|
|
An Excerpt from Christ-Like
by
CHRIST-LIKE
Things never quite worked out with Juan Carlos in the South Bronx with all
kinds of shit going on up there. Every day someone else got shot, stabbed,
or killed in that neighborhood. Mikey was afraid to befriend any of the
local drug dealers- here today, gone tomorrow. One female doctor, trying to
stop a brother from stealing her car, got shot three times outside the crack
house next to Mikey's building- once in the leg, once in the arm, once in
the chest. Mikey was coming home from the bodega when he saw her getting
slaughtered in front of him and dropped his 40-ounce bottle of Crazy Horse.
As quickly as her stolen car sped away, the piss-yellow liquid raced toward
the pool of blood surrounding the young black woman sprawled on the ground.
Her dead mouth was open, the scream frozen in silence. Her eyes were staring
at Mikey's bloodstained, brand-new sneakers.
The next day, in an effort to look really tough, Mikey went down to Paul's
Boutique to shave off his hair, revealing the scars on the back of his head
from childhood brawls and his mother's abusive fits of anger. With a
thicker, fuller twenty-one-year-old mustache, goatee, and an already decadent
glow in his eyes, Mikey blended in nicely with the rest of the neighborhood.
He walked hard, spittin', crotch grabbin', with a slight limp for allure,
down the overcrowded streets where the salsa boomed over rottweiller fights
and gangsta bitches argued over imprisoned boyfriends.
Picking up welfare checks and cupónes to do the compras, he also played
the numbers every day in hopes of hitting the lottery. In order to survive,
Mikey had become everything he had promised himself he would never be. He'd
fight every day with Juan Carlos about going back to hustling at the piers
and making enough money so that they wouldn't have to eat pan con welfare
cheese again. He spent his days learning Santeria rituals from Padrino, a
wise thirty-something gay santero. The religion fascinated Mikey more than
anything in the world. While listening to the sounds of growing winds
outside South Bronx windows, he dreamt of the day he could make a living by
putting brujos on cheating boyfriends and estranged lovers.
Padrino was also trying to teach Mikey how to cook for Juan Carlos, who
would leave home every day supposedly looking for a job and come back with
marks on his neck and the smell of someone else's cheap cologne. Mikey
failed to impress him with half-cooked arroz con pollo and the worst pernil
since Titi Yoli poisoned the entire family on Mami's birthday with her
bacalaito cakes.
"Mira, nene, you gotta start learning how to take care of your husband,
because he won't always be this healthy, you know," Padrino lectured.
Frustrated with Juan Carlos's up-front attitude about his affairs, Mikey
spent his midnights getting stoned with Padrino in the park across the street
from Yankee Stadium. Padrino filled his head with stories about rich old
men coming up from the city to pick up poor little Latino boys for sex. The
park was legendary for street trade and it wasn't unusual for Padrino to
disappear behind the bleachers, leaving Mikey alone, to get sucked off by
strangers, coming back with enough money for a six-pack and a dime bag.
Mikey, never a step behind, frequented the parks until he had enough money
to buy a new pair of sneakers. Sucking on his Blow Pops, he'd wait in the
bleachers late at night for rich, horny old men desperate for a taste of
banjee heaven. He wanted to make enough money to leave Juan Carlos's tired
ass and move to the big city, where he wouldn't have to worry about whether
or not he'd wake up alive the next day.
"Well, well, well! If it isn't the Grand Pier Queen of the South Bronx
herself tryin' to work the park!"
Mikey turned around on the bleachers where he sat to come face to face
with Hector, a tacky cha-cha queen who lived on the second floor of their
building.
"What's the matter, Mikey? Need more money to buy food at the cuchifrito
so Juan Carlos won't find out you can't cook for yourself?"
"Yeah, well at least I don't be giving my ass away for some crack like
you, you nasty ho!"
Hector sashayed away in his tight Daisy Duke shorts and flip-flops,
pretending not to hear him.
Later that day when he opened the fridge and the milk carton spilled onto
the floor, Mikey broke down.
"I HATE MY LIFE!"
"Here, I'll clean it," Juan Carlos offered.
"No, forget about it! Just go away!"
"Hey! Hey!" Juan Carlos grabbed Mikey by the hands as he tried to soak
up the milk with a sponge. "Calmate, okay! I thought I was your life!"
Mikey jerked his glance away from Juan Carlos.
"I love you, Mikey! I motherfuckin' love you, ah-ight, kid!"
Juan Carlos was giving his best performance.
"It's all about you, papi!"
Mikey freed himself from his grip and said, heading toward the door. "Why
you frontin'? STOP FUCKIN' WIT' MY HEAD, JUAN CARLOS! If you love me so
much, then how come you have to fuck around wit' other guys? Huh? Tell me,
Juan Carlos!"
"Look! If I fucked around wit' other guys it's because I'm sick, all
right! You know I'm sick, Mikey!"
"No, YOU look! Don't make me go off! YOU DON'T WANNA SEE ME GO OFF!"
"I'm dying, all right! I just wanted to have a little fun before I'm
good and buried!"
"Ay! Not for nothing but just because you got AIDS don't mean I'm gonna
let you fuck every Jose, Luis, and Victor you can get your dick into! That's
shady, Juan Carlos! Too shady!"
"I'm scared, ah-ight! I'm scared of getting too close to you so you can
up and leave whenever the next fly papi cruises you in a club!"
"Oh! Just because other guys they look at me, that gives you the right to make a cabron out of me? I DON'T THINK SO!" Mikey picked up his baseball
cap and unchained the door. "You know, maybe if you didn't think about
yourself all the time, Juan Carlos, I wouldn't be going out to the clubs
running into all those putas you be calling 'baby' thinking everyone else
doesn't know your bochinche!"
Juan Carlos grabbed him before he had a chance to storm out, turning him
to stare into his face. "I never meant to hurt you, Mikey. I said I was
sorry, all right, but what do you want me to do? Can't you just let it go?"
Mikey forced back the tears, "Whatevah, okay! I'm tired of you playing
me for a fool!" He pushed Juan Carlos off and stormed out of the apartment,
running down the dark stairs as fast as he could, past all the bodega boys
and drug dealers, heading toward the park.
That was the night Mikey was approached by the fiercest, most expensive
car he had ever seen, an old man in the driver's seat, staring him down.
Mikey's mind raced with a million and one reasons to steal his car. Mikey
had never seen anything like it except on television and in magazines. The
lamppost lights bounced off the white shield of the car, glistening in
Mikey's eyes. The driver watched from beneath the shadow of his baseball
cap, concealing his wrinkling forty-year-old face, wearing an expensive
jacket Mikey had seen on Fordham Road for like thirty dollars.
As a car alarm wailed somewhere in the distance, the sugar papi parked his
car in front of the bleachers where Mikey sat. He stared at Mikey in the way
every young boy wants to be looked at by a potential trick. Mikey stared
back at him, feigning an innocent smile and giving him his best puppy-dog
eyes ever.
"WOULD YOU LIKE TO GET IN?" the man yelled to Mikey, almost drowned out
by the hip-hop blaring from his speakers.
"NO!" he yelled back defiantly, like when he was a little boy and his
mother asked him if he had smashed the aquarium, as the goldfish struggled
desperately for air.
The man bit his lip and pulled out a wad of money, flagging it at Mikey as
if a plane was about to land.
"OH, COME ON! I WON'T HURT YOU!" he taunted, as if Mikey really felt
threatened by his corny old white ass.
Down below, someone lit a joint, the smoke rising to get Mikey's
attention. Mikey searched underneath, through the holes in the bleachers, to
find Juan Carlos's cheating heart smiling up at him devilishly. Even through
the darkness, with the help of the remaining lampposts that had not been
broken, Mikey could see his eyebrows raised and the knowing smile on his face.
"I PROMISE I WON'T!" the old man begged, thinking Mikey was looking away
in contemplation.
Mikey and Juan Carlos silently voiced with their eyes the plan laid out
before them.
"AH-IGHT! BUT YOU HAVE TO PROMISE NOT TO HURT ME!" Mikey yelled to the driver, glancing back down to lock eyes with Juan Carlos. Juan Carlos
mouthed the words back up to him "I won't!" before Mikey rose off the
bleachers and headed toward the car, the old man's face crumbling into one
big smile.
Mikey opened the passenger door, making himself comfortable inside,
nervously glancing over at the man, trying to avoid eye contact, the smell of
alcohol reeking from his slightly built, old body.
"What's your name?" the man asked.
Mikey was quiet, searching for any signs of a weapon while contemplating
an answer. "Ricky!" he said, using his ex-lover's name, a thrill on his
rebellious face.
"Ricky?" the old man repeated in disbelief. "That's the perfect name
for you!"
"Well, what's your name- John?" Mikey asked in a fuck-you-viejo-maricón!
tone of voice.
The man cracked a smile, which for a moment made Mikey reconsider his plot
with Juan Carlos.
"How'd you ever guess?"
Sitting in silence for a moment, Mikey anxiously waited for Juan Carlos to
give him a signal.
"Tell me, 'Ricky,' how much does a boy like you ask for these days?"
Mikey glared at him with attitude. "Oh, you mean besides the car?" he
sneered sarcastically.
Mikey played it off by laughing along with him, before "John" reached
over, crushing Mikey with unexpected strength, feeling around for Mikey's
rising erection, lost somewhere in his oversized baggy jeans.
Finding it, he pulled back and happily smiled down at Mikey's overwhelmed
stare.
"You can have more than just the car if you play your cards right, pretty
boy!"
With his other hand, he moved Mikey closer to him, forcing his tongue deep
into Mikey's throat, almost choking him while unzipping his jeans.
"Wait a minute! Cogelo con take it easy, ah-ight!" Mikey struggled to
push him off, the old man chewing his neck, just before being pulled out of
the car. There was a ferocious rustling sound and loud screaming outside the
door as Mikey zipped up his jeans and raised himself enough to see Juan
Carlos pounding the old man in the face. He was yelling like a bitch when
Juan Carlos kicked him in the stomach.
"THE WALLET! THE WALLET! DON'T FORGET THE WALLET!" Mikey shouted as Juan Carlos kicked the old man in the face again.
"SCREAM AGAIN AND I'LL KILL YA!" Juan Carlos reached into his back pocket
to pull out the wallet, kicking him one last time before jumping into the
driver's seat.
"HURRY UP! HURRY UP! LET'S GO! LET'S GO!" Mikey cried.
Juan Carlos fumbled with the cars keys still in the ignition.
"AHHHHHHHHH!" the man screamed.
"COME ON, LET'S GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!" Mikey screeched.
Juan Carlos finally started the car, pulling away, leaving the old man
behind, his baseball cap on the ground, exposing his bald head, crying for
help as blood poured out from his mouth.
They made enough money from that car to pay the rent, buy some phat new
gear, reconnect their beepers, get Santeria beads from Padrino, and pay off
the hospital bills that Medicaid didn't cover for Juan Carlos. His health worsened daily until finally he developed respiratory problems and his cell
count dropped to only sixty-three.
"You know, Mikey, not for nothin', but he don't look too good!" Padrino
said to Mikey. "He ain't even gotta try to hide from da police 'cause they
wouldn't recognize him if he was standing in their face. He may be whatever,
but he is still your man!"
So, on his twenty-seventh birthday, Mikey gave Juan Carlos a surprise
party. But after smoking plenty of pot, and a very revealing game of
truth-or-dare, the only surprise was for Mikey.
"Truth or dare, Juan Carlos?" Padrino asked facetiously.
"Truth!"
Padrino contemplated whether or not to ask the question, until an evil
glow in his eyes caught everyone's attention.
"Did you ever sleep with anyone else in this building other than Mikey?"
Juan Carlos's face turned pale and his mouth dropped open in disbelief.
"Come on, Juan Carlos, you know you can't lie to los muertos!" Padrino
insisted.
No matter what he said, he was cornered, so Juan Carlos looked over at
Mikey, who shook his head back and forth begging for a no.
"Hector from 257."
"HECTOR FROM 257! YOU SLEPT WITH HECTOR FROM 257! DESGRACIADO!" was all Mikey said before lunging from his seat and landing on Juan Carlos.
Padrino raced to pull Mikey away, hands gripped tightly around Juan
Carlos's neck, while the locas screamed in horror.
"GET OFF ME! GET OFF ME! I'MA KILL HIM! I'MA KILL HIM! YOU SON OF A BITCH!"
"OLVIDALO, PAPI, PLEASE! HE'S NOT WORTH IT! JUST LET HIM BE! HE'S NOT WORTH IT!" Padrino pleaded as Mikey fell into a fit of tears.
"I believed in you, Juan Carlos! I believed in you! How the fuck could
you do this to me?"
The entire room fell silent. Padrino reached out to comfort him before
Mikey ran into the kitchen, emerging with the birthday cake in his right hand
and a crazed look on his face.
"NO! NO! NO, MIKEY! NOT THE VALENCIA CAKE! POR FAVOR, NOT THE VALENCIA CAKE!" Padrino begged as Mikey screamed maniacally, making a hundred-mile dash toward Juan Carlos.
"BITCH! YOU'RE CRAZY!" Juan Carlos yelled as the sticky gooey frosting
from the cake became glued to his gagging face.
"HAPPY MOTHERFUCKIN' BIRTHDAY, YOU HIJO DE LA GRAN PUTA!"
Mikey ran out of the apartment, returned to the piers and hustled for a
place to crash every night, until several weeks later his cousin Alberto
caught him out there.
"Miguelito, what the fuck is wrong with you? How come Padrino's the one
who has to tell me you're back on the streets, working the piers?"
"How do you know Padrino?"
"Your friend Jerry introduced me to him at The Monster."
Mikey was too choked up to argue with him. That whole night they sat at
the piers, as Mikey told him all about his failed relationship to Juan
Carlos. Alberto insisted that Mikey move in with him and his lover up in
Riverdale.
"I'm not taking no for an answer. I told you que ese hombre era no good
for you from the get-go. He made a pendeja out of you! Ooh, if he was here
I would cut him! I knew he was trouble the minute you introduced me to him
at The Monster. Ay, dios mio, if your mother only knew, she would've never
thrown you out in the first place!"
The following day, Mikey returned to the South Bronx apartment while Juan
Carlos was out and packed his bags with the help of Alberto and his lover,
Johnny.
"You were living here?" Alberto's eyes bulged with terror.
"No, I was just vacationing!" Mikey snapped, tossing his suitcases into
the hallway, then breaking into a smile.
"Mikey! Mikey!" Outside by the car, Mikey recognized Padrino's voice
before turning around to stop him dead in his tracks with a wicked stare.
Padrino's face was flushed a sickly color, his eyes urgent with bad news.
"It's Juan Carlos! He's in da hospital!"
Mikey shrugged and turned away to slam the car trunk closed--his excessive
force a dead giveaway.
"Mikey, he's got tuberculosis!" Padrino ranted on. "The ambulance came
to pick him up this morning! He thought he was gonna die! They won't let
anyone near him because they say it's cun… cun… What's the word
I'm looking for?"
"Contagious!" Alberto jumped in.
"Yeah, that's it! Cunt-agious!" Padrino said, acknowledging Alberto's
presence by raising an eyebrow.
Mikey turned to look at Padrino, all dressed in white with his collares,
then dropped his stare to the ground, focusing on all the bubblegum wrappers
glistening like jewels under the sun. Padrino was reaching his arms out for
him like the Christ at the church, only Christ had stumps, not hands, since
they always stole them. He felt bad about Juan Carlos, but at the same time
he felt it was just another trap to keep him by his side. It wouldn't be the
first time Juan Carlos used his illness to get what he wanted out of Mikey.
"Now, Mikey, I'm not telling you this so you go running back to him like
you always do. I'm telling you 'cause you would want to go check yourself,
chulo! You're the one who was with him the most!"
Mikey looked away so Padrino wouldn't see the tears in his eyes, only to
catch Hector watching them from behind the curtains in his window.
Mikey, falling into Padrino's arms, embraced him, planting a tender kiss
on his cheek in full public view before breaking away to run toward the
brightly lit bodega.
"Mikey! This is no time for you to go to the park! Mira, nene, where you
goin'?" Padrino called after him.
Mikey returned with a 40-ounce bottle of Crazy Horse.
"This is not the time to be gettin' drunk!" Alberto insisted.
Mikey tapped the bottle from underneath three times, like Padrino had
taught him, uncapping it, closing his eyes and whispering a Yoruba chant as
he spilled the piss-yellow beer onto the concrete ground below. When he
opened his eyes he caught his cousin and Johnny's bewildered stares and
Padrino's motherly smile.
"It wasn't for me! It was for the muertos! So that they could look
after Juan Carlos while I'm gone!"
"Ay, Mikey! He'll be ah-ight!" Padrino cried. "Pero, you need to get
your ass out of here before you get sucked into this life! Fuck Juan Carlos,
he's a big girl! You need to follow your dreams, baby!"
Mikey pulled out a wad of money and handed it to a startled Padrino.
"¿Que'eso?"
"Some money left over from the viejos car! Go buy yourself something
pretty!" Mikey said, trying not to sound like a sentimental pier queen.
"Mikey! I can't!"
"Loca… please!"
Padrino quickly put the money away before Mikey changed his mind.
"Don't be a stranger!"
"¡Jamas!" Mikey smiled, fully aware that he would never return to the
South Bronx and that this part of his life was, for better or for worse,
behind him.
"Are you ready?" Alberto asked.
"Yes! Yes, I am!"
With that, Mikey kissed Padrino one last time, giving Hector the finger
before getting into the back seat of the car and being driven away, not once
looking back at the streets of the South Bronx.
Emanuel Xavier is author of the poetry collection, Pier Queen, and the Lambda Literary Award nominated debut novel, Christ-Like, both reflecting his experiences growing up gay and Latino in the suburbs of Brooklyn and raised by the many houses of New York City's legendary West Side Highway piers (a la "Paris is Burning").
His second poetry collection, Americano, will be published this fall by Suspect Thoughts Press.
email Emanuel Xavier
read an excerpt from Pier Queen
more information about the collection Americano here
more information about Emanuel Xavier here
CHRIST-LIKE © 1998, 2002 by Emanuel Xavier
The excerpt CHRIST-LIKE is from the novel CHRIST-LIKE (Painted Leaf Press, 1999), and appeared in Men on Men 7 (Plume, 1998).
HERE
|
|
