods where every block had a different vibe, different people, different smells coming out of the windows. It wasn’t fancy, but it felt safe.
Me and my siblings spent half our childhood roasting each other. That was just normal for us. That was entertainment.
My youngest brother—real quiet kid, kept to himself—one day made this little Q-tip version of me. A Q-tip man. And he made it dance around like a puppet, basically mocking me. And yeah, it annoyed me, but that’s how we were back then.
He was really into comic books at the time. There was a little comic shop a few blocks away, and kids could still walk around the neighborhood without anyone worrying.
Later that day, still annoyed from the Q-tip show, I teased him again. I don’t remember what I said, but this time he didn’t joke back. He got quiet in a different way.
Then he said, “They stole my comic books.”
Everything shifted.
I told him, “Come on, get in the car.” It was a hot day. We had a Mazda 626 with no AC.
We drove toward the comic store, and before we even reached it, he pointed into an alley. About seven kids were standing there.
The second we turned in, they scattered like roaches when the lights come on.
They ran toward a fence. Most jumped it. One husky kid couldn’t. He slipped, and I grabbed him by the collar.
I said, “You’ve got two choices. Give back the comics, or I’m calling the police.”
He froze, then said, “Walk with me.”
So we walked. My brother was still in the hot car watching.
I asked the kid why they did it, and he started acting apologetic—shoulders slumped, voice soft.
We turned a corner, and he pointed down the block. “There they are.”
His friends were dropping the comics in the middle of the street and sprinting away—ditching him completely.
That moment stuck with me.
I didn’t know I had that kind of confidence in me.
And I didn’t expect to feel anything for that kid, but seeing his friends abandon him like that stayed with me. He did something wrong, sure, but that moment showed me how alone he really was.
We picked up the comics. I let him go. That was it.
My brother and I never talked about it again. I didn’t brag, didn’t tease him.
But something shifted. He respected me differently after that… and honestly, I respected myself differently too.
-Vino