Boys of Life (13 page)

Which is the sort of thinking you can only do so long. I crawled out of bed, careful not to wake Carlos up. I put on some clothes—it was way too cold in that apartment to be wandering around butt-naked—and went into the kitchen, where I sat down in the dark with my bottle of Canadian Club.

I thought about getting really drunk, as a way of putting all that stuff out of my head. But I didn't drink. I took a sip or two and realized a drink wasn't what I wanted. That was probably the first time in my life I ever realized something like that, which shows how tar gone I was that night. Somehow I guess I'd thought Carlos was going to he able to say the one simple thing that'd get rid of everything thar'd been going around in my head, and that's why I blurted everything out. I hadn't meant to do it. But now it was worse instead o\ better—with the worst part being that I could see nobody was going to help me. It was something I was going to have to work out by myself.

I grew up on Carlos ri^ht then—not that I ever thought he was going to get me through stuff, but I do think I hooked up with him back in Owen because I could see I needed some kind ot help. And now that fell apart.

I still don't quite know why I did it. hut I got up and walked over to the door and unlatched it, and stood there tor about fifteen minutes. I felt the way a sky diver probably does before .1 jump, leaning way our into space and knowing once he lets go, that's it, tree-tall and a lon^ way down. Then I left.

I closed the door behind me and told myself I knew exactlv wh.if

□ . PAULRUSSELL

I was doing. Of course I didn't know, and when I think hack about that whole night it's like I was totally drunk even though I was completely sober. But there I was out on Avenue C at what must've been three in the morning—and I've already said how the nighttime in New York had a way of freaking me. I started walking west.

I didn't get too tar, as it turned out—just to Tompkins Square Tark between Avenues B and A. Even though it was freezing December and the middle of the night too, it was still full of people—guys standing around these trash cans they'd lit fires in to keep warm, and other guys sitting on benches all wrapped up in army blankets, or just wandering around with dazed looks on their faces like they had no idea where they were. In the middle of the park where all the sidewalks came together, this black guy was standing there just saying, Smoke, smoke, smoke, over and over in this dead voice even though nobody was buying. But it was like once he got going, he couldn't stop.

There were also men who kept watching me with these hungry eyes. They'd walk up close to me and then veer away at the last minute, like I was somebody they thought they recognized but then didn't. Or maybe it was the other way around—thev were the ones who wanted me to recognize them. I knew what they wanted I'd seen queers m New York, I knew all the ways they'd look .it me when 1 passed. Now here they were, roaming around in the middle of the night still looking, and here I was tOO.

I guess whatever carried me out oi the apartment just all o( I

sudden gave OUt and 1 was standing there without a due when these

Puerto Rican kids came up on bikes. They must've been bout eight

and ten, just little kids, and when they laid, "Yo man, what's up?" 1

yOU lmi\s doing out here' Win aren't sou hon. Which may lOUIid dumb, but if was the hist thing that came into m\ 1 I u'uess with the park so full oi gUVfl cruising fol a chanCC with little kids hke tli.it.

like- you're home neither," the oldei one laid. 1 le was mittii I Ins front teeth.

-•) .in." I told him "It'i late ^ou

lid really go h< >mc " I think I was suddenly thinking about led .ind

in( him out In i pla

the little one told me I he) M moved up io theii ii eithei side oi rk

I I look lil

BOYSOFLIFE D

"Everybody looks lilu i to me," the oldci kid Mid. "Just

don't rr\ nothing.' 1

"Am I trying anything?" They'd sort of locked me in between their bikes and all ol a sudden I wasn't sure what the) were u]

"He's no fag," the little one said.

"Naw, he'> no faggot," said the older one.

what're you two up to?" I asked, since obviously they'd decided to let up on me a little.

"Eh," the older kid spit on the ground and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Whatever."

I remember thinking how strange il was, those two kids on their hikes in that park in the middle of the night—totally out ot bounds, and at the same time acting like they owned the plao

"We're just hanging," the little kid said. "Want to hang with us?

"I don't know," I told them. "Maybe tor a while."

"Yeah, han^ with us tor a while," the older kid said. "Should W€ ditch the square or what?"

"Should ditch it," said the other one. The square being Tompkins Square, where we were. We went east along some streets back toward where the apartment was, then past it over to Avenue D, and I knew we were looking tor something hut I didn't know what it w.is mpposed to he. The older kid was whistling this tune hut I didn't recognize It. Nobodv was talking or anything, so I didn't try to talk either or ask what we were doing. I was just hanging with them tor a while- it was strange to he with kids instead oi an old man like Samim foi a ( h u I remember I was liking the cold air. I kept taking it down A^cp in mv lungs and living off the tl.it hard taste ot it. If was clearing me up like no drink ever did—plus I wasn't thinking about Carlos or Samim 01 anything, which was the tirst rime in a long time.

In front ^\ us on the sidewalk was this old man lying up against .1

building with his face to the wall—asleep, I L'uess. auC] he had this old ' with newspapers stuck to it. You know how leaves and dirt'll stick

piece ^\ candy you drop on the ground? Thai was the wa\ this old man looked, like somebody'd rolled him m a bunch of old 1M

papers and they'd stuck to him. The two 1 fl theit hikes and

leaned them against the wall. Then, like it was something hilarii

they snuck up on that old guy—he was either tnplefeU

it. you couldn't tell which. The older kid mouthed three, and suddenlv they were both kicking the shit out ot him. I m<

□ PAUL RUSSELL

kicking so hard you heard the sound of their shoes hitting him in the ribs, these thumps that were incredibly loud and made you sick to hear.

He yelled and swatted at them, but not much, because mostly he just lay still like he'd passed out again. They kept kicking at him; then they rolled him a few feet to sort of unwind him out of those newspapers he was wrapped up in. Their hands were all over him—in his pockets and feeling up his coat—and I could tell the little kid had found a couple of dollar bills and some change in one of the pockets.

I stood there next to where their bikes were leaned up against the wall. I never saw anything like it, and it took me a minute or two to figure it out—and by then they were already through doing what they were going to do. I think when they saw I wasn't going to help but just stand there like an idiot they didn't pay any more attention—thev just dropped me like that. When they were through, the older one sort ot slapped the top of my head with his hand.

"Faggot!" he said, and they both laughed and jumped on their bikes and rode off. Which left me standing there with this old man on the pavement—I didn't know if he was alive or what, because he wasn't moving even though there wasn't any blood I could see. Like 1 said, I couldn't do a thing—I just stood there like he was an old bag of trash somebody'd dumped. I probably should've seen it he was okay, but everything was feeling more and more like some kind ot bad dream. 1 remember thinking, if I just turned and walked away it WOuldn't've happened—it just wouldn't be there anymore.

1 couldn't Ad it. I went over to where he was lying Otl the ground, face down, and 1 turned hun over to see it he was still breathing. 1 didn't know what I was going tO ^^ next, but that seemed the p\.\^

When I rolled hun onto his back, his face wai Itaiing right up .it

ind it wai then I recognized he was the old man with the goli club, who Carle* had laid I'd ice again.

I left him right there. 1 wasn't going to touch hun it ipoolced me much. I turned around and walked ofl quick as I could, and 1 was i whistling while I wai walking just so 1 wouldn't com

I h' me to tio between

■ like 1 wai actually laying It out loud It wai io cleat

se queers in the patk ate nist like ( .ul.-s I he OTthj

thin tin 1 me In i laundromat and not In ■■ park h m

me ' md l ran ill the way I

BOYS OP LIFE D

to the apartment. Carlos was still asleep, and 1 went tight tO him and shook him really hard.

"You're wearing your clothes," he said. He was really groggy.

"You're Cold." He was like SOmetxxtj swimming upstream to try to

break out of his sleep.

"Look." I was shaking him pretty hard. "Are you just rucking with

me or what.'"

"I don't know what you're talking about." He was sort oi giggling, like he thought this was some kmd oi joke. 1 could tell he was pretty

contused. I think he liked me shaking him awake like that in the middle of the night; he thought it was different and tun.

But I was really upset, so I asked him again, "Are you just tucking with me?"

It must've gotten to him finally that something was re.illy wrong, because he sat up in bed and grabbed both my arms.

"You find this kid," I told him, "and you start fucking with him and you tell him anything so he won't know what's what and it's .ill so sou can have everything right where you want it, right?"

I was yelling at him with the words coming out .\n<\ me not i thinking about them. "Who said you could act like that.'" I remember s.iwng it over and over, and I didn't care it Sammy or Netta heard. 0( course they must've heard, but from the hrst I'd always sort of pretended they didn't, even though they must've heard us rucking around every night oi the week. I guess I just didn't care, like when I was a kid and had to piss m a restroom. It somebody was standing next

me, I'd net nervous and couldn't—but it it was some black gu\ IU •' me I'd say to myself, He's nist a nigger, And then I could piss tine because it didn't matter. "You're just a tucking New York queer out hitting on any kid you can get your pervert hands on," I yelled, and I

think I was punching at him, because he grabbed m\ wrists and before

I knew it he was holding me in a power lock.

"Listen to me, Tony," he said. "Listen to what I'm saving." Because he'd been talking and I wasn't even listening, I was just yelling

at him these words I wasn't even paying attention to.

"Are you going to listen.'" He was squeezing my wri-r^ together

really tight and it hurt, SO I nodded.

I could barely see him with the orange streetlight glou coming in

through the heavy plastic over the windows. If was like a hre bun somewhere that was lighting up the room.

"I could tell you I love you," Carlos laid. It was i terrible thing

D PAULRUSSELL

tor him to saw I remember I started shaking my head and trying to break away from him but he held me and I couldn't get away. "Does that make it any better," he said, "it I tell you that? Is that what you need.'"

"That's bullshit," I said, "that's what it is. It's got nothing to do with anything." Which at the moment I really did believe, and the last thing I wanted Carlos to do was start telling me he loved me.

"Then what're you doing here?" Carlos asked me straight out, and when I didn't say anything—which I couldn't, I was just too surprised— he said, "There's got to be an answer to that question, Tony. What is

i want.' Somewhere there's got to be an answer to that."

He knew I didn't have an answer, which was why he asked. He knew I didn't know what I wanted, even though I was walking around thinking I did, and it you'd asked me before that instant, Did I know what I wanted, I'd have said, Of course. But now when he said it, it

like everything I ever wanted fell into some hole, and all that was left was the hole and nothing to till it up with. Suddenly th.it part oi me that'd always been jabbering away about everything suddenly forgot uh.it it was talking about and didn't have anything more to say And I was speechless.

I started crying like a lunatic—the first time in about five years I'd

: like that. I mean howling, JUS1 completely Letting go and not

eard me. And Carlos did the one perfect thing he could

I in sure he knew it was the one perfect thing, even though I'd : have thought oi It. He put his arms around me and hugged me

wouldn't let me go which is a ven simple thing and maybe ob

is but it was the perfect thing to do anyway, and what counts is

that he did it He eased me down into bed with him, not saying any

thing, and just held me. I le didn't kiss me oi ru< k w ith me 01 anything,

ist held me there like I'd die it he ever stopped holding me, and

m\ In-.m out about everything 1 hadn't cried about: red,

•Ins fucked-up kid who was taking it up the

aLkIi was bad enough, but wai ike it up the

ass, which m< foi the first nine. I was i queei

be anybody else than 11 ton terrible thing to suddenly

re.tli

B O Y S O F L I F E □

about Carlos's movies ever had much to do with normal movies. He didn't care it his movies didn't look like the >tutl that came out of Hollywood— In tact he wanted them to look completely different. What his movies always looked like was, somebody went and invented movies from scratch without ever seeing a Hollywood movie.

Like sync sound. He could do sync sound if he wanted but he never wanted to. We'd do a scene or takes for a scene and usually we'd he just saying anything. Sometimes it was good and we could use it and sometimes it was bad, but it didn't really matter, because Carlos went hack and wrote the dialogue after he'd filmed everything and then dubbed the voices in. Sometimes he'd have the person do their own voice, but sometimes not; sometimes he'd get somebody else to do the voice—strange, because here was this one person and then this other person's voice. But it grew on me, and after a while I sort of started to see how Carlos was looking at things when he made his movies.