by Melvin Dixon
But we leave the garage again and move in a group through the meat-packing section of West 12th and down toward Bleecker where men walk alone or in twos, passing us. Lou scowls. Cuddles sets his shoulders broad. We’re a solid block, and tough. Them faggots is just maggots on rotting meat. They move away from us and off the sidewalk quick. Lou and Cuddles laugh, and I hardly know their voices. When I laugh too, just to be laughing, the chuckle comes out of some pit inside me, and the voice ain’t mine, honest. Like the shit you don’t know you carry around until it starts to stink.
Some guy up ahead is selling loose joints for a dollar. “All our joints loose,” says Maxie, laughing and trying to unzip his pants. When we come up to him Maxie asks, “Got fifteen?”
“We’ll get blasted to hell,” I say. But no one answers. They all look like they know something I don’t know.
Maxie asks for change of a twenty. I see Cuddles and Lou sneak in close, so I move in close. The guy fumbles around in his pockets and gives me the joints to hold. As soon as he brings out a wad of bills it’s a flurry of green and fists. Cuddles first, then Maxie. Lou, and me pounding hard on the upbeat.
“That’s all the money I got,’’ the guy whines. Cuddles pushes him away from us. The flash of metal makes the kid back right into Lou who feels his ass. Cuddles gets a feel, too. The guy’s face goes red and his voice trembles, “Leave me alone. You got what you wanted.’’
“You oughta be glad we don’t make you suck us off,’’ Lou says, pushing him away. “Now get the fuck outta here.”
The kid disappears down a side street. We count the new joints and money and move in close ranks like an army of our own, the baddest white boys out that night. Everyone else moves off the sidewalk as we approach, some we even push into the street, just close enough to a car to scare them clean out of their designer jeans and alligator shirts. The funniest shit is that some of them have on leather bomber jackets, and here we are doing the combat. We blow some of the cash at the liquor store off Sheridan Square.
On a vacant stoop near West 4th Street, we finish off the beer and the joints and divide up the rest of the money. Everything is sweet now. Sure we have our fights and fun and great highs. So what if they don’t last long? Sure as shit and just as loud as the beer and smoke would let him, Cuddles goes, “Lonny, man, how’s Beatrice these days?”
“Don’t be bringing my Moms into your shit,” I say.
“Keep it clean, guys,” says Maxie.
“I was trying to keep it clean,” Cuddles starts. “But the bitch had her period right when I was fucking her.”
In a second I’m on him with fists and feet. He deserves no better. “We dancing this one, asshole.”
“Yo, man, cool it,” says Lou. He and Maxie pull me off Cuddles, but not until I land some good ones. Cuddles is too high to fight good. I could be faster myself, but what the hell.
“Aw man,” Cuddles says, rolling to his side, sliding down the concrete stairs away from me. “I just wondered if she knew about your boyfriend. You know, the one you said lived around here.”
“Whoa,” says Maxie. “Lonny getting faggot pussy again? Keeping it all to himself?”
“It ain’t true, man,” I say.
“What ain’t true?”
“This guy just told me his name, that’s all. I didn’t say nothing else. Nothing.”
“Why he tell you his name then?”
“ ’Cause he wanted to, that’s why. You jealous, Cuddles?”
“Shit, man.”
“He wanted to do something, I guess,” I say.
“Of course he wanted to,” says Maxie.
“He was trying to rap to me,” I say, but I’m talking too much and can’t stop. “Like I was some bitch.”
“He touch you, man? He touch you?” Maxie asks.
“Shit,” says Cuddles. “Faggots everywhere.”
“I ain’t no faggot,” I say.
“He touch you, man?” asks Maxie.
“Like you touched that reefer kid back there?”
“That’s different, Lonny. We was on top.”
“Shit,” says Cuddles. “Pass me another joint.”
“Me too.”
“Pass Lonny another joint. He cool.”
“Thanks.”
Hours pass. Or minutes that seem like hours. The streets are suddenly quiet and so are we. But that kind of quiet— sneaking up and banging like a fist on your face—makes you think something’s about to happen and no laughing or getting high can stop it. What you do won’t be all that strange, either, more like something you always thought about doing but never did. I hate that feeling. It makes me think that something’s burning in me that I don’t know about. And I’ve got to let it out or choke on the fumes.
Cuddles is the first to see him strolling down the street. He nudges me and Maxie. Maxie nudges Lou, who’s half-asleep and stroking himself hard again.
“Aw, shit.” My voice gives it away.
“That’s him, ain’t it?” asks Cuddles. “That’s Lonny’s faggot, ain’t it?”
“I didn’t say that,” I say, but it’s too late.
“He the one touch you?” asks Maxie.
“That’s the one,” says Cuddles.
“How do you know?”
“You told me,” Cuddles says, but his voice also tells me something I can’t get ahold of. They ease into the street and wait. I join just to be joining them. Metro approaches dizzily, either drunk or high or plain out of it, but not as bad as the rest of us. Cuddles speaks up like he has it all worked out in his head.
“Hey, baby,” he goes, in a slippery, chilly voice.
“Huh?” says Metro.
“Hey subway, baby,” Cuddles goes again.
“The A train, right? I just took the A train,” says Metro.
“We got another train for you, baby. A nice, easy ride.”
I can’t believe what Cuddles is saying. I try to hide my surprise by not looking at Metro, but they both scare me like I’ve never been scared before. It’s something I can’t get hold of or stop.
“Metro. Why do they call me Metro?” he goes, talking to himself all out of his head now. Docs he even see these guys, hear them?
“Hey, baby,” says Lou, getting close to him.
I stay where I am near the concrete steps.
“Oh, baby,” says Maxie, joining in.
“They call me the underground man,” says Metro, his words slurring. “You wanna know why? I’ll tell you why.” His eyes dart to all of us, locking us in a space he carries inside for someone to fill. Then he secs me for the first time. He stops, jaws open, eyes wide. “Is that you, Lonny?”
I say nothing. The guys are quiet, too.
“You wanna know why, Lonny? Cause I get down under. Underground. Metro. Get it?” Then he laughs a high, faggoty laugh. And I don’t know him anymore. He stops suddenly. No one else is laughing. He feels something’s wrong. He looks straight at me, then at the others now tight around him.
“Lonny, what’s going on? Who are these guys?”
Cuddles touches him, his hand gliding down Metro’s open shirt. Metro’s eyes get round.
“Lonny, I don’t know these guys.”
“That’s all right,” says Maxie. “We’re Lonny’s friends. Ain’t that right, Lonny?”
I say nothing. Lou kicks me square in the shins. “Yeah,” I say. “Yeah.” But nothing more.
“And when Lonny tells us you go under, man, you give it up nice and easy, don’t you?” says Cuddles.
Metro reaches into his pockets and pulls out a raggedy leather wallet. “I don’t have much money.” He shows the wallet around so we see the single ten-spot inside. “That’s all there is. You want it? It’s all I have.”
“No, baby,” says Cuddles. “Keep your money. Right, fellahs?”
“Right.”
Metro looks worried. “My watch? I don’t have anything else. Nothing, honest. You can check if you want.”
“We don’t want your w
atch,” says Lou. His hand falls to Metro’s ass, feeling it. Then to the front, gathering Metro’s balls into a hump and slowly releasing them.
“Lonny says you been after him.”
“After him? I don’t understand. What are they saying, Lonny?”
I don’t say nothing, but I want to say something. When I step closer, I feel metal pointing in my side, a blade tearing my shirt. Cold on my skin.
“Yeah,” I say. “You been after me.”
Cuddles steps up. “You wanted to suck his cock? Take it up the ass?”
“Hold it, Cuddles,” I say.
“Naw, you hold it,” says Maxie. “You could be like that too, for all we know. Ain’t that right, fellahs?”
“Shit, man. You tell him, Cuddles. Tell him he’s crazy to think that. You seen me with that girl.”
“Naw, man. You show us,” Cuddles says.
They hustle me and Metro to an alley near the abandoned building and stoop. Maxie and Lou hold Metro by the armpits. Cuddles twists my arm behind my back, and from his open breath I know he’s grinning ear to ear. “Aw, man,” he whispers to me. “We just having fun. Gonna shake him up a little.”
“What about me?”
Cuddles says nothing more. He looks at the others.
Maxie pushes Metro to the ground. The alley carries his voice. “You wanted to suck him, huh? Well, suck him.”
Cuddles unzips my pants.
“I didn’t touch you, Lonny. I never touched you.”
“You lying, subway man,” says Cuddles.
“Ask him,” says Metro. “Did I touch you, Lonny? Ever? You can tell them. Please, Lonny. I never touched you.”
All eyes are on me now, and even in the dark I can see the glimmer of Metro’s eyes looking up from the ground. From the sound of his voice I can tell he’s about to cry. Suddenly, the click of knives: Lou’s and Maxie’s. Metro faces away from them and can’t see. I see them, but I say nothing. Cuddles twists my arm further. The pain grabs my voice. His blade against my skin. “I told you I’d get back at you, shithead.”
Pain all in me. Metro jerks forward. “Ouch,” he says feeling a blade, too. Then Metro’s mouth in my pants. Lips cold on my cock. Then warmer. Smoother. Teeth, saliva, gums. I can’t say nothing, even if I want to.
It don’t take me long. I open my eyes. Metro’s head is still pumping at my limp cock, but his pants are down in the back, and Lou is fucking him in the ass. Lou gets up quickly, zips up his pants. Maxie moves to take his place. I move out of Metro’s mouth, open in a frown this time or a cry. Maxie wets his cock and sticks it in. Cuddles pumps Metro’s face where I was. Metro gags. Cuddles slaps his head back to his cock, and I hear another slap. This one against Metro’s ass, and Lou and Maxie slap his ass while Maxie fucks him. Lou has the knife at Metro’s back and hips. He traces the shape of his body with the blade. Metro winces. “Keep still, you bastard. Keep still,” Lou says.
I try to make it to the street, but Cuddles yanks me back. He hands me a knife and I hold it, looking meaner than I am. You ain’t never had a chance, I’m thinking and realizing it’s for Metro, not for me. Cuddles finishes and pulls out of Metro’s dripping mouth. His fist lands against Metro’s jaw, slamming it shut. I hear the crack of bone and a weak cry. The next thing I know, Maxie, still pumping Metro’s ass and slapping the cheeks with the blade broadside, draws blood, and once he finishes he shoots the blade in, then gets up quick, pulling the knife after him. Lou’s hand follows. Then a flash of metal and fists.
“Shit, man. Hold it,” I yell. “I thought we was only gonna fuck him. What the hell you guys doing?”
“Fucking him good,” says Lou.
“Stop. For God’s sake, stop.”
But they don’t stop.
“Oh my God. Oh my fucking God.” It’s all I can say, damn it. And I hear my name.
“Lonny?”
“Oh my God.”
“Lonny?” Metro’s voice is weak, his words slurring on wet red leaves. “Help me.”
Lou and Maxie jump together. “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”
“Yeah,” says Cuddles. He kicks Metro back to the ground where his arms and legs spread like the gray limbs of a tree.
“Oh my fucking God.” I keep saying it, crying it. But it’s too late. The guys scatter into the street like roaches surprised by light. Running. They’re running. I look back at Metro and he rolls toward me. His still eyes cut me like a blade. “Never touched you,” the eyes say. “Never touched you.”
I hold my breath until my ears start to pound. I hold my head. I run, stop, run again. The knife drops somewhere. I run again. Don’t know where the fuck I’m going, just getting the hell out of there. Don’t see anybody on the street and not for the rest of the night. Not Lou, not Cuddles. Not anybody else at all.
October is red, man. Mean and red. Nobody came back there but me, see. And Metro was gone by then. Somebody had raked the leaves into a clean pile. I ran through it and scattered the leaves again. Once you get leaves and shit sticking all on you, you can never get them off. And when you start hearing the scratchy, hurt voices coming from them, the leaves I mean, not patches of skin or a body cut with knives, or a palm of broken fingers, you’ll start talking back, like I do. You stop hanging out at the meat-packing warehouses on West 12th or walking the loading platform mushy with animal fat and slime where your sneaks slip—not Adidas, but cheaper ones just as good.
When I found Cuddles and told him about the talking red leaves, he said to get the fuck away from him, stop coming around if I was gonna talk crazy and dance out of fear like a punk. But I wasn’t dancing. My feet was trying to hold steady on the loading platform, but my sneaks wouldn’t let me. You ever hear the scratchy voices of leaves? You ever try to hold steady on slippery ground?
They had the body marked out in chalk on the ground behind some blue sawhorses that said “Police Line—Do Not Cross.” It was right where we left him. I saw it glowing. “Here’s Metro,” I told myself. Here’s anybody, even me. A chalk outline and nothing inside. A fat white line of head, arms, body, and legs. A body curled into a heap to hold itself. Like a leaf or a dead bird, something dropped out of the sky or from a guy’s stretched-out hand. It was amazing. But it was also the figure of somebody. A man. Any man. So I walked around the outline, seeing it from different angles. How funny to see something that fixed, protected from people or from falling leaves or from the slimy drippings from sides of beef. The outline wasn’t Metro. It was somebody like me.
Once I saw the chalk figure I couldn’t get enough of it. I kept coming back and walking slower and slower around it, measuring how far it was from the police barricade and from where I stood looking down at it, sprawled where we left him. But I figured out a way to keep looking at it and not step in the garbage scattered nearby. You know, leaves, rags, torn newspapers, bits of dog hair, blood maybe, and lots more leaves. I went three steps this way and three steps that way, keeping the chalk outline in sight and missing the garbage and dog shit. One-two-three, one-two-three. Up-two-three, down-two-three. When I saw one of the neighbors watching from a window, I cut out of there. By then I knew what I had to do.
I came back that night. The chalk shape was glowing like crushed jewels under the streetlights. I took off my shirt and pants and didn’t even feel cold. I crossed the barricade and sat inside the chalk. The glow was on me now. It was me. I lay down in the shape of the dead man, fitting my head, arms, and legs in place. I was warm all over.
The police came and got me up. Their voices were soft and mine was soft. They pulled a white jacket over me like some old lady’s shawl. I shrugged a little to get it off, but my arms wouldn’t move. When I looked for my hands, I couldn’t find them. The police didn’t ask many questions, and I didn’t say nothing the whole time. At the precinct, a doctor talked to me real quiet-like and said the leaves would go away forever if I told him everything that happened to the dead man and to me. But they didn’t call him Metro, they called him some other
name with an accent in it. A name I didn’t even know. I asked the doctor again about the red leaves. He promised they would go away. “What about the blood?” I asked. “Will I step in the blood?”
“Not if you come clean,” he said.
“What about my sneaks?” I asked him. “Will they get dirty?”
PART TWO
Ruella
I WASN’T EVEN OUT OF MY BUILDING YET, and there I was rushing to a job. Then it hit me how I hated taking the subway. I hated all the darkness and the smell of burning electricity and the speed rattling loud at my head. I didn’t want to be that close to all those people. Falling into step with folks I didn’t even know. Everybody going somewhere. Fast-stepping when the music was only a waltz. Where was Fred Astaire when you needed him?
At home it was a different kind of dance, Jesse cleaning the apartment like a maid gone mad, washing each dish as soon as it got dirty, sweeping crumbs from the kitchen floor. He was about to drive me crazy. I couldn’t even throw my leotards onto the bed anymore, without him coming up behind me and folding them neat. I’m glad I didn’t smoke, or he’d have been forever emptying the ashtrays. And wouldn’t you know, when he wasn’t cleaning or exercising or straightening up, he sat perched like a trapped bird searching my windows, which were clean now on both sides, thanks to him. What that man wouldn’t have done.