WHAT HAPPENED?!

With all of the shit that had been going on in school and everything, I suddenly realize I haven’t seen Esperanza in, like, two weeks! So, I wake up early the next Saturday, put on my best black clothes and head off for Tijeras de Oro!

Will it be, like, a hero’s welcome?! Will she jump into my arms, and kiss me madly?! Will she be pissed off that I haven’t come up sooner?! Or maybe, she’s just completely forgotten all about me, like I’m just some kind of dumb kid she’s been playing around with?! Who knows? All I do know is that I have to see her, and find out for myself.

When I get off the bus on Broad Street, I hesitate for a while before walking to the shop. Why does all this stuff have to be so damn hard? So scary? It’s not fair. Feeling sorry for myself, and jittery with nerves, I linger outside the front window for a minute, hoping the farting and burping that’s plaguing me will cease. My thoughts fade into an unconscious stupor though, as I lose myself in the pulsating rhythm of the flashing lights lining the awning and window.

Ah, there she is. Right there in the front, cutting some lady’s hair. My spirits instantly ascend and a dab of courage flushes through me as I gaze at her from outside. Even though she has her back to me, I would recognize that flawless butt, clad in extra tight leopard skin pants (if you want to call them that), anywhere! I stand there, worshipping it from afar, as a hot flame zigzags through my chest. MAN!

I creep in tentatively and park myself next to her, waiting for her to turn around. The place is packed, the Spanish music blaring even louder, and the activity more manic than I’ve ever seen it before. I guess because it’s Saturday. It fills me with a kind of good feeling, though. A happy feeling, as I wait for her to move in my direction. Everything, my whole life, is riding on her reaction now.

What happens in that next second is one of the spookiest scenes I have ever witnessed. She turns around - and just looks right through me! Her eyes seem to almost – disconnect - like they were in another dimension. Weirdly enough, it reminds me of that same eerie look that Na-Na Johnson displayed in his eyes. Goosebumps run all up and down my neck and back. She seems totally physically changed, somehow. I know immediately that something is radically wrong. I don’t know exactly what, or at least, I couldn’t or wouldn’t, admit it to myself. A combination of sadness and anger racks through me. I become confused. She’s still beautiful as hell, she can’t help that, but her whole attitude, the electricity, is missing.

She stares at me detachedly for a few seconds like she’s reaching for a memory… then her pink lips turn up quizzically, into a sort of sad smile.

“Hi - papi…” she says slowly.

“Hey! Um… how’s it-uh-going, Esperanza?!”

CUMBERLAND FARMS EDUCATION

    So, after Na-Na Johnson saves me from certain death at the hands of the notorious David White and The Orange Face brothers,  perceiving  me as being “strong” because of my mustache, he leaves me with the comment that he wants to know all about it. Uh-oh! What am I gonna do now?! I know nothing about this stuff! I don’t know the first thing! What will I tell him when he asks me?!

    An epiphany. Cumberland Farms sells Playboy - and Penthouse Forum magazines, too! They’re there in the back corner of the store, right above the Monster Truck and Soldier of Fortune magazines. Yes! Hassan used to let me look at them when there was nobody in the store. Jim Whitford is a real dick about it though, as usual. He never even lets you get near them. Says you have to be eighteen to look at them.  That’s the law. Fucking Dudley Doright. I’ll get him, though. I’ll find a way. I’ll enlist Skinny’s help. He’ll enjoy that. We’ve hardly been up there at all lately, ever since we had started the ‘healthy’ stealing at the A&P a while back. When we walk in, Jim Whitford is not happy to see us again, a pained expression rushes to his face.

This time the store is empty though, and with no customers distracting him, he folds his arms and zeroes in on us, observing our every move. We head to the magazine section and start perusing. Sports Illustrated and The Sporting News is what we’re looking at now, but our focus is on the Playboys and Penthouse issues. This time though, time he stands right over us. Damn. This is going to be a bit more difficult.

“Are you boys going to buy something - or just stand here and read? This is not study hall, you know.”

“No, I-I think we’re going to buy this Sports Illustrated magazine, right, Skinny?”

“Yeah, Sparky Lyle is on the cover.”

We are just biding our time, trying to stall, hoping some customer would come in to distract his attention. As the minutes tick away though, our morale begins to flag.  Just as it appears that all hope is lost, roly-poly Mrs. Acker tramps in, being pulled by her little hot dog, Fritz, who is yapping loudly and incessantly. Saved! This is perfect. She always comes in with a laundry list of maladies and ailments, and would pester you for hours with insane medical questions. As if somebody who works at Cumberland Farms would know the answers.

 Jim Whitford has to stand there and be polite, answering her insistent questions. Like, which worked better - Pepto Bismo, or Phillips Milk of Magnesia? He is fucked.  He knows it, too. You could see him start to sweat as he tries to keep one eye on us - and answer all her rambling questions, too. Needless to say, it can’t be done. The second he turns away, we each slip a small Penthouse Forum under our jackets, Skinny slipping his in easily, me fumbling with it for a few seconds, before finally sealing the deal.

“Oh, Mr. Whitford, we’ve decided not to purchase anything tonight. Goodnight!”

He grimaces. As we stroll into the parking lot, Skinny and I congratulate each other. Whitford destroyed again! Yesss!

That night, I stay up till like 5 o’clock in the morning, absorbing every detail of what I read in that magazine. The letters in this Penthouse Forum are amazing. I had seen tons of pictures before, especially since we scored all those Penthouse mags in the junk that time. I have never scoured the articles with such studiousness, though, as I do in this session. I can’t believe the stuff I am reading! Apparently, I am one of the few guys in America who had not been seduced by their babysitters, when they were 12 years old. Obviously, I’m missing out on a whole secret world here. Pangs of jealousy and remorse pound my core. I have been severely deprived my whole life. This whole phenomenon is called - Menage-a-trois. Apparently, women of all ages (babysitters included) are just dying to do this. I had heard the word before, but for some reason, had always thought it was a French word that had something to do with lemon meringue pie, or something. I learn all about it… what an education I am getting from these Forum articles and letters! By the end of the night, I have convinced even myself that I have actually performed these acts. I am ready for anything Na-Na would ask me now, and I feel a lot more confident about seeing Esperanza again.

Thank God for my mustache!

So, in the last episode, Na-Na Johnson saved me from certain death at the hands of David White and the Orange Face brothers - because I had a mustache….and I stumbled upon, quite by accident, a particular black male myth.

I’m pretty sure they thought it was a particularly ‘white’ thing. Some kind of crazy white phenomenon. Maybe that’s why Na-Na seemed so fascinated by it. Because they never did it. He was so impressed. I’m still intrigued, though, as to where he received this information about facial hair somehow being a result of it, and how exactly it made you strong. Again, thank God for my Sicilian heritage - we always got hairy faster. Actually, it was quite a prestigious honor that Na-Na even thought that about me. I had achieved such a lofty position. I mean, it was a pretty big deal - nobody I knew had ever done it, even though a couple of them lied about it.

In truth, I had barely even kissed a girl yet. Esperanza’s kiss was practically my first one. I didn’t even know what a vagina really looked like. I mean, I did, but not up close and personal, you know?

I need to find out about this stuff, somehow. But who could I talk to about it? Where could I go? Who could I ask? Certainly not my father. Rule that out right now. Skinny and Ricky know even less about it than I do. I’m sure Na-Na would soon…maybe even tomorrow, be pumping me for more details, so I have to know something about it. Especially if I want Esperanza to think I’m anything more than just a dorky kid.  No, this is important.

An epiphany. Cumberland Farms sells Playboy - and Penthouse Forum magazines, too! They’re there in the back corner of the store, right above the Monster Truck and Soldier of Fortune magazines.

NA-NA

So, David White and the Orange Face brothers - they got me - David White has his switchblade on me, and they’re hustling me towards the stairwell. Just at that second, the boys room door, which is about ten feet in front of us, swings open. There appears a hulking, menacing figure clad in a long black leather SuperFly coat, twirling a big black umbrella. Like an angry cat, twitching its tail before pouncing on its prey. As he bops towards us, the footsteps resounding from his maroon patent leather shoes echoes throughout the hallway.

Oh my God, who is this? I had never seen this guy in the school before, and as he slowly approaches us, I wish I wasn’t seeing him now. Jesus, is he in on this, too? He looks like the kind of guy who would take considerable delight in the massacre and disembowelment of a variety of body parts. Ebony skin highlights a face positively demonic in its features. A sadistic half scowl-half sneer twists into a diabolical expression, magnified by sinister eyes, which seem to be in communion with another galaxy - or maybe Hell. I thought I’d already witnessed the crème de la crème of cruelty, but this? This is beyond what I could even conceptualize. I struggle to repress the quivering spasms moving up my body.

“Whassup, Na? We just about to fuck this mo’fucka up, an’ shit.”

They grab me roughly.

He struts up to us, and just stares right into my face, for what seems like five minutes. Like he’s studying my whole essence.

I am practically limp now, almost paralyzed, but I fight to put on a game face. He slides his umbrella point, which is bayonet sharp, across my mustache. The sneer breaks into a frightening grin.

“Yo, this mo’fucka be strong.” 

He announces this in a low, heavy voice, slow and deliberate in its manner. David White and The Orange Face brothers all peek at each other somewhat quizzically, and then back at Na-Na. It’s then that I realize that they don’t really know him much, if at all, which is amazing, because all black kids know each other. Furthermore, I detect a look of trepidation, almost fear in their eyes. What the fuck is going on? He peers at me even more intently now, his brow wrinkling into a mask of curiosity.

“Yo, how did it feel?”

I stare at him emptily, having absolutely no idea what he is referring to. After a few seconds of total silence among us, I ascertain that I better say something – anything.

“Um-yeah-it felt good, man! Yeah, good as a motherfucker! Mmm-hmm - it was the shit!”

The devastating grin again returns.

“Heh-heh.” a kind of chuckle, I think.

“Heh. Yes, my brother.”

He turns his attention to David White and the brothers, who apparently feel compelled to ingratiate him, as they start laughing.

“My man be strong, an’ shit.” 

He repeats slowly as he points to my mustache, with the razorblade-like umbrella point again.

“Y’all peasy head mo’fuckas ain’t got shit on y’all faces. Y’all niggas ain’t got shit. My man gots hair on his face… that mean he be goin’ down on females, an’ shit.”

They laugh nervously, unsure of what to do. His menacing scowl comes back, creasing his face.

“Aiight, Na.”

“I hear you, Na.”

“Right, right.”

“Now all y’all tackheads step off from my man, ‘fore I cut y’all asses up.”

They’re confused partly, and angry too, at the intervention. They hesitate, smiling falsely.

“Y’all niggas hear what I jes’ said?”

Without another word, they all disperse down the stairwell.

My mustache again! It’s my mustache, giving me that Puerto Rican appearance, which I believe had attracted Esperanza, in the first place. Now this. If I had only known that a mustache would provide all these benefits, I would have tried to cultivate it sooner. Just like my sister, Karen. She had hers for about a year now, although she was constantly trying to bleach it.

I stare at Na-Na for a minute, not sure if he is going to hold me prisoner, or stab me with his umbrella, or what.  

 “Aiight, Strong, wannna hear ‘bout that shit later.”  

Then he bops off down the hall, talking or singing to himself.

 Puzzling.