by Melvin Dixon
PART THREE
Ruella
I GOT TO THE VILLAGE on the #1 train, all out of breath and with sweat in my hair. I found Jesse in a dirty warehouse room at the top of two flights of broken stairs. The place was scary. Truth is, I never would have gone to a place like that, day or night. Not me. And not without someone like Jesse on my mind. What would I look like wandering around abandoned piers and overturned garbage cans? As it was, I still didn’t want to enter the building once I found it. And even after making up my mind to do so I stopped first in what looked like a hall and called his name. “Jesse?” Next up another flight of stairs. “Jesse?” Then I found a cracked open door and peeked inside. “Jesse!” The air went straight out of my lungs. He like to throw me for a loop.
He was lying on the floor in dance tights. His chest was bare. His street clothes were tossed in a pile. Broken floorboards and splinters were everywhere. “Jesse, are you all right?” He said nothing and looked at me like I wasn’t even there. “It’s me. Rooms. I mean, Ruella.”
Slowly his eyes began to focus. He murmured something I didn’t get. “I had to get away,” he said.
“But why this place? I’ve never seen any place like it. Not from the inside, anyway.”
“Metro brought me here once. He asked me to meet him and I was here with him the day he was killed. We danced.”
“Well, I’m taking you home. Now get dressed. You’ll catch cold.”
“I was dancing. Right here. For a little bit, anyway.”
“Look, Jesse. We’ve got an audition to make. Remember?”
I looked at his feet. They were cut and bleeding. I couldn’t look long without feeling I’d be sick right there. There were splinters all on his legs and tights. He shrugged his shoulders.
I tried to coax him into his clothes and out of that awful room where drafts and sagging floorboards boxed him in. He didn’t want to leave at first, as if someone was holding him there. I knew it was Metro, or the memory of him. But what dance could they possibly have done together that last afternoon, the day before Jesse called me frantically and I said, “Come on over, chile, I got plenty of room”? I can see now why he needed so much space. Much more than I could ever give.
“What about Metro?”
“Metro’s dead, Jesse. And they’ve caught the killers. Detective Stone called yesterday. He wants to see us. And there’s the audition, Jesse. God, let’s get you out of here.”
“I was his nigger.”
“What?”
“He called me a nigger, Ruella. Then he came here looking for other niggers. White niggers and black niggers. Anyone more street than I was. That’s what he needed. I was something he couldn’t stand in me or in himself anymore.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Shit. At least I do for once. What a goddamn fool I was.”
“You loved him?”
“Yes, I loved him.”
“That makes all the difference,” I said. I gathered up his things and pushed him out in the air. “Now, come on, Jesse. Let’s go home.”
We took a taxi uptown to my place. I made Jesse take a shower and sleep. I did my exercises alone again. The next morning we were back at the precinct. Detective Stone greeted us eagerly, as if arresting those guys was the easiest thing they had to do, showing how prompt and professional the officers were. I didn’t like his smile. It hesitated at the corners of his mouth then wrinkled out.
“Well, we got them. All of them,” he said proudly. He showed us mug shots of four boys who couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old. Truth is, only two were that young. The others looked older than Jesse or me.
“We found the first guy crazy out of his head. He’s the one who confessed.”
“And the others?” Jesse asked.
“They came later. You’ve seen these guys before? Somewhere in the neighborhood?”
“Yes. They stopped me once. It wasn’t a mugging or anything like that, just name-calling. Harassment. If you could have someone arrested for calling you a nigger or a faggot, the jails would be too full. I should have tried to fight back. But it was four of them, maybe five. I was new to the neighborhood. This guy wasn’t one of them though.” Jesse pointed to the guy who appeared the youngest.
“You’re probably right,” said the detective. “He’s the strangest one. We found him lying naked in the chalk outline of the body. He must have been waiting for us before the neighbors called the police. He acted like he wanted us to take him away and make everything all right.”
“Will I have to testify?” asked Jesse.
“You may have to answer a few questions about your friend. But you won’t be actually testifying against them. They’ll contact you about the trial date. I don’t know when it is.”
Just then I felt funny, like what could I do? “Are they out on bail?” I asked. “I wouldn’t want to run into any of them.” I looked at Jesse, but he was studying the photographs again and watching the detective.
“You have nothing to worry about, Miss,” said the detective.
“Thank you, Detective Stone,” said Jesse.
Then I said thank you and followed Jesse out of the office and the precinct building without saying anything more. It was chilly outside and the trees had few leaves. We walked to the subway. Jesse seemed relieved, his feet light. This time he actually smiled. “Let’s get a warm drink,” he said. “We deserve one.”
We went to the Peacock Cafe. I took a window seat and pretended we were in Europe somewhere. I had a large cappuccino. Jesse had Mexican hot chocolate with whipped cream. With his waistline, he could afford it. Not me.
“The saddest thing,” I said, “is that those guys are so young. They’re kids, really. What do they know?”
“They know enough to kill,” Jesse said. “When killing is a cure. Especially for something you just can’t live with.”
“A cure?”
“For what they may feel inside them. Confused about who they are, so they end up doing anything just to find out what it takes to be a man.”
“And when they see someone who’s different—”
“They attack. They’ve caught something inside them. Who, at fifteen, wants to be called a faggot?”
“Really,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I hope they stay locked up for a long time.” But then I remembered Phillip and tried to take back what I said. Change it at least. “Well, until they learn different.”
Jesse finished his drink before mine was even half-empty. He looked lost in thought. Then he asked if I’d like to see the apartment. His and Metro’s. I wasn’t sure he’d ever want to return there. But he had left a few things behind. “I have to send some of Metro’s stuff to his family. I have to do it sometime. I think I can return there now.”
“You sure it’s gonna be all right?”
“Let’s go,” he said. His calm seemed difficult to believe.
It was hard to imagine Metro’s murder in that neighborhood. But in New York City things can happen anywhere. In New Jersey, too. Truth is, we were all living dangerously. Just look at Phillip, my own brother. I mean, he’d probably push drugs in our neighborhood, right where we grew up, if he had a chance. He didn’t have to go all the way to Manhattan. But I didn’t tell Jesse that, not yet anyway. I just studied his apartment and the sunlight from the windows. His three rooms at the back of the building made the entire place as bright and as quiet as a greenhouse in Connecticut. There were many plants but some were dead from lack of care. If I lived there, I’d never leave.
“Metro was the plant man, not me.”
“You could have brought them to my place,” I said. “Maybe we can still save a few. Some have a little green left.” I took cuttings from a spider plant and a hardier Swedish ivy. I looked from the living room windows at the backs of other buildings. One window had a gate pulled shut from the inside and protected the place from the fire escape. But I didn’t think of protection, really, in that sunny, open space. I th
ought of Phillip again, looking from his cell. I thought of Jesse. The rooms were suddenly quiet. “Jesse?”
I walked into the back bedroom where there was only a bed and a small writing table. I found him staring into a full closet. Some were Metro’s clothes, some his; I couldn’t tell. By the way Jesse stared at them with something like confusion, I wasn’t sure even he knew which clothes belonged to whom. His eyes were red, heavy. “You all right?” I asked.
“It’s not over, is it?” he said.
I didn’t know what to say. I thought about Phillip. “You’ll always miss him, like I missed someone once,” I said.
“Someone you loved. But someone you also hated at the same time?”
“Yes, Jesse. Love and hate.”
“I’m glad you’re here, Rooms. I couldn’t have come here alone.”
“I’ll help you. Gather Metro’s things, I mean.”
“Tell me about him.”
“It’s Phillip, my brother. I wanted to forget him and I couldn’t. Even when I hated him the most I couldn’t stop loving him.”
“What happened?”
“We danced.”
“You and Phillip?”
“You and me, Jesse,” I said almost holding my breath. Then he looked at me and smiled. His eyes were clearer now. His arm found my waist and he squeezed tight. I held his head and we stayed like that for a moment without saying anything more.
“I’m glad we danced,” he said.
“I want you to meet Phillip.”
“Why?”
“Just to know him, and know a little more about me, that’s all. He’s part of me like Metro’s a part of you.”
“He would have liked you very much, Rooms. Just like I do.”
We packed as much as we could in suitcases and cardboard boxes. Jesse labeled them and telephoned the Greyhound Package Express to deliver them South. He’d send them C.O.D. But he kept the photographs, the letters, books, and typewriter. Why? He wouldn’t say. We went back to my apartment for the night. We exercised. We slept.
It wasn’t easy getting Jesse to visit the prison with me. Truth is, I didn’t know when I’d be going myself until just before class one afternoon a letter came from Rikers saying Phillip had been transferred there. He’s now in a pre-release program and getting counseling to adjust to the outside before he actually goes before the parole board. I had to look on a map to find out just where Rikers was. It’s an island, like Manhattan. But there was no rapid transit to get there, no subway. We’d have to take a bus. I didn’t want to go alone.
Little by little, I told Jesse more about Phillip. Little by little, I learned something more about Metro. Yet in the silent stretches between our tights and leg warmers, exercising on the floor, I felt something was missing between us. It was missing from our dance and what we talked about.
“I’ve told you about Phillip,” I said as we left the apartment for class. It was the last regular class before company auditions.
“I’ve told you about Metro.”
“But not everything. You haven’t said anything about what happened the last time you saw him.”
Jesse said nothing. He searched his bag again for the tights he told me he’d forgotten. He searched for the key to his studio locker. But just as I figured, he had everything in place.
“It’s not enough, you know, being silent,” I said. “And it’s not enough to look out of windows. You got to be in the air, Jesse. Dance on it, even.”
“I was in the air. With Metro. Only he never again touched ground.”
“Maybe you were his ground. Maybe you moved out of the way or couldn’t hold him anymore. Silence can do that.”
“Maybe he wanted to crash.”
“I don’t think so. It could have happened to Phillip, too. It almost did. I was silent with him for too long. That’s why I went to sec him upstate. We had to touch ground with each other. I needed it more than him.”
Then I told Jesse about the time Mama beat Phillip and how I did stuff for him when he first started to steal. Not that I stole, too—I just didn’t say anything and let him know it was all right. Mama used to take both of us shopping, and Phillip always ended up home with something extra in his pockets. And when he’d find money in anybody’s room he’d claim finders-keepers. Most of the time I’d watch in wonder at how he got away with it, even in his own mind. I guess I was saying it was fine as long as he got away with it. But one day in the grocery store, Mama found out.
We were just about to leave the check-out counter when a white salesman stopped Phillip and asked for the candy bars he’d seen him take.
“What’s in your pockets, young man?”
“Nothin’.”
“I saw you take those Hershey bars.”
“Naw, I didn’t.”
Then Mama jumped into the scene and cussed the man out, saying don’t be calling her boy no liar and no thief. But when we got in the car Mama saw from the rearview mirror that Phillip was eating Hersheys, and she knew she didn’t buy any. She turned the car around in the middle of the street and headed right back to the supermarket. She dragged Phillip out of the back seat and hauled him inside. I could see Mama and Phillip through the huge plate-glass windows. Phillip was saying something to the clerk with his head bowed down and sniffling through his nose. I could tell he was crying or pretending to cry. Mama was making him say aloud, “I am a thief, I am a liar.” Then Mama slapped him good right there, which made him holler for real. She paid the man for the candy and hurried Phillip out of the store. I kept watching the white cashier watch Mama and Phillip leave. He shook his head with pity, then he chuckled back to his post. Just then I swear I saw him slip the extra dollar in his pocket before he rang up the next sale.
Mama sped us home, more out of her embarrassment than real need. As soon as we got there, Phillip jumped out of the car and tried to run away. Mama caught up with him and started beating him right there in the driveway. He broke away from her. She ran after him, chasing him around the house and beating him again. Her hand hurt, so she found a fat stick and swung it against his arm. I ran after them but stopped as soon as I heard the stick crack against him, and both Phillip and Mama cry out like somebody was shot. That’s when I saw Phillip dance and Mama dance. I saw how easily somebody could get electrocuted with pain or anger and step all out of himself. Mama ran into the house. I ran to Phillip. I held him tight in my arms, but he kept dancing against me like he was having a fit. I hid Phillip in my room until Mama calmed down. We heard her crying from the kitchen and praying out loud, “Lord, don’t make me that mad again. Please Lord, don’t ever make me hurt my boy again. Don’t make me hurt him.”
Years later Mama had stopped praying, but she never struck Phillip again. Phillip went right on stealing and hustling, then later dealing drugs as far as California and back, until he was arrested in Manhattan and sent away. I told Jesse, “Phillip isn’t dancing any more.”
After class we learned the date and time of the audition, and Jesse said he’d come with me to Rikers. The bus we took was crowded.
Phillip was glad to see me this time. He even waved before he reached our visiting booth and parted with a buddy who must have had friends at another table. The other prisoners and families were black mostly, and some were really very young. A certain looseness about the visiting procedures certainly was different from Comstock. But what did I know? I was only a visitor. I’d never seen the inside. Phillip was in a good mood and he seemed glad to see me with Jesse, who was silent most of the trip out. I introduced them.
“So you’re the lady’s man,” Phillip said. I was glad he didn’t say “Lil’ Sis.” They shook hands. I grinned. “You looking out for my Lil’ Sis?”
Then I blushed, wiping my hand across my face.
“She’s looking out for me,” Jesse said.
“You a dancer too, huh?”
“Yes.”
“You must be pretty good. Ruella’s told me and she’s real proud. Proud of herself too. Ju
st like me. I tell everyone here I got a sister who’s a dancer.”
“We have to audition for the company first,” I said, holding onto Jesse’s arm for luck. “The season starts this spring when they premiere new works.”
“Maybe I’ll get to choreograph something, who knows?” said Jesse.
“First we have to make the company,” I said.
“You’ll make it, Lil’ Sis.” Then Phillip turned to Jesse. “I heard about your friend. I’m sorry about that. People get mugged in the city all the time. You’re not from New York, are you?”
“Mugged?’” Jesse said. He looked at me with a hint of anger.
“Yes,” I said quickly. “I told Phillip that Metro was mugged.”
“Oh,” said Jesse in a lower voice. “I see.”
I held Jesse’s hand again, but he slipped it away and into his pocket. He wouldn’t look at me but turned again to Phillip with a more serious look. “Yeah,” he said. “They caught the kids who did it. Somebody confessed. Then they couldn’t put up bail.”
Phillip seemed agitated then. “Somebody always confesses,” he said. “They make a deal. Everybody makes a deal.”
“You’ll be out soon?” said Jesse.
“I’m in pre-release now. That’s a counseling program. It’s supposed to get us psyched up for the outside.”
“You’ll be out soon,” I said. And I pressed my hand firmly to the Plexiglas separating us.
“In about two months. That’s when I come up for parole. Then it’s off to a halfway house somewhere in the city. I’m finishing my training for auto mechanics. They like for you to have a job all set up when you leave.”
“You have good family waiting for you. You have Rooms. You’ll be all right.”