I am still looking for whatever it is I have always been looking for.
My cat and I will read Henry James, Thorton Wilder, Henri de Montherlant, Tolstoy, and Melville to one another. None of these fortunate people were from the South. I have always suspected that Angel Bananas might be gay, mainly. He has no respect for civilization. And he has an overabundance of simple grace. Never trust a cat with all that oozing grace. For a feline he has very few ex-lovers and no ex-wives. Angel Bananas travels light. So there ain’t nothing more to write about. And I am rotten glad of it. If I’d a knowed what a trouble it was to make a book I wouldn’t a tackled it and ain’t a-going to no more. But I reckon I got to light out for the Territory ahead of the rest, because Aunt Sally she’s going to adopt me and sivilize me and I can’t stand it.
I been there before.
RED LEAVES
Melvin Dixon
YOU CAN’T WALK ON 12TH STREET no more on account of the leaves covering the ground. Even in Abingdon Square just this side of Key Foods where only two or three maples give shade there are leaves everywhere, and when I walk outside I step on them. Some stick to my heels and scratch against the ground in a hurt voice. When it rains the leaves turn to mush and dirty my sneaks—not Adidas, but cheaper ones just as good. Even inside houses and buildings you got leaves brought in by all kinds of people. It’s October, the season of yellow, copper, gray, and red, real red. The leaves are cut-off hands curling up like fists. If they grab for my sneaks, I just walk faster and harder to get them off. Like that faggot reaching for me out of the dirt and shedding red like some gray bone tree. You know the trees I’m talking about. You’ve seen them faggots. They all over this city like flies on shit. You hear the scratchy tumble of red leaves everywhere until someone rakes the place clean. Don’t let nobody tell you that leaves don’t talk. They pile up on you like something or someone is gonna bum.
The funny thing is whether it happened like you remember it happening or if your head changes it all, gets the people and action messed around. I’d talk to the other fellas, but they’d think I was trying to punk out, see, and make like it was more than it was. Simple. We was getting back at him for trying to come on to me. You know, like I was some goddamn bitch. He probably wanted all of us, not just me, although we got him really scared by then, turning pale and twitching his eyes like he couldn’t believe it was really happening to him out there alone at 4:30 in the morning in October in 1975. Wasn’t he smiling at us? I remember his lips curling up, then down, his mouth moving like he was eating up the beer stink and smoke until he gagged. He acted weak, hungry, drugged up worse than the rest of us, but almost like getting fucked in the ass was an end to it. The hunger, I mean. I could tell he was hungry. We all could.
That night wasn’t the first time I seen him. In fact, I seen him several times and knew where he lived. Sometimes I seen him go toward the docks and meat-packing houses. Why? Drinks, maybe. There are a few bars around there, where I’ve never been. He could have been one of the guys, you know, going after a six-pack at the comer grocery. He wore track sneaks— real Adidas—and jeans and a plaid flannel shirt opened from the neck on down. That day you could feel the season change right in the air, so I thought it funny seeing the open V of his chest like that. The morning chill had cooled off what was left of Indian summer, but it was too early for leather jackets and thick collars. I thought he was one of the guys ’cause he didn’t swish like them over at Sheridan Square that got makeup on or their hair too neatly trimmed around the neck. This guy walked like a regular fella. Someone you’d want to talk to, chase pussy with, or get shit-faced on Budweiser together like we do most nights. Yeah, I seen him. Lots of times. Sometimes he didn’t even know I was seeing him. Not until the day I was gonna meet Cuddles after his job when he actually come up close to me. It was near Cuddles’ meat-packing house up by the docks and burned out piers where Little West 12th Street runs into traffic on the downtown detour from the closed up West Side Highway.
He was just walking and I was walking. I looked at him. He looked at me. I didn’t mean nothing by looking at him close like that, face-to-face. He didn’t look like no faggot. So I nodded “Hey, man,” and kept on walking. I mean, I wanted to be civil and shit. He might be able to lay you on to some drugs. But I said what I said, and he nodded and both of us went our separate ways. Easy, see. But damn, man, no sooner do I reach the door to Cuddles’ job where he’s supposed to be waiting but ain’t, than I turn around to see that guy looking at me. He was watching my ass. Checking me out like you check out a bitch. Like he wanted something from me. Needed it. Scheming how he was gonna get it. But he didn’t make no moves. Cuddles finally came outside and slapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and the guy was gone. Good thing, too. With Cuddles I forgot about him ’cause we was gonna get Maxie and Lou and ride around. I didn’t give a fuck about that guy looking at me. Before joining the others, Cuddles and me had a beer where they don’t check IDs. A little pre-drink drink. Get ready for the night. We always had good times. We tight, Cuddles and me.
Cuddles’ father makes him work after school. Trade school. My old man died too soon to make me do nothing. Half the time I live in the streets. I should quit school, get a full-time job. Get the cash Cuddles has most times—where I got to ask my Moms to spot me some coins, mostly for cigarettes. Don’t need no subway fare. Just jump the turnstile soon as the train screeches in. I do the best I can. Cuddles is the one in the money. Ain’t tight-assed about it either, which is why we hang together. I like him better than Maxie or Lou, but I can’t tell them that, not even Cuddles ’cause he’ll start calling me names and picking on me ’cause I’m only fifteen and he’s older. Just a little older.
“Two drafts, what d’ya say?” I tell him.
“Just what I need. Throat’s tight as a damn drum.”
“Mine’s like a hose, man. Only it’s empty.”
“What’s eating you? I been working all day.”
“Shit, man, this dude, you know, like the rest of them in the Village. Always coming on to you, checking you out like you some bitch.”
“They think it’s their turf, Lonny. We just tourists, you know.”
“Yeah. Faggots is everywhere.”
“You ain’t got nothing to worry about, long as they keep a distance.”
“But this dude act like he wanted it and could get it.”
“He say anything to you, man.”
“Naw, he just kept looking.”
“He touch you, Lonny? He touch you?”
“Why you wanna know?” I say, but nothing else, just set my jaw tight so he’d know not to fuck with me. You can never tell about Cuddles. Always fucking with somebody.
“Drink up, Lonny. The guys gonna be mad cause we got a head start.” Cuddles slaps me on the shoulder and ruffles my stringy hair.
I’m grinning now, feeling stupid, too.
“I know what you need, man,” he says. “Let’s get the rest of the guys and blow outta here.”
I don’t say nothing more to Cuddles and just “Hey, man” to Maxie and Lou waiting for us at the cycle garage in Chelsea. Lou has his machine up on the racks and comes toward us wiping the grease off his hands. Maxie sits on a locked bike and leans forward and back like he’s speeding down 1-95 and going into a long S-curve. He thinks he’s in some kind of pro race, but ain’t none of us old enough for the big time yet. Some places you got to be eighteen.
I’m just a year away from quitting school if I want. Maxie is out of school already, but he don’t have a job. Maybe ’cause his round pink face is full of acne. Cuddles is blond and older than me by a couple of months. He’s funny, and you never know if he’s gonna turn on you, especially if he can act big around Lou and Maxie. Lou is eighteen and works at the cycle garage where we hang out. I usually get Cuddles after his job ’cause he’s near where I live. We walk the rest of the way. Sometimes Cuddles has his moped and we ride over. Junior cycle, we call it. Wish I had one. Once I stole a ten-speed an
d spray-painted it over. I rode around, got Cuddles, and we rode double, Cuddles peddling and me on the seat, my hair blowing into spikes behind me and me holding Cuddles at the waist with my feet spread out from the double chain and derailer. He told me not to hold on so tight. Lou laughed his nuts off at us riding up to the garage on a stupid bike like that. He called us silly shitheads. I didn’t care since he’s mostly friendly with Maxie and thinks we just punks anyway. That’s when Cuddles tries to act tough. But when I told Lou how I stopped this kid in the park on the East Side, took the silver ten-speed right from under his ass, raced downtown and spray-pained it red, he looked at me weird like he didn’t think I had the balls to do that on the East Side. “You a mean dude,” he said. And I said, “Naw, just regular white trash.” I grinned all over myself and slapped his palm. Slapped Cuddles on the palm too.
This time walking up on the guys already at the garage and with me feeling the slow buzz of brew on a warm day, I don’t say much to Lou or to Maxie ’cause Cuddles is already talking big and laughing. Then I get the drift of some shit that really puts me out. “Man, what Lonny needs is some pussy,” Cuddles is saying. “He ain’t had none in so long he’s watching the boys on Christopher Street.” And Cuddles laughs, poking me in the side like I’m supposed to laugh too. But I’m hot in the face, red all over, itching to dance on somebody. But shit, Cuddles is my man, or supposed to be. He can turn on you and get Maxie and Lou on his side. Now they’re all laughing.
“No shit. You mean Lonny’s sneaking after some faggot pussy?” says Lou.
“Maybe Lonny just getting tired of the front door,” says Maxie. “He wants to come round the back.”
“Can’t get it open no more, huh, Lonny?” says Lou.
They make me feel like shit. I probably look like shit too. Damn Cuddles, I could kill him. Punch them all out. Why he had to goof on me like that when I was enjoying my buzz. When these guys start loudmouthing, no telling what they gonna do. “Naw, man,” I tell them, “The only thing I do with a back door is shut it with my fist.”
“You into fist-fucking!” Maxie screams. I don’t even know what he’s talking about. Then he balls up his greasy hands and starts waving all in my face like I’m gonna stand there and take it.
My hands get tight, maybe tighter than his. What I got to lose? “Yeah—and if you don’t watch out, I’m gonna fist fuck yo face.”
“Whoaaa,” Maxie hollers, pretending to fall down, his mouth and eyes shoot open.
“Whoaa,” says Cuddles, slippery as spit.
Then Lou goes, “Aw, man, we just messing with you. We know you cool.”
“Yeah, he cool,” says Maxie. “When you got a shitty dick, you gotta keep cool, and clean.”
That’s when I pull him off a that locked bike where he thinks he’s king or something. Get him down tight between my legs, face red, and I’m about to beat his pink acne head to a pulp when Cuddles and Lou pull me back by the hair. I’d lose anyway. Maybe Cuddles and Lou know something I don’t know.
“Cut the shit, man.”
“Yeah, cut it.”
I let him up. Maxie brushes himself off real calm like it was nothing but a punk getting out of hand. Being naughty. Shit. I push him away. “Next time you wanna give some lip,” I’m saying. And I grab my cock in a mound, point it at him. “Wrap your lips around this. ”
“Whew,” says Lou. “You don’t need no taste that bad.”
“Let’s get the fuck out of this garage,” says Cuddles. “Who’s buying this time?”
We head for Key Foods and load up on two sixes. We get our regular bench in Abingdon Square which tries hard to be a park with a little grass and dirt, but it’s mostly concrete benches and jungle gyms. We sit and sip and sit and sip. Can’t wait for night to come, and I’m still trying to be cool.
It ain’t always bad, drinking with the guys. About what I dig most these days, biding time till I can quit school. Be out on my own. More time to hang out. We get so plastered sometimes that night comes up on us with a scare and you wonder where the day went. Night is all right by me in the summer, but in October, man, you see things start dying all over the place. Not just red leaves circling down from the trees, but the cold whooshing in, cleaning the air of summer dog shit and roach spray. I can tell it’s gonna be an early winter. Long one too. Sooner than anyone expected, October came in like an old lady screaming burglary or rape.
On the concrete bench next to me Lou says beer and night get him homy. His eyes snap at any piece of ass walking by. “Not any piece,” he says all loud and blustery. “Just the ass that squats to pee.” He starts stroking himself and gets up, saying he got to have some woman, and beer sprays from his mouth. Maxie says he needs some woman too. They say “woman” cause they won’t get anything calling it pussy. Cuddles stands next to Lou holding him up then pushing him aside. “Forget about the woman,” Cuddles says. “I just want some snatch.” He poses like a hero out of some spy flick or war movie. I listen to them laughing and cackling but I don’t say nothing about women or anything else.
“Listen, if we all put our money together—”
“What money,” I say. “I just blew what I had on the beer.”
“See, I told you he was small,” says Maxie.
“Shit.”
Cuddles says he got ten dollars left. “And I got ten,” says Lou. “Twenty’s enough.”
“Ain’t a bitch in town for that amount,” I say. Nobody answers. Every time we start cutting up on beer or herb or cycling around, somebody gets homy and we end up talking about bitches and chasing leg.
“Drink up,” Cuddles tells me.
“Let’s blow back to the garage,” says Lou. “Then the road to heaven.”
We split up, riding double.
“Hey, Lonny,” Maxie goes. “Don’t hold so tight.”
“Sorry.”
I feel bad not having any money, but that’s all right with the guys. We don’t go to a house or a place with rooms. We ride uptown, along Broadway, near 79th Street where Cadillac headlights dim and slow to a cruising speed. Ten blocks further you see the bitches in miniskirts, all legs and face and not much chest, which is fine with me. Maxie pulls to a curb where Lou and Cuddles are leering at somebody. I stay at the bike while Maxie walks over to them. Suddenly she’s laughing out loud like they was the funniest thing she ever seen. She waves her hand away and goes back to her pose in the door of a bakery closed for the night. Maxie goes ahead a half block further and approaches another and another one until he comes running back to me.
“Any go?” Lou asks for all of us. Me included.
“Yeah, some bitch around the comer at Ninety-first. You guys down?”
“Yeah,” Cuddles says and looks at me. I say yeah too.
We go on up to 91st Street and turn in between Broadway and Amsterdam. We stop at the first abandoned building, which is really near Columbus. The woman—I’ll say woman too this time—has dyed blond hair that looks like straw under the street lamp. She pulls at her skirt and pops gum in her mouth. “Hurry up now,” she says. “I ain’t got all night. For this little shit money, I’m doing you a favor. Be glad I got the real money early. Roscoe be on my ass if he finds out. Be on all your asses, too.”
She enters the dim hallway and Maxie and Lou follow her up to the first floor. I wait with Cuddles against the parked cycles. They are gone only about five minutes when she comes out again. “Anybody got a jacket? It’s damn cold in there.”
Cuddles hands over his jacket. Up close now I see she’s not much older than me, maybe younger. I wonder why she’s doing this. I want to say something to her but I don’t. Besides, what can I say? I’m here. Cuddles winks at me and points to her swaying ass as she goes back inside. We wait.
When our turn comes Maxie and Lou watch the bikes. Cuddles goes first. He doesn’t take off his pants all the way, just unzips his fly and plows in. He’s fast. Faster than I’ll ever be. Maybe. It’s already my turn. Her face turns up to me from the floor, her ey
es tiny like they’re holding something in. “What’s the matter? You scared?”
I don’t say anything. I make my eyes tiny, like hers.
“If you don’t come on, you lose. Ain’t no discounts, now.” And she laughs. Cuddles laughs, too. I climb on top, my clothes tight at the waist.
I feel around her titties and she turns her tiny eyes away from me, arching her back. “Stop fumbling with my chest. Ain’t nothing there.” I want to say I like it like that, but I don’t say nothing. This close I can see her teeth ain’t clean.
Cuddles moves toward the door, keeping a lookout. I try to say something but she starts moving her hips around and my dick pops out of my pants. The tightness is gone. I’m all in her now and working, watching her face, her head shaded by the denim jacket and her tiny eyes doing nothing like she’s the middle of a sunflower or a wheel of cloth spinning now until her eyes open up on me doing what I’m doing.
Cuddles comes over and just stands there like I’m taking too much time. Shit, he got his. I’m getting mine. He watches me. I try to say something, anything. His eyes hold me. Her eyes pinch tiny again and I feel the pull way down between my legs. I get it in my throat and say, “You see me, Cuddles.” And he says, “Yeah, man.” The girl breathes deeply, but she don’t say nothing. It’s just me and Cuddles. Me and him with words. “You see me getting this pussy?”
“Yeah, I see you, man.”
“I’m getting it. I’m getting it, Cuddles.” And my head goes light all of a sudden as if a weight was easing off me and going her way, maybe his. My hands grip the ends of the jacket like they’re the spokes of a wheel turning me. My head circles faster than my body or her head below mine as I push my face against the cloth and away from her tiny eyes and straw hair. I feel Cuddles’ eyes on me again, then her eyes on me. The smell of denim and armpits makes me tingle all over and tingle again until my whole body heaves and pulls. The jacket lets go the smell of grease and body all in my face and I can’t do nothing but let go myself. The bitch had nothing to do with it. Riding on empty, I ease up. She smooths her skirt back into place. I don’t say nothing and she don’t say nothing. We walk outside.
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