Authors: Tomas Mournian
“It’s true? About you living in the closet?”
“Uh-huh.” She lights a second cigarette off the first one’s embers. “Three years. And you know what I figured out?”
“What?”
“Me being sent away didn’t have jack shit to do with me being a dyke. It was more
all
about my mom, Samantha, leaving my dad, Barry, for Arnold, a lawyer she met one night at a bar. Arnold helped whip Barry’s ass in divorce court. She got everything and married Arnold. Good for her.”
“Barry’s a clueless pinhead pig.”
“
Word.
I mean, he’s basically a fucking clown who’s never gonna figure out why his life is such a big piece of shit. Is your dad like that?”
“He goes
looking
for shit. Hunter type.”
“Ex-paramilitary, right? Anyway, I remember, after Saman-tha left, Barry started dating. Women—any woman so long as she had tits and a vayjay. We’d go out and he’d get drunk at dinner. One time, when we were in the parking lot waiting for the valet, he grabbed his latest cocktail waitress mistress by the arm and start yelling at me, ‘Get in the car, you infant!’”
“Lemme guess. You look exactly like Samantha.”
“Smart boy. You look like your mom?”
“I guess. I mean, I don’t know. She left when I was two.” I don’t tell her about the picture I got in the mail. I
do
look like my mom—if that picture is hers.
“I bet you do. You were a daily reminder. He could take out his rage on you. Close his eyes and—”
“Pretend it was her.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s how it works. For
them.
”
“Your dad’s a cop?”
“Ex. But the psycho never goes away. Anyone who thinks they’re good enough to judge and punish people is crazy.”
“Uh-huh, the way they think, we’re collateral damage.” She’s making sense. I hope I’m not this wise in three years. “The money? Is that why Peanuts teased you?”
“Like I give a shit what that lil’ crackhead wannabe-gangsta ever says.” She grinds the ciggie into the black roof.
“What’s up with her? Or him? Is s / he schitzo or—”
“Klepto,” she says, pauses and lights ciggie numero three. “Who knows? Whatever Peanuts’s problems are, they’re real and not getting any better living here.”
“Everybody else?”
She looks me in the eye. I’m startled by her gaze. I can tell. She’s the girl who never looks at people head-on. A long time ago, she learned that looking invited male attention. I guess my look is low risk.
“Don’t do what I did. Don’t lock yourself in the closet.”
“Because?”
Her lips close around the cigarette. She takes a deep drag and looks up, at the sky. Pauses. Speaks. Smoke escapes her mouth, white blasts illustrate each word.
“I’m fine, don’t get me wrong. But there’re shadows in my life. I see them. And I know I’ll never be able to chase them away.”
“I don’t understand.”
She stands. I look up. Against the night sky, this is her face in the mirror. A ghost, a wraith, a shadow. Three years of living in a closet has leeched out more than pigment.
“Now? See?”
Yeah, I nod. I’m terrified. I see, I see my future in
her
face. Haunted. She’ll always have that look. An over-my-shoulder expression. There, but not there.
“I don’t give advice,” she says. Lights dance on her face, moving colors on a white movie screen. “And I don’t trust people who do. They’re just telling you what
they
would’a done. But I will say this: Don’t ever forget
who
you are. Or,
why
you’re doing this. Yes, you’ve escaped. But you’ve only escaped into your own poverty. Loneliness. And silence.”
Sugar kneels and places a hand over my hand. Her fingers are ice cold. I don’t feel a pulse. She looks me in the eye. Vision or a nightmare, I want to jump up and run away.
“Just remember one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“You can always leave.”
She takes my hands, helps me stand and guides me toward the sparkly city lights.
“I hope so,” I say, even though I don’t believe a word. In my head, I hear that old song, “
You can check in but you can never leave
…”
All I know is, I’ve got to get out and escape before I turn into her.
“C
ome no.”
Going downstairs is ten times more difficult than getting upstairs. Sugar steps off the roof. I don’t move. She looks back. I don’t move. There’s no way.
“It might be kind of hard.”
“We’ll just take it”—she says, and returns to my side—“one step at a time.”
“I don’t think I can do it. Is there another way?”
“Other than living up here for three years? No.”
Her answer sounds so final.
“Forget it. I’ll sleep under the solar panels.”
“Hey, before you get into that, would you be open to trying something I did with Kevin?”
“Depends, no, I don’t know …”
“Here—” she says, and takes my hand. “
Upsadaisy!
Step up, like that. Good.”
I stand behind her. My body trembles. If I were an earthquake, I’d be a 10.0. She reaches back, takes my hands and plants them on her waist. “Lace them together.”
My grip is weak. I can barely hold on. My body’s turned into Jell-O. She looks back.
“You shadow me on this part.”
“Then what?”
“‘Then what?’” She mimics me. Irritating but it makes me forget long enough—we’re moving forward. Or, down. The moment I realize this, I seize up.
“I don’t wanna,” I whine.
“Stop,” she orders. I do. “Turn around.”
“The last time I heard that was in the RTC. The cavity search,” I say. She ignores me. I turn around, old man slow.
“Back up. Uh-huh. Good. Step down, right there. Good. I’m right behind you.”
I feel her body’s warmth and breasts press against my back. I grip the rusty rails. My eyes open. My heart races. Gonna die, gonna die. Bricks. One. Down. Two. Down.
“This is going to take all night.”
“Then it takes all night. You’re doing great. Close your eyes.”
“It’s not like Vegas.”
“How so.”
“I ran up this mountain. I ran through this dude’s backyard and he tried shooting me.”
I wonder if it’s okay to tell her how I escaped. I don’t care. Two sentences equal five steps. We’re almost there. I look down, just to check and—
The ground looms—
UP!
“Oh! Oh!” I hyperventilate.
One false move and—
Oh, shit! I’ll fall to the street, head banging metal and hitting the pavement, my brains exploding like a pumpkin. I feel lightheaded—
I’m passing out.
As in.
Fainting.
And I’m holding on to a ladder that’s stuck to the side of a building.
My hands let go.
She must feel it, seeing as how my back’s pressed against her heart.
“Babe! Hey! Can you hang on just one sec?”
Hang on? Bitch, I’m so scared, I can’t even speak.
“Whoa! Dude! Stop that!”
Dizzy, I’m about to pass out. My body presses against hers. She’s strong but not that strong. IDK. Maybe she’s been doing push-ups in the closet. Otherwise, I’m taking us both down.
Destination, Death. Her knuckles turn white. Nausea washes over me.
We’re going to fall. We’re not going to make it.
“Is that really true?”
“What?”
“About him shooting you?”
“Uh, yeah. Why—” I forget my question. We inch down the ladder. This is never going to end. I’m going to die. Truly. It’s not a death wish. More, a death forecast. Unlike Kidd, I just know. I’ll die without ever having fallen in love. That should make my father happy.
“Fuck him.”
“Who?”
I flush. She caught me, talking out loud. To myself.
“My mom,” I joke. “If I die right now, I’ll never get to meet her.”
“Uh-huh. So, after that guy shot you, then what?”
“I ran down the other side of the mountain.”
“This is way shorter. Couple more steps and …” She eases me off the ladder. “Yeah, good boy, just like that. Press yourself against my back.”
I’ve turned into a monkey, or a barnacle. Except, instead of a whale’s back, I cling to White Goddess Girl.
“Hold on to my shoulders. That’s good. You all right?”
“I guess,” I stammer. My eyes are shut tight.
“Good, coz we’re there. Open your eyes. I do. As promised, there’s the kitchen window.”
“It’s a collective, bitch!” someone shouts.
A fight.
“A
nd it’s your turn to collect the dishes and wash them!” Sugar slips through the window and disappears into the safe house. The curtains part and she reaches out for my hand. I can’t move. I’m frozen. Even I wanted to, I couldn’t move.
“Yous nuttin’ but a fuckin’ coconut!” Far away, on another shore, Peanuts sticks out s / his tongue.
“Coconut?” Another boy raises his fist. I don’t understand why he’s a coconut, except maybe because his neck’s a light brown. I hang back, stay on the fire escape, out of harm’s way. “And
how
the
fuck
did you come up wit P-E-A-N-U-T-S? That like nuts on the wall? Or nuts on the chest? Creamy, smooth, I’ll
suck ya
in a Jiffy? Or, oh! Oh! I know! It’s your craigslist ad.
Pee
in my face while the cheap trick sucks ya
nuts?
”
“Least my beat ain’t
mopped,
” Peanuts says. “Dre said it, said it, true that,
way
better, way back, than y’fuckin’ Rumpled-up raisin-stilt-skin. Sheiitt. Southern rap rolls over your disko-ko any day.”
“Dolly, all that crack you smoked bore some Swiss cheese–sized holes in your lil’ nappy-covered head. But Subject A. Have you ever even
had
any nuts? Or, maybe it’s like I heard, they cut ’em off. Hah, hah! Whaddaya do when they reach down there? Real fast, you grab their hand? ‘No, sir! Not
that!
’”
“Say it, just
fucking say it
, fucking muthafucka!” Peanuts yells. Fury knots up Peanuts’ tidy face. The fight shrinks the kitchen. I might as well be looking at it through a spyglass. Or, a keyhole.
“What could I ‘fucking’ say about you that hasn’t already been said? Ten million times before by the hundred million trolls you’ve sucked off? Or, rolled. The straight dudes who freak out when they figure out what you are and beat you up? Or, that ‘sugar daddy’ you’re always talking about but who nobody’s ever met? Yo momma said it best. You ain’t nothing but a fucking
wannabe.
”
He turns and walks away.
Peanuts launches s / his small body. Hurls s / hiself toward Coconut’s back. Quick as a cobra, he whips around and grabs Peanuts’s wrists. Twist-turny, Peanuts struggles to escape.
“Hey!” Marci plays referee and separates Godzilla and She-Ra. “Break it up!”
Coconut lets go of Peanuts’s wrists and they slither away.
“Fool,” Kidd says, looking at me. “Get yourself inside.”
I don’t move. I can’t. Nothing’s changed. It’s worse.
“I’m fine,” I say. I can’t believe that being “seen” is really such a big deal since being
heard
isn’t.
“No worries, it’s ladies boxing,” Marci says, motioning me in and off the fire escape. “It’s cold.”
I can’t. My hands and feet have taken root on the rust. She looks over my shoulder at the apartments. There’s a worried look on her face.
“
Please.
”
In the window’s reflection, I see an apartment light blink on. It casts a dim glow on the brick.
“C’mon,” she says, speaking the way one would to a stubborn cat. “I need to close the window. It’s cold.”
“It’s warm,” I say, buying time.
“Someone might see—” She sounds tense. In the background, a door slams, the elevator groans. “You.”
I don’t budge. Even if my life depends on it, I can’t move.
Sugar leans out the window and offers her hand. I step back. With fights, somehow, I always end up getting caught in the middle. Not this one.
“Come on.”
“Thank you, I’m fine out here.”
Frustration flickers across her face. I know, I’m being difficult. They’ll probably throw me out for this. Just as well. I don’t trust them. Hands reach out. They try to pull me inside.
“
Craaazy!
” Kidd says, leaning over Sugar’s shoulder.
Sugar slips out the window and onto the fire escape. One more step, I flip over the bar. I don’t care. I’ll fall before I let them catch me.
“He’s scared. Remember Kevin? He—”
“Vertigo?” Kidd says. He smiles, pleased by my STD. “He can’t stay.”
“Kidd, there’s nowhere else for him to go,” Sugar says. “Basement,” Kidd says. Fuckhead’s got an answer for everything. He looks at me. Basement. Huh.
That’s
an idea!
“Try it,” Sugar warns, “and I’ll lock
you
up down there.”
“We’ll figure this out later,” Marci says. “You need to go to bed. Sugar, come back. Close the window.”
Reluctant, she turns and walks away.
“You sure?” she asks.
I nod. Yes. I’m going to stay out here. She slips inside. For some reason, my heart breaks.
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!” a neighbor yells.
Startled, I dart, and duck under the window right before it closes.
“Hah!” Kidd cackles. “Can you make it up to bed? Or do you need help?”
I look down. I peed my pants. I’m ashamed. Not for that or anything I’ve done. More just for being alive. Kidd’s words make me feel like I don’t have the right.
I scramble up the ladder. His eyes burn my back. I hide, safe in my penthouse. Close to the wall, I close my eyes, asleep.
N
ot.
I lie there wide awake. I’m terrified I’m about to get kicked out. Yeah, I know the safe house and kids are both crazy. But it’s the only place I feel even a little bit safe. Worse, I’m so tired I can’t sleep. I linger in a sleepy netherworld, aware, exhausted yet still awake. I wish I could ask Sugar if this is how it happens: She lay down brown, and woke up white.
I wait for sleep to knock me off the cliff, send my body crashing down, splintering on the rocks. I wait for sleep to come and sweep me away from this anxious and uncertain reality. Sleep might even take pity and ease me off the bed, returning me to raft and river.