Moonwalking, page 10
Friday
when the end of school bell rings
I tell Pie,
“I wrote a song for you.”
Hand trembling
I give him
the paper.
“That ‘leaders of the past’ part
I was thinking of
Patrice Lumumba
because he’s not alive anymore.
You can shout out his name
when we sing that line.”
“What are you talking about, JJ?”
I needed to start
at the beginning.
“I want to start a punk band
and you be in it
and if you know anyone else
they can be in it too.”
Pie shakes his head.
“I don’t own any instruments.”
“I have a keyboard you
can borrow. My dad
doesn’t care about it.”
My face turns hot
because my dad did care.
I shouldn’t have brought
Pie home. We should
have met in his neighborhood
or someplace in between
like Alina and I
still do.
Pie shakes his head even harder.
His chair screeches backward
and he joins the stampede
out the room
until Mr. Zullo calls,
“Velez!”
Pie turns his head
while his feet keep moving.
“I need your leader worksheet.
Monday. On my desk
or I’m deducting points.”
I chase Pie through the hall
colors spinning around me
I know he finished his
worksheet. It’s better
than mine.
catch him in the lobby.
We already gave our report
anyway.
Over his shoulder, he shouts,
“I don’t have time
for a band,”
and I think I know why.
“Let me come with you
when you paint.
We can talk about it.”
“Shhhh!” Pie yanks me toward him.
I don’t flinch.
“And the word is BOMB,” he whispers.
He looks away, looks back.
“Meet me tonight at seven.
Lorimer Street double-L train.
Manhattan-bound side
in front of the token booth.”
I don’t walk home
but float
six inches above
the sidewalk.
I don’t know where Pie wants to take me
but I’m ready to go
anywhere.
PAINT REMAINS
I
Zigzag block after block
south and west
underneath the Williamsburg Bridge
look out onto the East River
twinkling lights of Manhattan
we’re in Pie’s neighborhood
what
he calls
Los Sures
Pie carries his bag with a lonely
paint can
to a wall
in an alley
moonlight shining
on broken sidewalk
cold tamping down
garbage smell.
He spray-paints the words
Somebody Got Murdered
from the Clash mixtape
I gave him
and below:
RIP Ricky
II
Paint remains
while music flies into the air
and disappears.
I pick up the can
pop red plastic cap
heart thumping steady drumbeat
I shake the cold metal
to 8/8 time
rattlerattlerattlerattle
squeeze the nozzle
pfft
Droplets the size of pinpricks
hurtle toward me.
I inhale
sticky oil
and cough.
“You’re not doing it right,” Pie says.
I know.
Because paint sticks to brick walls
blasts color into gray skies
broken sidewalks
dingy subways
shouts We are here
and you can’t shut us up!
TAG—I’M IT
maybe I was showing off or maybe I just missed
the way it feels to paint my name across a wall
to claim something somewhere as my own for a while
sometimes JJ looks at me like I’m different but in
a good way it might even be envy in his green eyes
and maybe that’s why I slipped into that alley
unzipped my bag shook the can and wet the wall
with layers of red mist made luscious loops in my
signature style maybe I was so caught up in creating and
craving respect that I let my guard down broke the rules
forgot the food chain let a predator catch me off guard
sharks never sleep
by the time I thought to run it was too late
we were trapped in the alley like rats I had tossed the can
but the white cop still slammed me up against the wall searched
my pockets my bag called me a piece of s***
said he was sick of animals like me defacing public property
like anybody cares what the walls of a stinking alley look like
I wanted to say ain’t it your job to protect & serve
where were you when my boy Ricky was shot down in the street
but I knew to keep my mouth shut when he found my ID
said Brooklyn Museum so you’re a smart n***** huh
I heard the jangle of metal handcuffs then the swirling lights
of a cop car filled the alley with blue red light
I never heard him call for backup but two more cops
got out and joined the party the pig was pressing my head into the wall
my cheek was red with wet paint and the fumes made my eyes water but
I could still see that one was white and when the other one
looked at me I could tell he was one of us though the blue of his shirt
and the light flashing off his badge told me he was one of them too
he picked my ID up off the ground read it silently then locked his eyes on mine
I got this one, Kelly leave him with me
I got one cuff clamped on my wrist already Kelly said what? like he was
ready to put his fist in that other cop’s mouth but he didn’t back down
take this one home leave the other with me
Kelly said naw I’m taking him in the other cop laughed
this runt ain’t been in trouble before and won’t be again right?
that was my cue no sir I coughed out
you’re gonna take this punk’s word for it? gimme a break, Esposito
trust me, Kelly I know the family he’s more afraid of what
his mother’s gonna do to him when I knock on the door
he’s pissing himself already let him go
the hand pressing my face into the brick wall gave one last shove before
letting go that’s your problem, Esposito you’re too damn soft we’ll never clean up these streets with your bleeding heart
not every thug deserves a get-out-of-jail-free card
this one does leave him with me your shift’s almost over
you really want to spend an hour filling out paperwork over this kid?
I guess not ’cause Kelly took the cuff off my wrist and sneered at me
before leading JJ over to the car uncuffed of course
c’mon, kid let’s get you back where you belong
Officer Esposito handed me back my ID asked where I live
and we began the long walk home I half listened to his long lecture
enough to add yes sir now and then at least
and I really was grateful that he showed up and helped me out
it could have ended differently with me hog-tied and in a coma at Bellevue
but all I could think about was how through it all JJ said nothing
did nothing just kept his head down to keep himself safe
Andres was right no mixtape’s gonna change the system
’cause when it comes to playing tag with cops
they only ever try to catch
someone like me
DIFFERENT JUSTICE
Flashing
red blue red blue
lights
spin color into night sky.
Woop!
One-bar siren …
Mouth dry
my stomach teeters
on the edge
of sick.
Words stick to the back
of my teeth as
a third cop gets out
of a car still idling
slaps his holster
on the way toward me.
“Why are you here? This is
no place for a kid
like
you.”
Think fast!
because they’re shoving Pie
against the wall
slam his head
into wet paint
and pain shoots
down my
neck
spine
legs.
“We’re friends from school, sir.
MS 126.”
He was showing me
the river
the lights of
the Empire State Building
’cause I asked him to.
“Get in the car.
I’m taking you home.”
“M-my friend—?”
“They’re taking him in.”
He didn’t do anything!
Pie with the cops Me with the cops
arrested. driven home.
Is this what Pie called
different justice?
MY OWN KIND
It’s a silent ride
to Greenpoint
except for the police radio
crackling
