boys. None of us here have ever been to the class, observed the content of the class or it’s modality of instruction to see basically if it’s even suitable for young boys.”
“So what are you trying to say?”
“J.J., I am saying no.”
“No don’t mean nothin’ to me.”
“Well, it had better start, young fella.”
“‘Young fella’! Who are you talking to!” I’m screaming at him I’m so mad.
“J.J., I’m talking to you!”
I turn and walk out the door. I’m going to African dance class on Saturday same as if this bear-ass motherfucker had said yes. That’s that. Fuck that old bastard. Try to do the right thing and they disrespect you, treat you like a child. Fuck him Fuck him Fuck him Fuck him. I’m gonna do what the fuck I want to do. Saturday I’ll be in that class, fuck him.
WHAT THE FUCK I want! What the fuck do I want? The clock over the door glows 3:25. I want to go back to sleep. I close my eyes see red. I’m still crazy mad. I can’t sleep. I feel like my own shadow. That’s stupid, “my own shadow,” where that come from? Too much Shakespeare. These covers feel like fire on me. I don’t know whether I was dreaming or what, but Brother Samuel was on fire, standing at the altar like he was giving Mass, the chasuble, then the robe underneath it, going up in flames, burning off him, but his body isn’t burning, it’s pink and naked, his dick rising up like a short pink Hitler salute. I never done this before. What? What am I talking about? I ain’ did nothin’. I never done this before Ineverdonethisbefore. What! I do what the fuck I want. Hear that, Faggot Samuel! The light from the parking lot coming in my window has always disturbed me. If I complain, maybe they would fix the curtain so no light comes in I could sleep better. I peel the burning sheets off me. You never done this before. Shut up! Shut the fuck up! Does the floor feel cold because I’m so hot? I’m sweating. Am I pretty, beautiful, handsome? Whatever boys are? No, I’m ugly. I hate it when I can’t get Brother Samuel’s face out of my head, when he is just dangling in there, his pink face like clak-clak balls kids bang together driving you crazy unless you’re clak-claking too. But this is the loudest noise maybe because I can’t hear it no place but in my head. It just bangs in my head CLAK CLAK CLAK CLAK fucking with me and fucking with me CLAK CLAK . Big bear-ass motherfucker pressing down, balls in my face, hair red wires in my mouth, the quiet loud like in science-class flicks where time-lapse photography amplifies sounds you don’t usually hear like silk being ejected from the spinnerets in the spider’s belly. The floor is sticky, I pad past Malik, Omar, Angel, Richard, Bobby, Amir, Jaime. Behind me the aisle is burning. I’m moving like in a dream now.
Maybe I am in my dreams. Maybe this is not real. It is a dream. I dream I’m walking toward the exit sign, I push the door open and walk out into the hall. The lights are very bright. To the right are the stairs and the little office where Mr Lee the night attendant sits sleeping in a chair, Always there if you boys need me. I don’t need the motherfucker. I turn left.
In the dream I’m naked at the end of the hall in Dorm One, the little kids’ dorm. There are things here I like; some kids have teddy bears, dolls, or stuffed monkeys. There are no windows here. In the dream I sit on Richie Jackson’s bed, quietly. You would think I’m a king the way I sit so nice and quiet. I sit here like the world is mine and I do what the fuck I want. Richie is Bobby Jackson’s little brother. Why don’t I have a little brother? When you’re king, you rule the world. I slide off the foot of the bed down to my knees. I pull the covers over my head. I’m playing a game, it’s fun. I sniff his little toes. My blood is electricity surging through me. Hey, I’m all lit up! He is sleeping on his side, his breath is going in-out, in-out. I pull
“So what are you trying to say?”
“J.J., I am saying no.”
“No don’t mean nothin’ to me.”
“Well, it had better start, young fella.”
“‘Young fella’! Who are you talking to!” I’m screaming at him I’m so mad.
“J.J., I’m talking to you!”
I turn and walk out the door. I’m going to African dance class on Saturday same as if this bear-ass motherfucker had said yes. That’s that. Fuck that old bastard. Try to do the right thing and they disrespect you, treat you like a child. Fuck him Fuck him Fuck him Fuck him. I’m gonna do what the fuck I want to do. Saturday I’ll be in that class, fuck him.
WHAT THE FUCK I want! What the fuck do I want? The clock over the door glows 3:25. I want to go back to sleep. I close my eyes see red. I’m still crazy mad. I can’t sleep. I feel like my own shadow. That’s stupid, “my own shadow,” where that come from? Too much Shakespeare. These covers feel like fire on me. I don’t know whether I was dreaming or what, but Brother Samuel was on fire, standing at the altar like he was giving Mass, the chasuble, then the robe underneath it, going up in flames, burning off him, but his body isn’t burning, it’s pink and naked, his dick rising up like a short pink Hitler salute. I never done this before. What? What am I talking about? I ain’ did nothin’. I never done this before Ineverdonethisbefore. What! I do what the fuck I want. Hear that, Faggot Samuel! The light from the parking lot coming in my window has always disturbed me. If I complain, maybe they would fix the curtain so no light comes in I could sleep better. I peel the burning sheets off me. You never done this before. Shut up! Shut the fuck up! Does the floor feel cold because I’m so hot? I’m sweating. Am I pretty, beautiful, handsome? Whatever boys are? No, I’m ugly. I hate it when I can’t get Brother Samuel’s face out of my head, when he is just dangling in there, his pink face like clak-clak balls kids bang together driving you crazy unless you’re clak-claking too. But this is the loudest noise maybe because I can’t hear it no place but in my head. It just bangs in my head CLAK CLAK CLAK CLAK fucking with me and fucking with me CLAK CLAK . Big bear-ass motherfucker pressing down, balls in my face, hair red wires in my mouth, the quiet loud like in science-class flicks where time-lapse photography amplifies sounds you don’t usually hear like silk being ejected from the spinnerets in the spider’s belly. The floor is sticky, I pad past Malik, Omar, Angel, Richard, Bobby, Amir, Jaime. Behind me the aisle is burning. I’m moving like in a dream now.
Maybe I am in my dreams. Maybe this is not real. It is a dream. I dream I’m walking toward the exit sign, I push the door open and walk out into the hall. The lights are very bright. To the right are the stairs and the little office where Mr Lee the night attendant sits sleeping in a chair, Always there if you boys need me. I don’t need the motherfucker. I turn left.
In the dream I’m naked at the end of the hall in Dorm One, the little kids’ dorm. There are things here I like; some kids have teddy bears, dolls, or stuffed monkeys. There are no windows here. In the dream I sit on Richie Jackson’s bed, quietly. You would think I’m a king the way I sit so nice and quiet. I sit here like the world is mine and I do what the fuck I want. Richie is Bobby Jackson’s little brother. Why don’t I have a little brother? When you’re king, you rule the world. I slide off the foot of the bed down to my knees. I pull the covers over my head. I’m playing a game, it’s fun. I sniff his little toes. My blood is electricity surging through me. Hey, I’m all lit up! He is sleeping on his side, his breath is going in-out, in-out. I pull
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