straight-edge hit the floor.
‘Go on and move!’ Mr Lee said.
Paco walked slowly past me, not looking to the right or to the left. His eyes were wide open. He disappeared down the stairs, and I heard him fussing with his two brothers, who made no reply. Seconds later the echo of their slow departure faded. I exhaled.
‘Goddamn spics!’ Mr Lee cursed. ‘Alla time with a lotta crap, even at this time in the morning. What the hell wuz that all about?’
‘Oh, they followed me here,’ I lied. ‘Something about me not covering a bet that their brother was supposed to collect on. I told them that I paid him this morning, but I didn’t have any proof.’
‘Goddamn spics,’ Mr Lee said. ‘It’s a good thing Cassie’s not here. She would have had eight heart attacks.’
I was waiting for him to hint about how he was glad nothing like that ever happened to John. I wanted to hear a few words about good ol’ John Lee who never did anything except pull a pigtail or two. I needed to hear Mr Lee say that John was a fine boy on his way to college and all that. I wondered silently how John had so easily blown his parents’ minds.
‘Come on in,’ Mr Lee said. ‘I bet you could use a drink.’
‘Or two,’ I admitted.
‘Were you on your way up here?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I got locked out, and the Hawk was howling so tough that I wuz gonna lay here for the night.’
‘John’s somewhere with his girl,’ the big man said, pouring me a drink.
‘That’s good,’ I said.
‘What?’
‘Make that drink a double,’ I said.
April 17, 1969
The days seemed to disappear. Before their arrival could be announced, their departure was already a matter of fact. I saw pictures of Santa Claus on a broomstick. George Washington and Abe Lincoln rode in on a one-horse open sleigh. Suddenly, before you could say April Fool, spring was back. Small girls appeared with ropes to jump and colorful hula hoops to spin around nothing waists. Little boys popped up with new skates and bicycles to ride. The grass sent up tiny buds, like periscopes, to scout around for Jack Frost and see if he had really gone back north. Before the arrival of the scouts, everything was only an underground rumor.
I was returning home on a Thursday, trying to beat what seemed to be an oncoming spring rainstorm. The skies were just beginning to tune up for a good cry when I met Debbie Clark. She was sitting under the mezzanine in front of my apartment building.
‘Where is everybody?’ I asked.
‘On a Thursday? Who knows? It’s hard enough to find any real people around here on the weekends.’
‘An’ whuss L’il Miss Happiness doin’ spreadin’ so much sunshine?’
‘Nuthin’ at all,’ Debbie said.
‘Where’s I.Q. and Websta an’ all them othuh triflin’ niggers?’
‘Websta’s workin’ his ass off prob’ly, an’ I.Q. is bookin’. . . . You know, thass a real oddball.’
‘Wuzn’t he some kind of good-student-list man or somthin’?’
‘He got that college scholarship he was after,’ she replied. ‘An’ he’s a regular guy, too.’
‘You find that odd?’
‘Well, he's the only guy I know who quotes Shakespeare an’ smokes pot,’ she said.
‘The pot is the regular part?’
‘What I mean is that he's not . . . well, he's smart but he hangs out.’
‘I see what you mean,’ I said.
‘And then again, he's odd. I think he's girl-shy or somethin’.’ Debbie wandered back and forth between I.Q. being regular and odd. ‘I mean, he's okay, but he's not like you.’
‘How's John?’ I asked.
She blew up.
‘Why does everyone expect me to know? Am I some kinda radar, or do I have the fat freak in my pocket? I don’ know where he is, an’ I rilly don’ care!’
‘All right! All right! What did I do wrong today, Lord?’
‘I'm sorry,’ she said, like a river changing course. ‘I know what you think, but I don’ know where John iz, an’ I don’ go with him, so I get tired of folks askin’ me
‘Go on and move!’ Mr Lee said.
Paco walked slowly past me, not looking to the right or to the left. His eyes were wide open. He disappeared down the stairs, and I heard him fussing with his two brothers, who made no reply. Seconds later the echo of their slow departure faded. I exhaled.
‘Goddamn spics!’ Mr Lee cursed. ‘Alla time with a lotta crap, even at this time in the morning. What the hell wuz that all about?’
‘Oh, they followed me here,’ I lied. ‘Something about me not covering a bet that their brother was supposed to collect on. I told them that I paid him this morning, but I didn’t have any proof.’
‘Goddamn spics,’ Mr Lee said. ‘It’s a good thing Cassie’s not here. She would have had eight heart attacks.’
I was waiting for him to hint about how he was glad nothing like that ever happened to John. I wanted to hear a few words about good ol’ John Lee who never did anything except pull a pigtail or two. I needed to hear Mr Lee say that John was a fine boy on his way to college and all that. I wondered silently how John had so easily blown his parents’ minds.
‘Come on in,’ Mr Lee said. ‘I bet you could use a drink.’
‘Or two,’ I admitted.
‘Were you on your way up here?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I got locked out, and the Hawk was howling so tough that I wuz gonna lay here for the night.’
‘John’s somewhere with his girl,’ the big man said, pouring me a drink.
‘That’s good,’ I said.
‘What?’
‘Make that drink a double,’ I said.
April 17, 1969
The days seemed to disappear. Before their arrival could be announced, their departure was already a matter of fact. I saw pictures of Santa Claus on a broomstick. George Washington and Abe Lincoln rode in on a one-horse open sleigh. Suddenly, before you could say April Fool, spring was back. Small girls appeared with ropes to jump and colorful hula hoops to spin around nothing waists. Little boys popped up with new skates and bicycles to ride. The grass sent up tiny buds, like periscopes, to scout around for Jack Frost and see if he had really gone back north. Before the arrival of the scouts, everything was only an underground rumor.
I was returning home on a Thursday, trying to beat what seemed to be an oncoming spring rainstorm. The skies were just beginning to tune up for a good cry when I met Debbie Clark. She was sitting under the mezzanine in front of my apartment building.
‘Where is everybody?’ I asked.
‘On a Thursday? Who knows? It’s hard enough to find any real people around here on the weekends.’
‘An’ whuss L’il Miss Happiness doin’ spreadin’ so much sunshine?’
‘Nuthin’ at all,’ Debbie said.
‘Where’s I.Q. and Websta an’ all them othuh triflin’ niggers?’
‘Websta’s workin’ his ass off prob’ly, an’ I.Q. is bookin’. . . . You know, thass a real oddball.’
‘Wuzn’t he some kind of good-student-list man or somthin’?’
‘He got that college scholarship he was after,’ she replied. ‘An’ he’s a regular guy, too.’
‘You find that odd?’
‘Well, he's the only guy I know who quotes Shakespeare an’ smokes pot,’ she said.
‘The pot is the regular part?’
‘What I mean is that he's not . . . well, he's smart but he hangs out.’
‘I see what you mean,’ I said.
‘And then again, he's odd. I think he's girl-shy or somethin’.’ Debbie wandered back and forth between I.Q. being regular and odd. ‘I mean, he's okay, but he's not like you.’
‘How's John?’ I asked.
She blew up.
‘Why does everyone expect me to know? Am I some kinda radar, or do I have the fat freak in my pocket? I don’ know where he is, an’ I rilly don’ care!’
‘All right! All right! What did I do wrong today, Lord?’
‘I'm sorry,’ she said, like a river changing course. ‘I know what you think, but I don’ know where John iz, an’ I don’ go with him, so I get tired of folks askin’ me
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