A FANTASY?

It’s second period in Silverstein’s art class now, the next morning, and my heart is heavy. I’m suddenly dissatisfied, disillusioned with my mural. I’m staring up at it. Noticing every imperfection, every mistake I made.

This is shit! She’s gonna hate this! I can’t show her this!  It takes all the strength I have to avoid a full-scale breakdown. I tell Silverstein I have to go to the bathroom, and then pace the halls frantically the next fifteen minutes, trying to breath.

       Three o’clock finally arrives, and I dash out of the school to catch the #59 up to Broad Street. We gotta get back here before 4 o’clock, when they lock the doors. On the ride up I’m anxious, wondering if she’ll even remember I was up there yesterday. If she even knew what was going on at all. I’m supposed to be at work at The Fox Hole by around 4. I’m really putting this whole job in jeopardy. I don’t even know what kind of a state she’s going to be in today.  I hop off on Broad Street at 3:22. We can still make it if everything goes right!

I burst into the shop, trying unsuccessfully to make it look like I’m laid back, ready for anything…

Now, she’s the old Esperanza again! The light is back in her eyes - she has life again! And she is so beautiful. I gaze at her hopefully. She smiles at me, and a glow comes up from my heart. It’s radiating onto my face, and now I’m tingling with anticipation.

“Gimme a minute, baby, and we’ll get out of here, OK?”

The other ladies beam at me, calling out greetings as I smile back, and wave. Esperanza slips on her short-waisted white leather jacket, delicately places her shades on top of her head, and grabs her purse. Every move is graceful again.

“Hasta manyaaana, chicas” she draws it out playfully.

We stride outside together, and I head towards the bus stop. She inexplicably sashays to the other corner.

Where is she going?

Then I realize - the parking lot. Uh-oh. I think that she thinks I have a car. Great. I sprint over to catch up to her, ready to apologize and grovel, and feel like a fool, but she keeps going.

“Esperanza – Esperanza - I don’t-”

We’re in the parking lot now, and she abruptly stops right in front of this white MG Midget Convertible. Brand new. Whoa.

It glistens in the fading sunlight, among all the beat up Dodge Darts and Chevy Impalas. She pulls keys out from her purse.

“This is your car?”

“You know there’s no way I be taking that damn bus, honey, mmm-mmm” -

“Oh my God.”

I mean, I’m definitely not one of those trade-school car freaks, or anything, but this ride is jamming.  Could I be any more in awe of her?

She offers me a stick of Dentyne.  

“You want a Chiclet?”

I don’t know why, but Puerto Ricans always call every kind of gum Chiclets, no matter if it’s Trident, Juicy Fruit, or indeed, Chiclets. I stuff it in my mouth, mainly to keep my jaw from being permanently dropped.

She lights up her ever present Virginia Slim, opens the door, pushes a button that brings the top down, and hops in.

“What are you waiting for, honey?”

She pulls her shades down over her eyes. It’s a nice sunny day for November 3rd.

        It’s a two seater with no other room - the Midget is. She grabs the clutch, peels out of the parking lot, and goes screeching down East Grand Avenue, like Mario Andretti. She’s messing with the radio knob, rifling through all these R&B and Spanish stations, until she hits on this acoustic guitar solo that plays on for, like, ten seconds.

“Oh shit! I love this song!” she cries out happily, cranking up the volume now.                        

“Whoa! That’s the Eagles new jam, I think.”

“I don’t know who this be, papi, I just love it!  Aaaay!”

I grin to myself, because, secretly, I really like the Eagles, also. We have something in common now, too. Yeah. The words break in now, and she starts singing along, but she’s getting all the words wrong, which usually really annoys me, but in this situation…

“There she stood in the doorway

With the mission bell

And I was thinking to myself

This could be heaven or this could be hell…”

“Yeah, Hotel California!” Woo! I cry out gleefully.

We’re cruising down East Grand Avenue in Elizabeth, the late day sun setting in our eyes, the cancerous breeze from the nearby Exxon Bayway refineries blowing through our hair - and it’s all perfect.

Suddenly, she’s Ali McGraw, and I’m Ryan O’Neal, and it’s Love Story, and we’re cruising down the Boulevard in Hollywood, the salty breeze off the Pacific Ocean cooling us off.  This is it. The defining moment of my life.

That whole ride to the school is magic, timeless…

I’ve never felt so - free!  The only thing I have to be conscious of, is to catch myself from permanently fawning over her, as I’m taking it all in.

When we get to the Roselle High parking lot, I leap out of the car, practically prancing my way up the stairs to the green door. Like that freaking leprechaun from those Lucky Charms, commercials. I peer up at the clock in one of the classrooms - it’s only 3:50. Excellent! We still got time. I excitedly go to pull open the door - LOCKED!  What the fuck?!  It can’t be, it’s not four o’clock yet!!

OPERATION RESCUE ESPERANZA

Joey is saddened and distraught to see Esperanza’s appearance when he visits her at Tijeras de Oro, but is determined to get through to her

She gazes at me blankly, lazily.
“Hey baby,” she drawls emotionlessly, at last.
An awkward silent pause follows.
“Uh…do you know who I am?” I feel stupid, exposed, like an eight-year old schoolboy at a MAMBLA (Man-Boy Love Association) convention.
“Yeah, papi…I know who you be” she giggles slightly.
“Um-Esperanza, (I smile brightly now), I got something to…real important… to tell you... to show you”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think we could, like, go outside or something for a minute?”
She smiles laconically.
“Let me finish with this lady here, OK?”
“Te gusta, mami?” She asks her customer.
“Si, pero un poco mas por este lado, ok?” She directs.
Esperanza finishes up in a few more minutes and kind of robotically dusts the chair off with a whisk broom.
“Mi voy a fumar!” she calls out to nobody in particular.
“C’mon, honey – let’s go.”
We’re both outside now, in the little alleyway next to the store, and she’s trying to light her cigarette, but in kind of this absent-minded way, with no particular focus. She’s fumbling with it, making attempt after attempt. I’m cringing now. It’s actually painful to watch. I mean, usually, I could watch her go through that motion all day, she’s so smooth and fluid and sexy. But now… it’s kind of just breaking my heart. Finally, she succeeds in lighting it, and exhaling, watches the rings of smoke become one with the grey polluted air.
She starts giggling.
Frustrations seethes through my chest, building up like a broken pipe ready to blow steam! I want - I need - to get through to her, to connect on some level. I want to bawl at the same time, a bewildering torrent of emotions rocks me. I’m in awe of her, still.
“What do you want to tell me, baby?”
I try to carefully measure my words, an attempt to reach out.
“Esperanza, remember when I made that drawing of you?”
She nods, exhaling skyward.
“Well – um - you liked that, right?”
She nods again.
“Yeah, of course, papi.”
“Ok, check this out…I made something for you that’s way better. Way bigger! It’s like - a monument…
I search her face for any type of reaction.
“The only thing is…it’s at my school…
Do…you…think…you can…um…come to the school? With me?” She giggles, her eyes drooping. I command myself to stay cool, stay focused.
“I’ll pick you up here… and we can go, ok?”
“Yeah baby, of course.” She finally responds.
“When do you want me to come up?”
“Come up…like, tomorrow, ok?”
“Tomorrow…you sure?”
“Yeah”
“Ok, I’m gonna come up tomorrow, right after school, alright? Do you think you can get off around, like, 3:30?”
“Baby, I can do what I want.”
She flicks the butt of her smoked-up cigarette onto the concrete.
“I gotta get back now, papi, I see you tomorrow.”
She drifts away, like the smoke rings from her Virginia Slims, and back into the shop. I half-step down the street, a growing feeling of emptiness, pervading my soul

SADNESS

Joey finally does get up to The Tijeras de Oro, and is heartbroken to find Esperanza in this state.

The next day I have off from The Fox Hole, thank God.  I’ve already decided that I’m going up to see Esperanza after school, no matter what, and whatever happens, happens. Fuck it. I hop on that bus with a mission. Farting, burping, the whole mess, people gawking at me, making disgusted faces. I don’t care. I have two Polaroid pictures of the mural that I had snapped with my mother’s camera the night, or morning actually, that we finished it, nestled securely in my pocket. I want Esperanza to see what I’ve done for her, the tribute of my love to her. She’s just gonna have to forgive me for inadvertently breaking our date a while back. There’s nothing I can do about the past. I hesitate timidly at the front window of the shop, as usual, trying to summon up the guts to go in, and do this thing. There she is at her chair, cutting hair, her back to me, this time clad in her winter garb. She displays no skin for the first time since I had initially seen her, but still, she’s unbelievably hot! Maybe even more so now. Off-white angora sweater, black leggings or tights (I don’t know which), and kick-ass ankle-length, high-heeled boots. Stop drooling, asshole.  

I skip inside, with apparently nobody noticing me. They’re all busy with their customers, and the meringue beat seems to be playing extra loud.  

I ease my way into one of the chairs, waiting for her to turn around, both anxious and dreading what her reaction might be. Oh no! Oh shit! Not again. I can’t fucking believe it. That look again. That same look as the other time I came up here, when she was on the phone and walked out. Her eye is drooping, the energy gone. Anger and resentment flash through me. She looks right through me, right over me, glazed, with no sign of cognizance.  

It reminds me - painfully - that this is the look that started me off on this whole campaign to ‘prove’ myself to her. The whole reason I even get the job at The Fox Hole, risked my ass to paint the mural, practically the total reason I’ve done everything I did. Maybe to prove to her, in some subconscious way, that I could rescue her. Or maybe rescue myself. My first impulse is to just get up, and walk out right now.  Another impulse is to scream at her. I suppress both. Who am I to say anything to her, anyway? A warm stream of sympathy, of empathy, suddenly melts into my heart, but still…I finally get up and go over to her chair.

“Hi, Esperanza…um - remember me?” I ask in my most hopeful, animated, and somewhat sarcastic tone.

THE SCORE AND THE SCARE

 Many things on his mind, Joey freezes when he thinks Na-Na is out to seek revenge against him!       

 I’m strolling through the Roselle High parking lot after school today, a kind of warm sunny day, uncharacteristically nice for November 1st.  Chugging down a can of Dr. Pepper, I’m mulling over the various conflicts and problems that have presented themselves in my life, the queasy feeling about basically betraying Na-Na to Contreau, the forbidden, puzzling pull over Kyla, and the determination that I have to go up to Elizabeth - and soon.

 Suddenly, a screeching white Cadillac lurches to a halt directly in front of me, jolting me out of my warring fantasies. It happens so quickly that I drop my can of soda, it hits the black asphalt like a fizzy grenade, rolling over and spraying carbonated foam everywhere. 

Shit. There’s nowhere to run.

The black tinted window slowly descends to an electric hum.

“Get in.”

Oh shit – this is it. I’m finished.

I reluctantly crawl in, and through the thick cloud of cigarette smoke I peer into the expressionless profile of Na-Na Johnson, ensconced at the steering wheel; Marvin Gaye’s, What’s Going On? playing on the radio.

As the electric window rises up again, he peels out of the driveway, a Kool clinging precariously to his bottom lip.  I involuntarily swallow the rest of the soda that remains lodged between my throat and esophagus. Another stolen car, too. Total silence.

“What’s up, Na-Na?”

I breathe heavily, fully aware that these may be my last breaths. We wail up Sixth Avenue, I don’t know where we’re headed, and, at this point, I don’t really want to know. I start blabbering at high speed.

“Na-Na, man, I was scoping for you yesterday. That dude - Contreau - he’s gunning for you, man. He was dogging you, he wants you out!  Dude was like “we got plans for him.” Serious. He was using these, like, Vietnam tactics on me too, yeah, and Silverstein.” 

“Yellow-tone Uncle Tom mo’fucka, he interrupts, nigga ain’t gonna do shit to me. Got something for that nigga.”

I relax a tiny bit now - at least the venom isn’t being directed at me. Not in this moment, anyway. He hands me a large piece of paper. It’s a drawing, one of his ink drawings, and in typical graphic Na-Na style. It depicts a scene in which this rabidly fierce black Doberman Pincher is springing in mid-air, teeth gleaming, ears pinned back, saliva spewing, going for the throat of this guy, who appears to be white. Except that he has Negro, kinky hair. A horrified, almost pleading expression dominates his face, which Na-Na has captured expertly. The outline of the school lies in the background, a sign that reads – BEWARE OF GOD – written in what seems to be dripping blood, is posted right next to the attacking dog.

“Give this to that yellow ass Tom. Tell him I know what time it is.”

He takes a long drag from his Kool.

“Where you tippin’ to now, Strong?”

“I gotta go to work at this restaurant, The Fox Hole…it’s near Linden”

“Aiight”.
He apparently has a pretty good idea of where it is, and a few minutes later we’re pulling up in front of The Fox Hole, in the big white stolen Cadillac.  

Philly’s out in front, sweeping the sidewalk.  I notice his sarcastic sneer as I pop out of the ride, clutching the rolled up drawing.  

“Check you later, Na-Na.”

“Aiight.”

As he skids away, Philly smiles widely.

“Who’s the gar in the fuckin’ Reverend Ike mobile, Joey? One of your coon friends?”  He shrieks.

Here we go. “Gar” is short for nig-gar, at least in Philly parlance.

“Not today Philly, awright?”

“That your pimp there, Joey, heh?”

Tommy Boy steps out the front door, smoking a cigarette.

“Hey Tommy Boy, ya know Joey’s a niggeh loveh? Yeah, he just pulled up here with his fuckin’ pimp!”

Tommy Boy laughs.

“What’s the matter, Philly, you jealous? You want me all for yourself?” I retort sharply.

“Ooo-ooh, cold!” Tommy Boy laughs.

Philly turns all red and deflated.

“Awright, niggeh loveh, get in there and wash them dishes now.” He responds with false bravado.  

“That’s weak Philly. You’re burned!  Just keep sweeping.”