The whole next week in school I was hoping for my girl’s return, but Trisha was out for five days. I’d call her at home. One of her older sisters would only take a message, firmly say she’d call me, but the next night I dialed the number. I felt guilty, spent hours considering how much better life would be if I’d stayed out of the alley, if I’d been a better man.
Finally Trisha appeared. We went out to dinner. She sat at the table warm in her jacket and a turtleneck. She held my hand when we walked, but swatted me off when I tried to kiss her neck. This diner was good: the seats squeaked when you slid into a booth and a small cup of coleslaw came with every meal. —Tonight, she said, I’m paying.
—I won’t argue with that.
She laughed. —You never have a problem with spending my money.
—I was going to buy you something, I told her.
She sipped her water. We were quiet until a waiter came trolling for orders.
She asked, —Where is it?
—I didn’t have enough, I admitted.
—Yeah, I know you. You spent that money on nonsense.
I smiled. —You got that right beautiful.
—So what was it?
A group came into the diner and in the wonderful anonymity of the American family, I thought they’d just left. —Look. I pointed. Trisha peeped them, but wasn’t into laughing at stability. I was going to get you this bear.
—A teddy bear?
The food arrived. —Don’t say it like that, I protested. It was a nice one. Had a smoking jacket and a pipe. He looked like me. Don’t you think he would be cute?
She ate. Dinner done, she paid the bill. We got up and out. Flushing at night was like Flushing during the day, just darker. Together we walked to her building.
—Anyone ever ask why you’re dating a younger man?
—Maybe.
She wore a new good smell applied to her skin, but I ignored it, busy instead rubbing my nose, my chin, my neck, learning my face’s true dimensions.
—And what did you tell him?
She shrugged. —What should I have said?
We walked fast. Soon her building stood before us. It wasn’t so big but tonight it seemed majestic. Trisha’s two older sisters were outside. —Hey Anthony, Gloria said, looking to the others. The secrets this bunch held among them were enough to destroy one thousand ex-boyfriends. Trisha smiled, waited.
—What? I asked.
—You aren’t going to thank me for paying?
—You’re right. Thank you so much. The food was delicious.
—I know. She touched my side.
—Am I ugly? I asked her.
—You? She put her face against my neck. She tried to tickle me but neither of us was laughing. On the street, traffic was still a thriving business; the sky was purple and lost.
acknowledgments
More important than anything or one, I’d like to thank my wonderful family: to Kezia Kanyike, Christopher Kanyike and Shana LaValle, you three have helped to raise this man. To James LaValle, I think of you as well. Paul LaValle who always represents. Hileria LaValle who is kind, beautiful and good. Chris Seninde, Rebecca Bain and their families have always been loving and supportive. To Damali, Namutebi and the Seninde family in Uganda. Thanks also to Jessica Kazina.
These are my peoples, I owe you each: Eric Gluck, the Gluck Family, Rob Farley, Ramon M. Gonzalez III (I know, this isn’t even one line), Tyrone Martinez-Black, Ms. Martinez, Akira Bryson, the Bryson Family, Ashanti Dawson, Zai Collier, the Collier Family, Rahsaan “Rocky” Robinson, Roy Clovis, Krishna Collie, Andres Hernandez, Nate Williams, Roberto Garcia, Nina Cooke, Scott Ruff, Camilla Hayes and Lisette Belliard. More recently Mat Johnson, Doug Jones, Myron Hardy, Andrea Green, Julie Nichols, Joanna Hershon, the great Peter Shen and Valerie Roche.
The title of this collection is a sample from a line in “Daytona 500” by Ghostface Killah. In three words a good poet captured what took me two hundred pages.
Heather Clay, I am in your debt for having made this book possible (truly).
Thanks to Junot Díaz for giving me my best writing lesson early on: that we could write about ourselves.
Jennie Smith. Your work keeps teaching me what more a writer can accomplish. Can I embarrass you? Every time I think you’re the greatest, you get better.
I was fortunate enough to have four magnificent writing teachers: thanks to Rebecca Goldstein for championing the love of writing, Helen Schulman for forcing my stories to tell a story before anything else, Maureen Howard for precision, a careful eye on the manuscript and of course, a leg up. And Michael Cunningham for energetic praise, tireless support and genuine inspiration.
Deb Treisman of The New Yorker for such interest, heartfelt support and kind words.
BOMB magazine, specifically Suzan Sherman and Minna Proctor for being the first ones to take a chance on anything in here.
Gratitude to Marion Ettlinger for taking a great picture and making me feel so fine while working. Let’s make a pilgrimage back to Flushing.
Special praise to the Fine Arts Work Center in Provincetown, a boon to any writer who takes his work seriously. I am indebted to you for the time, the space and, oh yeah, the money.
Jenny Minton, you must have read this a thousand times. Thanks for helping me to push, pull, punch and primp this book into what we’ll show the world.
Adam Pringle, permissions king. Tireless. You are owed many, many drinks.
Immense gratitude to Rob Hewitt and to Marty Asher, Katy Barrett, Susie Leness, David Hyde, Philip Patrick, Anne Messitte, Mark Maguire, and Suvi Asch at Vintage Books for working so earnestly and with such excitement to get this book out to the public, to make my work worthwhile.
Aaron Hamburger for your performance and help early on.
To Katherine Fausset for your concern, appreciation and supportive words at the end of those rejection letters.
Lastly thanks to superagent Gloria Loomis for loving this collection, being its most vocal advocate and for your belief in me.
permissions acknowledgments
The title of this work is excerpted from the lyric “Daytona 500” by Dennis Coles, Cory Woods, Darryl Hill, and Robert Diggs Jr. Copyright © 1996 by Careers-BMG Music Publishing, Inc. (BMI), Wu-Tang Publishing (BMI), Ramecca Publishing (BMI), Warner-Tamerlane Publishing Corp. (BMI), Starks Publishing (BMI), Diggs Family Music, Inc. (BMI). All rights on behalf of Wu-Tang Publishing and Ramecca Publishing administered by Careers-BMG Music Publishing, Inc. All rights on behalf of Starks Publishing administered by Warner-Tamerlane Publishing Corp. All rights reserved. Used by permission of Careers-BMG Music Publishing, Inc., Diggs Family Music, Inc., and Warner Bros. Publications U.S. Inc.
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