He giggles like a girl. “No!”
“Then let’s get the fuck outta here,” I say.
“Wanna get some smoke?” he says.
“Where? I ain’t got no money.”
“I thought that was what you was going to Vee-O for, that guy who get the coins out the machine—”
“Retarded-looking guy?”
“Yeah, him!” Jaime say.
I ain’t never smoked before, but I don’t want him to know that. I stop point up at the red bricks of MLK homes. “See that,” I say.
“The motherfucking projects,” he say, bewildered-like.
“No, man, the swimming pool.”
“Man, you must already be high. We just left the swimming pool.”
“No, man, my swimming pool. My mansion, green grass, and societycool people sitting around the tables at the pool like in Miami, Florida.” I feel like I’m rapping almost. “Get me?”
“I got you at half pass a monkey’s ass. I wheeling out the driveway in a freak-ass Ferrari,” Jaime says.
“I tell my little snickumpoo come here and take care of me and my friends. My friends dudes, so she don’t be jealous.”
“She got a banging body?”
“BANGING!! White minidress—”
Jaime starts to move his hips and tugs at an imaginary minidress.
“She say what you want, Papi? I roll the Royce out the garage to go to the store go get some champagne and Old English 800. She hop in the car beside me rub me up rub me down!”
Jaime sticks out his tongue at me sweet, then says, “Let’s go get a jay and we can smoke it later on. But we better go ’fore they go 911 on us! All I got to do is let ol’ retardo touch it and he give me what I want.”
I look at Jaime with new respect and pride like I feel when I get the right answer in class.
“What we gonna say when we get back?” he says.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “Let’s just hurry up.”
When we get to Vee-O, it’s like Jaime says, only the dude wants to touch both of us for the joint. We go ahead and smoke there. He says it’s Black Thai, which is even badder than Chocolate Thai. I only took two hits, but I’m HIGH!
“What we gonna say when we get back?”
“I’ll figure it out when we get there.” I feel good, like lightbulbs is turning on in all my cells. They ain’t gonna fuck with me, I think but must have said out loud ’cause Jaime says, “It’s me I was worried about.”
“Look!” I shout over my shoulder running up the stairs two at a time, stopping on the third-floor landing, looking through the door of the pool balcony at the St Ailanthus swim team bodies still splashing in the water below. “We’ll just come walking down the stairs innocent-like after they get out the pool, you know, and say we was waiting for the team upstairs in the gym ’cause we thought that was where the team was gonna meet. You know, we been up there all the time, ain’t left premises or nothing. Nada!”
“Will he go for it?”
“They ain’t gonna fuck with me,” I say, believing myself.
“They fuck with me,” he says. I don’t know what he mean.
“Can you think of anything better?” I say.
“I’m not the one who said let’s leave premises!”
“Can you think of anything better?” I repeat.
“No.”
“Then come on,” I hiss.
“But we way late, man.”
And I’m way high for the first time. Fuck this scary dude, no plan but complain complain! I ain’t scared of them stupid-ass motherfuckers. Usually if ain’t no guys playing basketball, the gym is empty, but when we get up the stairs, I stop short. All kinda people in here today dressed in bright-colored tights, leotards, and sweats, some got on African clothes. On one side of the room like trees growing up from the floor are four shiny drums sitting in front of four empty chairs. A big guy, taller than me, in a long white African robe, sits down behind the biggest drum. Then three more dudes sit down behind the other drums. They go BAP! BAP! Tee dee dee BAP BAP! Another guy picks up a flute and starts to blow. It’s so beautiful it hurts, feels like someone just kicked me in the balls! Then wild, man! Wild! Maybe it’s the Black Thai. Maybe, but it’s still real. Something stops screaming in my head. In one fucking second I know my life, it’s this sound.
“What’s up, man?” Jaime is looking at me weird. I shake my head. Guy blowing on flute is killing now like a tidal wave or atoms splitting or some shit, this is from before Hamlet. Bap dee da dap bap BAP! The drums break and stop.
A woman in a yellow leotard and African skirt steps in front the people and says, “Everybody back! So we can start moving across the floor.”
“Man, let’s get out of here,” Jaime says. “These people is dancers or some shit.”
“No!” I groan. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.
“Get in lines of six,” she says. Everybody does what she says, including me. Jaime is staring at me stupid. I look at him and go meet what’s mine—shit, like I went to him when I wanted. I get in the back line behind a fat Spanish-looking girl in a brown and blue African skirt who is stepping from side to side bobbing her head to the beat.
“Why don’t you take off your shoes?” she says, bending from her waist till her torso is over her knees, still stepping side to side.
I take off my shoes, start stepping side to side right behind her. The drums start up, and the woman in yellow hollers, “Aiiii deee laaaay ohhhhh!!” The people start moving, and I move with them.
WE TRY TO inch up to the two lines of lucky Ailanthus boys. Brother Samuel’s back is to us. Was to us. Just when we think we’re over, he turns around and screams at us like the mad dog he is, “Where have you two been!” But he’s looking at me like I’m a snake ain’t allowed to crawl. I pull back and look him dead in the eye, fuck him! Faggot, want a showdown, let’s have one.
Then Jaime surprise the shit out of me by saying in a loud voice, “We was upstairs with the African people.”
He looks Brother Samuel in the eye. Brother Samuel clouds over, he wanna say something mean, but he would rank himself now.
Bobby Jackson says, “You was where the African drummers was?”
“Yeah,” I say, cool.
“Cool,” three of the other guys say at the same time. Everybody is looking at me and Jaime. I see him different, to break on Brother Samuel with no fear. Brother Samuel is not one of the nice ones. Shit, I know.
“Get in line,” Brother Samuel tells us, even though we’re already in line.
Now it feels like firecrackers is going off in every motherfucking cell of my body! Nothing’s gonna be the same for me ever. I know it.
MONDAY, I ALREADY BEEN to Brother John, now I’m in Brother Samuel’s office. I already get that African dance and St Ailanthus School for Boys ain’t gonna be Kool-Aid and water, but I didn’t think it was gonna be this stupid.
“Yeah,” I repeat. “Dance class. I want to go to the African dance class at the 135 City-Rec on Saturday.”
“African class?” He swivels around in his chair so he’s directly facing me.
“African dance class.” I stress “dance.” I hate this stupid motherfucker, his stupid office, his stupid black leather furniture, stupid fucking crucifix over his big head. He tries to make me feel like I ain’t shit, like I’m a little kid! I rub my forehead, close my eyes for a second, see myself pulling a sawed-off shotgun out a briefcase. I put it to the side of Brother Samuel’s head. Kneel down, cocksucker. KNEEL DOWN! Faggot. Then I tell him, Pull up the skirt, bitch! You heard me, bitch, pussy! Pull that goddamned skirt up and let me see them cupcakes—
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, J.J.”
“Why?”
“Well, for one thing our insurance doesn’t cover you outside the home unless you’re with an adult from the home.”
“But we go places by ourselves all the time.” I hate how my voice is sounding all high.
“Yes, but supposedly places where m
inimal risk is involved. This African thing sounds risky, like gymnastics or something. Also, I don’t know whether this thing is something St Ailanthus supports for you boys. None of us here have ever been to the class, observed the content of the class or it’s modality of instruction to see basically if it’s even suitable for young boys.”
“So what are you trying to say?”
“J.J., I am saying no.”
“No don’t mean nothin’ to me.”
“Well, it had better start, young fella.”
“‘Young fella’! Who are you talking to!” I’m screaming at him I’m so mad.
“J.J., I’m talking to you!”
I turn and walk out the door. I’m going to African dance class on Saturday same as if this bear-ass motherfucker had said yes. That’s that. Fuck that old bastard. Try to do the right thing and they disrespect you, treat you like a child. Fuck him Fuck him Fuck him Fuck him. I’m gonna do what the fuck I want to do. Saturday I’ll be in that class, fuck him.
WHAT THE FUCK I want! What the fuck do I want? The clock over the door glows 3:25. I want to go back to sleep. I close my eyes see red. I’m still crazy mad. I can’t sleep. I feel like my own shadow. That’s stupid, “my own shadow,” where that come from? Too much Shakespeare. These covers feel like fire on me. I don’t know whether I was dreaming or what, but Brother Samuel was on fire, standing at the altar like he was giving Mass, the chasuble, then the robe underneath it, going up in flames, burning off him, but his body isn’t burning, it’s pink and naked, his dick rising up like a short pink Hitler salute. I never done this before. What? What am I talking about? I ain’ did nothin’. I never done this before Ineverdonethisbefore. What! I do what the fuck I want. Hear that, Faggot Samuel! The light from the parking lot coming in my window has always disturbed me. If I complain, maybe they would fix the curtain so no light comes in I could sleep better. I peel the burning sheets off me. You never done this before. Shut up! Shut the fuck up! Does the floor feel cold because I’m so hot? I’m sweating. Am I pretty, beautiful, handsome? Whatever boys are? No, I’m ugly. I hate it when I can’t get Brother Samuel’s face out of my head, when he is just dangling in there, his pink face like clak-clak balls kids bang together driving you crazy unless you’re clak-claking too. But this is the loudest noise maybe because I can’t hear it no place but in my head. It just bangs in my head CLAK CLAK CLAK CLAK fucking with me and fucking with me CLAK CLAK. Big bear-ass motherfucker pressing down, balls in my face, hair red wires in my mouth, the quiet loud like in science-class flicks where time-lapse photography amplifies sounds you don’t usually hear like silk being ejected from the spinnerets in the spider’s belly. The floor is sticky, I pad past Malik, Omar, Angel, Richard, Bobby, Amir, Jaime. Behind me the aisle is burning. I’m moving like in a dream now.
Maybe I am in my dreams. Maybe this is not real. It is a dream. I dream I’m walking toward the exit sign, I push the door open and walk out into the hall. The lights are very bright. To the right are the stairs and the little office where Mr Lee the night attendant sits sleeping in a chair, Always there if you boys need me. I don’t need the motherfucker. I turn left.
In the dream I’m naked at the end of the hall in Dorm One, the little kids’ dorm. There are things here I like; some kids have teddy bears, dolls, or stuffed monkeys. There are no windows here. In the dream I sit on Richie Jackson’s bed, quietly. You would think I’m a king the way I sit so nice and quiet. I sit here like the world is mine and I do what the fuck I want. Richie is Bobby Jackson’s little brother. Why don’t I have a little brother? When you’re king, you rule the world. I slide off the foot of the bed down to my knees. I pull the covers over my head. I’m playing a game, it’s fun. I sniff his little toes. My blood is electricity surging through me. Hey, I’m all lit up! He is sleeping on his side, his breath is going in-out, in-out. I pull his little pj bottoms down, pull his little butt down to me. He’s like a little doll. I close my mouth around his little penis. I know he loves me. I’m sucking him, sucking him! At the same time going up down up down on my penis, dick! It’s so good. He doesn’t wake up, I want him to wake up even though I’m scared for him to wake up. OOOhhhh! I come like one of Mr Lee’s mousetraps SNAP! surprising myself. I groan quiet, get up off my knees. I never felt so happy in all my life! I float back down the hall to Dorm Three, glide past fourteen, one, thirteen, two, twelve, three, eleven, four. I climb back in my bed, stretch out flat on my back, the light from the parking lot still in my eyes. But the dream is over. I can finally go to sleep.
WHEN I WAKE UP, it’s like, Yo! I know where I’m going and I don’t care who likes it. Every morning the lights go on with the sound of Brother Samuel ringing the brass wake-up bell. We get up at six on weekdays, seven on Saturdays, and eight on Sundays. We go to bed 9:00 p.m. regardless. Boys complain and shit, me too, but I don’t mean it, deep down I like the regularity.
Boys is groaning and pulling the covers over their heads. Brother Samuel is still ringing the stupid bell. I pull my trunk out from under my bed. I gotta wear something besides jeans so I can move. These past couple of days been feeling almost like summer so I just grab my red athletic pants and a T-shirt. We don’t have to go to morning Mass on Saturday, so we don’t, except for the little altar-boy punks. I’m not really a Catholic. I don’t care how many times I say I am, go to Mass, genuflect, sign of the cross hail Mary full of cum the Lord done had thee or you wouldn’t be having a motherfucking baby! Ha! Ha! First communion, confirmation, shit!
This is a home for Catholic boys who are orphaned, and if anybody calls up here willing to adopt older kids, it’s Catholic people. So you know, fuck it, I ain’ really thinking about shit like that no more. But just in case, I’ll be a Catholic. Religion is about believing, and I don’t believe nothin’ I can’t see. And anyway if they was so all that, then why shit goes down like it does. CLAK CLAK CLAK. It’s a toy. There’s these two strands of nylon cord tied together at the top, at the bottom of each cord is a hard clear plastic ball, smaller than a Ping-Pong ball, bigger than a boulder marble. The object of the game, the fun, is spozed to be getting the balls to bounce off each other nonstop real fast. The sound is CLAK CLAK CLAK over and over and over, loud. That’s the real object of the game—driving grown-ups crazy with the noise. I used to love doing it. The little kids here all do. I hate it now; everybody hates it unless they’re doing it. It’s not just that I hate the noise, it’s that the stupid shit noise is like part of my brain now, in there, I can’t get it out.
I gotta piss. I pull on my T-shirt and head for the door. Bear Ass is at the door.
“J.J., make up your bed, please, before you leave the floor.”
“I gotta go to the bathroom.”
“Um hmm, hurry up and make up your bed so you can relieve yourself.”
Fuck this fool, I think, and go to push past him. The next thing I know, he’s grabbed me and flipped me over his shoulder and I’m flying through the air WHAM! Flat on my back. I try to kick up, he gets me in a choke hold and slams me back down.
“Now!” he growls. “You make up that bed now!”
I scream, he cuts off my air, slams my head to the floor hard, it hurts like fuck. I feel like shit as I piss all over myself. I squeeze my eyes shut to all of Dorm Three looking down on me in pity.
Brother Samuel lets me go. “Well, don’t we both wish you had obeyed orders and done as you were told? Now, get up and make up your bunk immediately!”
I don’t raise my head while I’m making up my bed. I pull up the dingy wrinkled sheets, then the skinny pale blue blanket, reach under my bed in my trunk and get another pair of shorts, pull off the red athletic pants and put on a pair of jeans. I kick the wet clothes near the foot of the bed. Walking down the aisle, I look up at Richard’s half-breed ass gawking at me, turn around, and shove him back on his bed.
“What are you looking at!” I pass Jaime, his eyes on the floor. Mr Lee is near the door, mopping up the urine.
Brother Samuel is stan
ding right next to Mr Lee. “After breakfast be in my office. Be prompt.”
I walk past him.
EVEN THOUGH I KNOW he can beat me, it’s not fear I feel but something else I can’t describe. I just stare at the cornflakes. Saturday breakfast is always the same, dry cereal with fruit, bananas or canned peaches. Then they bring scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast with little square things of butter and jam in little plastic tubs—strawberry, grape, or marmalade. I usually take the strawberry from whoever has it. But not today. Today I eat my cereal without looking up. No one says nothing to me, I don’t say nothing to nobody. Brother Samuel Brother Samuel CLAK CLAK CLAK CLAK step on a crack and break that bear’s fat back. Hey! Hey! I’m gonna kill you one day. I look at the eggs the KP boy put in front of me from off the steam cart. I can’t eat no motherfucking eggs. I can’t eat no fucking eggs! I pick up my fork and jam it HARD into my left hand. The blood seeps out like steam out a valve. I feel relieved. Look up and Brother Samuel is standing over me.
“Come with me now,” he says. I get up follow him down the stairs to his office. I’m big, he’s bigger. I’m sweating. Funky. Tired of following him into his black hole. Office CLAK CLAK CLAK English Select Macbeth next semester computers last semester biology. Brother John. I got no fight in me, flight either. Fight or flight, instinctual mechanism for survival in animals. I’m thirteen I feel like I’m ninety. Mrs Washington liked my idea for my midterm paper. Time flies flies of time lord it seems like school just started but it’s almost two months now.
“HALT!” he barks. I stop. He unlocks the door to his office. Hole. I follow him in. “Don’t let me tell you what to do—for God’s sake take that damn fork out of your hand, are you crazy!” I remind myself this isn’t real. It’s a dream, a movie! In the movie I’m always naked. A white man pulls me to him rough. I obey. I must. I must obey him. Be a good boy. He kisses my neck. He reaches behind him and puts in a CD, the famous actor, James Earl Jones, reading from the Bible. He tongues my ear. You’re pretty. You know I love you. His robes flow like black water his belly is pale whitey white with blue-green veins and red hair like copper wires. The bass voice fills the room with the Bible. He kisses me groans. My soul has grown ancient like the rivers I like that poem he pulls me down on my hands and knees his KY jelly is a cold splash on my asshole my soul has grown deep like the rivers. I love you I love you, black boy! Don’t you know it hurts me to hurt you. Why do you make me hurt you, black boy! I love you! Unh! Unh! I feel his tears hot falling on my back. It hurts. Do you do you love me do you love me. I wish he would get off me. I wish he would get in deeper it feels so fucking good like God I hate myself I hate him I hate him Our Father who art in heaven hallowed be thy Ahhhhha ha!!! I hate GOD! Ahhh! OOOhhhhhh! Get up, get your ass up and out of here. I don’t want any more problems out of you today, young man! You hear? You hear!