Chulito: A Novel

by Charles Rice-González

  got skipped twice—once from the third to the fifth grade and again

  from the seventh to the ninth. Chulito admired that about him,

  especially since he hated school, but he liked hanging with Carlos,

  so Chulito did his best to keep up.

  That morning was windy, too, and Chulito watched Carlos

  packing the back of Clara’s taxi. His loose stringy black hair kept

  falling in his face and he kept brushing it back. A few strands got

  caught on some of his long eyelashes and he blinked to try to get

  them out of his large copper colored eyes which looked brighter

  against his pale, creamy skin. And his smooth lips looked

  especially kissable. Chulito knew that he was not supposed to be

  noticing Carlos that way, but as he sat all pissed off in his room

  watching him pack the cab that day he thought Carlos was cute.

  Ever since he saw Carlos with that guy the day of the bottle

  incident, he was feeling an urgency to be real with what he was

  feeling. Sooner or later Carlos was going to fall in love with

  someone, then Chulito would have to keep his feelings on

  permanent lock down. He didn’t know how he could risk being as

  real as he needed to be with Carlos.

  As Chulito watched Carlos hug everyone good-bye, he

  wished that he’d had a pause button so that the whole world would

  stop. Then he would go down and hug him without anyone seeing

  him and say, “Do your thing, Carlos.” But he couldn’t do that.

  People might think some shit. So instead, Chulito just peered

  through the slit in the shade. He watched Carlos give a final hug to

  his mother, climb into the cab and disappear down Garrison

  Avenue.

  As he sat in his small room, Chulito couldn’t make up his mind

  whether he was more angry at Carlos for leaving or at the whole

  ’hood for thinking that it wouldn’t be cool for him to be friends and

  hug a nigga that everyone called a pato. Who made up those

  rules? Chulito wondered.verfont>

  Talking to Carlos that first chance since he was back from

  school was bending those rules—breaking them.

  Chulito looked into Carlos’ eyes. “You have every right to be

  pissed.”

  Carlos shook his head and put down the other shopping bag.

  “I’m pissed at myself for expecting something different from you.” Chulito took one step toward him then stopped. “I didn’t know

  about the plans the fellas made.”

  “But you went along. You picked hanging with them over

  hanging with me.”

  Chulito moved closer and whispered, “What was I supposed

  to do? I was hoping we could have gone out the next day.” Tears began to pool in Carlos’ eyes, but he looked angry not

  hurt. “Talking to you every day for the last month made me feel

  connected, like we were friends again. But when we’re alone it’s

  different than when we’re here.” Carlos looked around the

  neighborhood as if in disgust.

  Just then a car that pulled up in front of their building and

  Looney Tunes popped out. Carlos wiped his tears. Looney Tunes

  pushed back his tangle of hair he never combed, wiped his hands

  on his dusty denim shorts and pulled down his faded T-shirt with a

  Budweiser logo on the front and a rip in one of the sleeves. He

  tripped on the curb and one of the flip flops fell off his white socked

  foot. He winked at Chulito with his green eyes, which were his

  calling card, he thought, for all the chicks in the neighborhood.

  Chulito thought he looked like he had a hangover and got dressed

  in the dark.

  “Hey Chu-li-to, my man, wassup?” He clapped/shook hands

  with Chulito and they gave each other a shoulder bump. “Chillin’,” Chulito responded. Looney Tunes nodded to Carlos. “Hey, Looney Tunes,” Carlos said indifferently.

  As he stepped into the building, he looked back and wiggled

  a limp wrist behind Carlos. Then his burst of laughter echoed

  through the empty lobby.

  “He’s a crazy nigga,” Chulito said.

  Carlos bent down to pick up the shopping bags. “No,

  he’spa“No, s a fucking asshole.”

  Chulito moved in to pick up a bag. “I was really looking

  forward to hanging with you. I still want to.”

  Carlos yanked the bag from him. “Why? It seems to cause

  problems. Chulito, on those calls we talked about how we’ve

  changed. Those changes just get in our way.”

  “More college talk?”

  “Fuck you, Chulito. Don’t act like you don’t understand me.” “Sorry. Damn. So you saying we can’t hang?”

  “Why would you want to anyway?” Carlos asked, his

  expressive brows arched like two parentheses framing his eyes. “You’re different.”

  Carlos was always different. Chulito liked that Carlos stayed

  out of trouble and never hung out on the corner. He was a

  bookworm and talked about the novels of James Baldwin, Gabriel

  García Marquéz and Virginia Woolf and would get heated and say

  “The schools are leaving out our Latina writers from our curriculum

  like Sandra Cisneros, Julia Alvarez, Isabelle Allende and

  Esmeralda Santiago.” He loved reading out loud from

  contemporary cats like Abraham Rodríguez and Junot Díaz.

  Chulito connected to the stories about the Bronx or the hood and

  loved talking about them with Carlos. Also, Carlos always knew

  what new movie was out, especially the ones that didn’t make it up

  to the Bronx multiplexes, and he listened to music different from

  what everybody else jammed to. Chulito could hear Carlos’ music

  coming down through the ceiling. Carlos was down with hip hop

  and salsa, but he also listened to rock and jazz. Carlos had a

  special love for Nina Simone and once proudly told Chulito that

  she lived in France because of racism. Carlos had no issues

  doing his own thing because being different, in some way, meant

  that he was better than everyone else.

  “You’re different, too, Chulito. That’s why you and I connect

  and I don’t connect with all those other fucks.” Chulito looked away

  and down the block as if he were searching for someone. Carlos picked up his bags and said under his breath, “Why

  do I fucking bother.”

  “Wait, Carlos, why you so heated?”

  Carlos shook his head and looked at Chulito. “On the ride

  back here from school I couldn’t wait to see you again. I called you

  about fournd u about times, and when you didn’t answer I felt

  something was up. Then I saw you on the corner, I got scared

  because I thought I’d come back to the same old shit. I don’t want

  to get hurt.”

  “You don’t ever have to be scared of the fellas on the corner

  again. I got your back.” Chulito slapped his chest with the flat of his

  hand.

  “My hero? I can’t trust you to protect me. Besides, I’ve taken

  pretty good care of myself.” Carlos chuckled.

  Chulito’s anger rose. “Don’t laugh at me, bro.”

  “I just think it’s funny that you say you have my back and you

  threw a bottle at me.” Carlos’ face went red and the tears returned.

  “How do I know you won’t do that again—or worse—next time?” Chul
ito felt like his heart was going to shatter as he saw a tear

  slide down Carlos’ cheek. “Sorry, pa, I swear I’ll never do that

  again. I told you I got your back. I’m dead serious.”

  Carlos put down a bag and wiped the tear. “You might mean

  what you say, but I never thought you would do it in the first place.

  Look, I wasn’t coming back home after the semester. I planned to

  get a job out in Long Island and do my internship with theNewYork Daily Newsso that I could stay the fuck away from here. But

  after talking to you again I came home to continue our connection. Then when I heard those guys chanting your name, it was like nothing had changed. So I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be friends again.”

  Chulito felt stuck. It was tough enough for them to just be seen together, so how could they have a friendship, let alone open up what he felt for Carlos? “Whatever.” Chulito turned away from Carlos and looked up at the windows and across the street to see if anybody was watching. “So it’s like that?”

  “How can it be any other way?” Carlos sounded forlorn. “Then don’t let me hold you up.” Chulito leaned back on the

  parked car and lit a cigarette like he didn’t give a shit, but tried desperately to figure out what he could do. Carlos took two steps toward him. “Chulito, I know why this isn’t easy for me, but why is this so hard for you?” He searched Chulito’s eyes more intensely than he ever had before.

  Chulito turned away and shrugged, but wanted to burst out and say, “’Cause I’m feeling you, ah-ight? But we gotta keep it on the low.”

  Before another word was said, Damian approached, shirtless and doing trunk twists. Chulito was annoyed by the interruption. “Nigga, why you always gotta be showing off?”

  “’Cause I got a lot to show off.” Damian rubbed his abdomen. “Jail. That’s what you got to show off. Y’all niggas always come out looking all buff and then you let shit go. Watch, next summer, if you still here, you’ll probably have a little belly and shit.” Damian looked at Carlos. “What you looking at? This ain’t for you.” He turned to Chulito. “Is that little faggot giving you lip, Chulito?”

  “Nah, it’s cool.”

  “Fuck you.” Carlos’ tears were back. His face flared with rage. “What?” Damian walked toward him. “You betta watch your

  fucking mouth.”

  Chulito got in between. “Chill, Damian.”

  Damian backed off. “You betta watch your fucking self,

  Carlos.” He returned to searching for cars.

  Carlos picked up his bags. “I hate this fucking neighborhood.” Chulito turned to Carlos. “Yo, Carlos, wait a second. You said

  that you know why this is tough for you. Why is it?” Carlos turned to Chulito, took a deep breath and exhaled. “It’s because I dig you, Chulito. It’s the one thing you and I don’t ever talk about, but I get so worked up and angry when we don’t connect because I dig you, and not like when we were kids.”

  Chulito looked away from Carlos to hide his grin. He had imagined a more dramatic declaration, but Carlos was smooth and hearing him say those words made Chulito want to leap in the air and shout, “Yes!” But he suppressed his feelings and just shook his head. “Wow, don’t hold back.”

  Carlos shrugged. “Now you know.” He turned to go into the building but stopped to find his keys. “So what do you think?”

  Chulito wanted to say, “Mev ho say, too, Carlos, I fuckin’ dig you, too.” But he just nodded his head. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Yo! Chulito!” Kamikaze called out as he bopped toward them.

  “Well, I better go,” Carlos nodded toward Kamikaze, “before the next asshole gets here.”

  “He ain’t like that. Kamikaze is real cool.” Chulito got up from the car and straightened out his Yankees jersey.

  Carlos smiled. “His name is Kamikaze? Classic. I’m sure he’s cool.” Carlos looked down the block at Kamikaze. “And he’s cute, too. Is he my competition?”

  “Yo, don’t be going all crazy and shit. Kaz ain’t like that.”

  “Chill, Chulito, it was only a fucking joke. You don’t have to be so sensitive, blood. Take care.” Carlos vanished into the dark lobby of their building before Kamikaze reached them.

  Kamikaze held out his thick palm high in the air ready to collide in a powerful high-five with Chulito. Then he slipped his arm around Chulito’s neck, pulled him close and kissed his temple.

  “Yo, cut that shit out.” Chulito protested and looked back at the building entrance to make sure Carlos hadn’t caught it.

  “What the fuck? I can’t kiss you? Since when?” Kamikaze teased.

  Since thirty seconds ago, Chulito thought. “I dig you, and not like when we were kids.” Carlos’ phrase was like a wrecking ball slamming into the bricks of Chulito’s mind. Chulito struggled to not cross the pato line. Now Kamikaze’s brotherly kiss felt weird even though at times they’d sit in their underwear and smoke weed or sit side by side near the Bronx River sipping Hennessey and watching the sun rise. They were just two niggas hangin’. They didn’t cross the pato line and Chulito could keep his feelings in check.

  Kamikaze had a serious look. “Hey, Chulito. I love you like you was my little brother.”

  Chulito looked into Kamikaze’s eyes and said earnestly, “I know.”

  “So because you turn sixteen, you too old for me to be kissing you? Who gives a shit?” Kamikaze shouted like a town crier. “This is our neighborhood and we do whatever the funtever tck we want, right?”

  “Yeah,” Chulito said hesitantly. “It’s just that…”

  Since he was a couple of inches taller than Chulito, Kamikaze bent his knees to look at Chulito eye to eye. “¿Qué pasa, panita? Did I do something? ‘Cause I know you get all silent and moody when something is up.”

  “Nothing is up. Just don’t kiss on me out on the block in front of everybody. O.K.?”

  “Whatever you say, little bro. If you too grown for me to be expressing my love for you, I got it.” He winked at Chulito and laid out the day’s plan.

  Damian’s cries of “Auto glass! Auto glass! Auto glass!” sliced through the sounds of salsa and hip-hop music streaming out of apartments, kids playing on the sidewalk, trucks booming down the street, and an old man calling out, ‘Coco! Cherry!” as he pushed his cart filled with fruit flavored ices.

  Chulito watched Damian flash a bright white smile at a female customer then throw his head back and laugh as he ran his hand across his smooth chest letting his thumb linger over one swollen brown nipple. He looked over to Chulito and nodded at him. The sun made Damian’s skin glow and his pale brown eyes look like they were lit from within. He scratched his cleanly—cropped fade haircut along with his freshly clipped moustache and eyebrows. Damian’s body was tight with long, brown arms that ended with big, strong hands. A thin line of hair ran down the middle of his rippled stomach and disappeared behind the elastic waistband of his underwear, which Damian wore low. His pants were even lower. Chulito could see the tops of his lean hips, and a hint of his pubic hair.

  Kamikaze followed Chulito’s gaze and made eye contact with Damian.

  “Yo, Hercules,” Kamikaze called out as a big eighteen wheeler rambled down Garrison Avenue, spewing thick gray smoke into the Hunts Point air.

  “Kaz! You got my message?” Damian swaggered across the street with his hips leading the way.

  “Yeah, I called you back, nigga, and your girl answered.”

  “Yo, yo, yo! Ex-girl. Man, that’s over. I had enough of her shit. I get out of Rikers and you would think she would be happy to have me back, especially wit all this.” He held his arms out and turned around to display his buffed body. “But hellll no! After two days it was back to the same old shit. The rent! She wants kids! She needs money for this or that! Fuck, I don thack, I dt get paid from this shit job for another two weeks, I’m living off of the tips and commissions.” He shoved his hand in his pocket
and pulled out a fistful of dollar bills.

  “So, get yourself another one.” Kamikaze held up his hand and Damian high-fived him. “Damian, I don’t get why chicks always want to sink in their hooks. Like that chick Brenda is always trying to pin her baby Joselito on me. That chick’s had every dude from Bryant Avenue to Manida Street, how does she know that kid’s mine? No way. Just trying to pin me down.”

  Damian nodded. “That’s what I’m talking about. Chulito, little bro, look and learn from your elders. So check it out, I bounced and moved in with Lefty until I could get my own place. So just use my celly when you want to connect.”

  “So why you call?” Kamikaze asked.

  “I want my usual. You got something with you?” As Damian talked he looked up and down the block and kept rubbing and caressing his chest and shoulders. Chulito stole glances at Damian’s hands.

  “Let me call one of my boys to swing by and take care of you, but I got a little personal gift in my car.” Kamikaze winked.

  “Vamos, vamos, before my boss gets back.”

  The three of them continued down Garrison until they reached Hunts Point Avenue and waited for the light to change. Chulito turned his head to look back at the spot where he and Carlos had been talking. The warm breeze that had pushed Carlos around the corner was now traveling through Chulito’s braids tickling his hairs. A chill ran through his body.

  “C’mon, Chuly-chu,” Kamikaze called from the middle of crossing the street. Chulito straightened up. He narrowed his eyes and walked across the street tough and strong. As he reached the other side, the spicy, fried smells from the Spring Garden Chinese take-out floated up his nostrils and gave him a craving for some chicken wings. Chulito jogged to catch up to Kamikaze and Damian.

  Their conversation was in full swing. Damian leaned in close to Kamikaze. “So I’m gonna call up some of my dogs and we gonna chill at Lefty’s place, smoke up some weed, get some bitches and fuck up a storm, straight up and down! You two wanna come through?”

  “Maybe for a minute. I gotta take care of business, Big D. I’m a working dawg.” Kamikaze went to private parties, but it was usually for sales or to make an appearance that could lead to future sales. He was never a part of a crew, just his own man, so in a way a part of every crew. No one was close to Kamikaze except Chulit