Mr. Hero.
I jus sit there watchin him, quiet.
Mr. Hero, let me ask you something.
I know my rights.
Come on, just one question. Off the record.
I watch him. Off the record?
I would have it no other way.
Aw ight, then.
Where will you be in five years?
Dead.
The dick’s frown burns away.
But see, we criminals never die. I’ll probably come back as a pimp or serial killer in my next lifetime. Maybe even the president.
His face seals over in anger. So, you one of those smart ones.
Look, I messed up. You caught me. Slippin. Can we get on with it? No disrespect. Can you jus gon and write my summons?
Wish we could, the young dick says, but we don’t handle kids. City policy.
I ain’t a kid.
He grins. Okay, if you say so. But what about them? He motions to Crust and Ham.
Can’t we forget about them?
Wish we could. But I’m not getting caught up in a lawsuit.
Lawsuit?
Everybody wants to sue nowdays.
Look, I jus wanna—
I already told you. We don’t handle kids. You don’t like that policy, take it up with the city council. The mayor.
Man, I don’t believe this.
The young dick sits down at his desk and starts fillin out some forms.
What? I got to wait fo you to do yo paperwork?
That’s right. Then you’ll go down to the Hundred-and-seventh Precinct.
I don’t believe this.
Why don’t you try to relax.
Frankenstein leanin against the wall beside the desk, lookin at me. I eye his badge: JASON GEORGE SAMS.
I be like, Hey, yall ain’t even real cops. What kind of cop got three first names?
Frankenstein don’t say a word.
Why don’t you jus gon and call the real cops.
The transit dick puts his pen down and starts lookin at me. Hey, you want this to take all night? I didn’t think so. Why don’t you pipe down and relax. He starts back on his form.
Hey, Hero, Frankenstein says to me. You mind if I have one of your cigarettes?
What? You on the job.
Maybe I want to smoke it after I get off the job.
I’m thinkin, Why this nigga fuckin wit me? They ain’t mine.
What, you stole them?
How you gon play me like that? Officer, I ain’t no thief. I’m a sneak.
My mistake. So, Hero, let me just take one of your cigarettes, see, and I’ll tell them to let you keep the pack. Otherwise.
Okay.
He removes Juicy’s pack of squares from this plastic bag, opens it, and pulls outta square. He taps the butt, puts the square between his teeth, and fires it up wit his own lighter.
Hey, Jason, the other dick says, pass me one of those.
Jason holds out the pack fo the young dick, and he waste no time pullin outta square and firin it up. And the two of them jus start puffin like crazy, the young dick sittin there at his desk, strings of smoke risin up to the ceiling, jerkin him this way and that like he some kinda puppet. And the other one real relaxed against the wall, blowin fat white rings and cannonballs.
Hey, I say.
They look at me.
Ain’t you heard?
Heard what?
Smokin is bad for you. Make yo balls shrink.
I guess that jus pissed em off big-time, cause they hurry up and finish those squares mad quick, then fire up two fresh ones. They smoke on those long and good, till they see these two city dicks approachin the office, strapped with gats, nightsticks, radios, handcuffs, and mace. The transit dicks stub out the squares in a glass ashtray and shove the ashtray into a metal drawer.
This him? one cop asks.
That’s him.
Workin together, the municipal dicks pull me up from the chair and start pattin me down.
We already frisked him, Frankenstein says. Here are his effects.
They continue to frisk me. Satisfied, one dick takes the plastic bag from Frankenstein, the pack of squares inside. Paperwork?
Peach Fuzz holds out a form. The dick takes the form and folds it into his breast pocket. Two other city dicks come and take Crust and Ham into they custody. Jus befo the kids step outta the room, they turn to me and throw up they sign. I nod.
I guess we’re about done here. Okay, son. Let’s go.
We get on the elevator and rise up to the street like smoke up a chimney. Then they shove me in the back of this paddy wagon and slam the door shut. And I jus sit there like the last sardine in a can, dry and forgotten. Ain’t gon lie, I’m scared as a motherfucker.
They hustle me into the precinct and we go in one room after another, the escortin dicks noddin to the station dicks. Seem like we walk damn near a mile. Finally, we come to this one tiny-ass room wit jus one dick, sittin at a desk, readin a sports magazine.
Hey, Steve, look who we got for you.
The dick named Steve looks up at me from his desk.
This here’s—tell him your name.
I tell him my name.
Ain’t he a beauty. I’m thinking I should take him home and make him my son.
Could I have him first? Steve tosses his magazine on top of a pile of papers on his desk.
Only if you say please.
Please.
Okay.
The cop shoves me into the chair next to Steve’s desk and hands Steve the form and my personal effects. Steve takes a quick look at the form and flips it onto his desk.
Routine, he says.
That’s right. Nothing special. Never is.
Thanks, guys.
The two dicks turn and head outta the room. Steve tapes the form to my personal-effects bag, then tosses the bag onto the desk. Halfway out the door, one of the departin dicks stops and turns back around. Hey, Steve?
Yeah.
You should show him our resident.
This one here?
Sure.
No, I don’t think so.
Go ahead. It might do him some good. He leaves.
What resident? I ask.
Police matters. He sittin there writin sumpin on a clipboard.
How long is this gon take?
They’ll release you from juvenile after you see a judge.
What? But I ain’t underaged.
They’ll have to verify all of that.
What? I’m thinkin, They got all kindsa ways to fuck with you. Officer, what’s the charge?
Solicitation.
Solicitation? What? I ain’t no pimp.
That’s the charge.
Look, I’m jus tryin to make a livin.
It’s still against the law.
Then somebody need to change the goddamn law.
The cop looks over at me. I’m sure they’ll change the goddamn law for you. You’re so wonderful. You’re so essential to our long-term survival.
I snorted. Ain’t this a bitch.
Could you do one thing for me? Steve says.
What?
Would you mind?
What?
Would you shut your fuckin mouth? Thank you.
So I jus sit there and shut the fuck up. What else I’m gon do?
There’s something you don’t realize, Steve says.
What’s that, Officer?
I’m givin you a fuckin break here.
A break? Is that what you call it?
Yes, that’s what we call it.
Okay. You the authority. I suck my teeth.
He lookin at me. You know what, we got theft of city services. Three counts. Endangerment of a child. Two counts. Corruption of a minor. Two counts. Fleeing the scene of a crime. One count. Evading arrest. One count. And one count of aggravated assault.
What’s the assault for?
On the train platform you stepped on some lady’s toe.
I jus slid down in my
seat. These niggas is a trip.
You should be thanking me.
Thanks.
Okay, that’s the paperwork. He flips the clipboard down on the desk. They’ll be takin you over to juvy.
You already told me that.
So, I can’t tell you again?
I ain’t say shit, not one fuckin word.
Are we clear?
Yes, Officer.
Okay. So, they’ll be taking you over to juvy. But before they do, I want to show you something.
What?
I’ll show you.
Why?
Because you’re such a smart and honest and delightful and handsome sonuvabitch.
You gon beat me or sumpin?
You think we really do that.
I jus look at him, and keep lookin.
Follow me.
So he gets up from the desk and I gets up from the chair, and I follow him through a door into a large room wit one cell, a good twelve feet high and wide and maybe ten deep. There’s this one nigga inna cell, stretched out on this one cot, his hands behin his head and his feet crossed at the ankles.
Okay, Steve says. I’ll leave you to it. He walks outta the room, shuts the door, and leaves me standin befo this stretched-out nigga.
The nigga looks over and sees me, and that’s when I see his face for the firs time. Some old nigga. Well, maybe he ain’t too old. His hair got nappy patches of gray, and gray hairs curl throughout his goatee. But the face is smooth. He swing his legs round and props to a sittin position, bent over, lookin down at his shoes. Then he be like, So, what they get you for? Talkin to his shoes.
Jumpin the turnstile.
They arrest people fo that now?
I chuckle. Nawl. They send you to college.
He looks up at me. Is that what they do? Sayin it like he don’t know I’m dissin his ass.
So, Pops, what you doin back here?
What it look like I’m doin?
Not much. Jus sittin there. Hey, I really think I should bounce. Why don’t I let you sleep it off.
You can’t sleep off what I got.
I chuckle. Pops, they takin you to the rehab? Is that where you goin, the rehab?
Why would I need to go there?
You tell me.
Are you as dumb as you look? Any fool can see I’m here workin wit you.
Workin wit me? Okay, Pops. Really. Why don’t I let you sleep if off. Hey, Steve.
Nigga, what’s wrong? You afraid?
Afraid?
Don’t stress yourself.
Afraid?
The cell locked.
Hey, Pops, I’m fin to bounce.
Nigga, you might as well relax. That door locked.
I look at the door, look at Pops, look at the door, look at Pops. Hey, what’s this all about? You an officer? Aw ight, you got me. I’m scared.
Do I look like an officer?
I look him over. He wearin this kinda two-piece, a plain red shirt, no collar, and plain red sweats, and the material is all worn, with lint and loose thread. The shit look raw, like a plucked chicken. What they get you for?
You don’t wanna know.
How long you been in?
Oh, about twenty-seben years.
What? Twenty-seven years?
Give or take.
I’m thinkin, Okay, he’s one of the crazies. One of those loons who’ll sneak up behin you and shove you off the platform. Maybe I do have me a lawsuit. Got me locked up in here wit some crazy. Cruel and unusual punishment.
I work fo the city. Around the clock. I help them with some of the problem cases.
Problem cases?
That’s right.
I know he a crazy, but I don’t let on. So that means I’ve graduated, I say.
Come again?
The dick out there called me a piece of shit. But now I graduated to a problem case.
Steve didn’t say that.
Yes, he did.
He lookin at me. What’s your name?
Didn’t they tell you?
Would I be askin if they did?
Well, I don’t feel like sayin.
Suit yoself. You know why they brought you back here?
You sure in the fuck are gonna tell me.
They want you to see my wings.
Thinkin, Oh man. I know I got me a lawsuit. You can fly?
Most winged creatures can.
I look around the room fo a chair or somewhere to sit. Shit.
I ain’t stepped outta this cell since they arrest me. Twenty-seben years.
What bout when you haf to take a piss or a shit?
He jus look at me. You ain’t sayin nothin but what’s natural.
So, you a natural man too, huh, Pops?
No. I’m a public servant. And I’m damn good at it, and I enjoy my work. I got clean comfortable board. I get my rations and my commissary. And the pay ain’t bad. Though I don’t spend none of my salary. Ain’t spend none in these twenty-seben years. I just have them put it all in the bank. I must be richer than Rockefeller by now. Maybe someday I’ll leave it all to a young buck like you.
Fuck someday. I’ll settle for a loan today.
No way. I can tell by the way you dressed you ain’t got no collateral.
Pops, look at you. Don’t talk bout the way nobody dressed.
Granted. We both men. He cough. Will you allow me to ask you a difficult question?
Why, Pops? What you got to ask me?
You drop outta school, didn you?
Nawl, Pops. I’m in college. I got to get my law degree so I can represent broke-ass motherfuckers like you.
Why you stop goin?
All they did was teach me how to curse.
You don’t say? That’s the same exact thing they taught me.
I get a real good laugh offa that one. Pops, you is funny. Real funny. You old niggas master them jokes. Man. So now I bet you gon tell me that you used to be like me?
I ain’t never been like you. I ain’t never been anything like you.
He just sittin there starin at me, eyes all glowin, and I’m thinkin, This motherfucker bout to go off. Better do somethin to calm his ass down. So, Pops, where yo wings?
You ready to see them? He starts to takin off his shirt, pullin his arms outta the sleeves.
Hey, hold up. I’m thinkin maybe I should go over and make sure the jail cell locked.
Don’t worry, he says. I ain’t no freak, he says.
Why don’t you keep yo shit on. Jus tell me what you got to tell me.
But he pulls the shirt over his head and throws it onto the cot. He in pretty good shape fo an old man, the muscles in his arms and chest cut. He stands up. I’m hopin this nigga won’t take off his pants.
Hey, Pops.
He spins his back slowly toward me, and, sure nough, he got wings. Lil wings, no bigger than yo hands, all folded up like paper planes or church fans.
Are those supposed to be real?
What you think?
I don’t say anything.
Tell you what, why don’t you touch them. Go ahead. Touch them.
Nawl, that’s aw ight.
I step closer to the cell, a good five feet away from him, close enough to see but far enough away that I can jump back if I need to. The wings ain’t got no feathers. They all dried up and brown and crusty, like some fried chicken wings.
You gettin a good look?
My tongue won’t move.
You know what?
I can’t speak.
These things cause me all sortsa trouble on the outside. Let me show you sumpin else. He moves, and I flinch and jump back. He starts climbin the bars up one sidea the cell like one of them circus acrobatics goin up a ladder, and then, when he gets to the toppa the cell, he eases around wit his hands on the bars behin him and stretches his body forward, out over the bed, ten feet below, lockin his arms, stiff triangles behin him. Then he lets go of the bars.
He falls straight forward and stops in midair, body
horizontal, that cot a good five feet beneath him. Holy shit. What did I jus see? Those lil wings are movin up and down, up and down. Like a skydiver, he rises straight up to the toppa the cell, then he starts slidin forward on the air, all the way to the end of the cell, then he turns and comes back the other way, and he goes on this way fo quite some time, flyin about the cell, makin sharp turns cause it ain’t much room to maneuver, flyin like this a good ten minutes befo he swoops down and sits himself on the cot.
I’m standin there lookin. His fohead and chest and neck are bright wit sweat. He takes a good look at me. Then he be like, I don’t need to tell you what you jus saw.
I wish I could speak.
Don’t worry, son. One big jump, the real men get there.
If I could jus speak.
Well, he says, I guess that bout does it, wouldn you say?
I nod, my neck stiff.
Good. Hey, befo you leave, do me a favor, would you?
What? My voice is quiet, a scratch.
Get the keys from Steve.
I’m lookin at him.
Jus jokin.
Just then, the do swings open and Steve pops in. All done here?
All done. You got a towel?
Sure. Steve tosses Pops a towel and motions fo me to follow him into the other room. I do. In fact, I follow him all through the entire station, back to the precinct entry. Then he turns and looks at me. You ain’t got to say a word. You free to go. The city allows you a token. He drops the transit token into my hand.
I ask no questions and step out to the street. And I wanna think bout my personal effects and Juicy’s squares, wanna think bout this flyin nigga I jus seen and bout all the other trippy shit that happen to me today. I wanna think bout all that, but the minute my foot hits the pavement, it starts to rain, hard and fast, rainin punches. Shit. Now don’t this beat all? I put my head down and run faster than the rain to the El station. I stand near the turnstile and check to see how dry I am. Can say I’m wet but can’t say I’m soaked.
I open my hand and, you guessed it, the token gone. What the fuck else can happen? I jus stand there a minute, searchin through my pockets, and, the next thing I know, I feel myself liftin into the loosenin air, my feet three inches above the ground. And I don’t rise no higher than jus those three inches. I’ve levitated on the regular every day since. Always three inches. No lower, no higher.
Shimmy
I know I am not alone.
— JUNE JORDAN
Lee Christmas entered the street on a Sunday afternoon telling himself, Something fine is going to happen to me today. He had no sooner thought this, when he stepped into the full glare of the sun. As protection against the sticky yellow light and heat—were his underarms sweating? Stink follows sweat—he considered going back inside his house for an umbrella. Decided against it. The car would provide sufficient shield. The zoo would be shady. Here was the plan (words spoken in the darkness) as he and Peanut, his new lady, his main squeeze, had arranged it while returning—his hands cool and easy on the steering wheel—from their date the previous night. Lee would get to meet Boo, Peanut’s seven-year-old son. The three of them would spend the afternoon at the zoo. Lee could imagine her hanging on tight to his arm and the kid tagging along beside them. After the zoo, they would show Boo Lee’s office. Next, they would go out for dinner. Finally, they would go back to Lee’s place. The adults would put Boo to bed so they themselves could talk. Though neither had said it, Lee took this to mean that their relationship had remained virgin long enough. He would rise refreshed after a vigorous night of love. Drive Boo to school. Peanut to the Look It Over Lounge, where she worked as a barmaid.
Holding Pattern Page 11