Life Is Funny (12 page)

“I be coming,” I tell her. She smile at me. Not nobody but Mickey smile at me for the longest. She got a little place middle her two front teeths. Damn.

*  *  *

Mickey come with me to the Super Mart so I can lift me shit for after school. Shorty there, lifting gum. He like Big Red. He chew it after he get high. He swallow that shit. He must got it all filling up his insides now. He ever get his stomach cut, they gonna find a big wad Big Red.

“Where you been?” he asking me. I ain't lifted nothing yet. I got to wait till he gone. Don't want him telling nobody I'm no Herb, taking notebooks and shit.

“Around,” I be saying.

“Saw your mama this morning,” Shorty say to Mickey.

“Suck on your sister's tampon,” Mickey say. Mickey so bad.

“Where you been?” Shorty say again.

You shrug, you don't got to answer.

“Take little Mick with us,” Shorty say. “We fix him up with some good weed. We let him do all the heavy lifting. Y'all oughta come around more.”

“Yup,” I lie.

“Why you lie?” Mickey ask me when Shorty gone.

*  *  *

We sit in front the room, Mickey and me, in Ms. Hudson's class. We go three times each weeks after school. Four other kids sit in there, too. They not Herbs. They like me. First, I think they dumb, but they not. We do English and maths. Ms. Hudson help us. She still throw us out, somebody starts messing, she still be mad we use bad words. But she help us. Mickey help us, too, 'cause he read better than us. First, I tell him, don't be showing off none, or they gonna kick your butt. But Mickey, he ain't no showoff. He help us little ways. He act like he don't know he know more than us.

Everybody like Mickey. Everybody like his stories. Everybody like Jordman. Mickey tell me we gonna switch it. He tell the story, then I draw the pictures. This Mickey's first story we dos like that.

*  *  *

Once there was a pretty lady who went with men and had nightmares all the time. The pretty lady had a boy. The pretty lady loved her boy a whole lot, but her nightmares made her in a different place so she wasn't ever with him. Jordman was a man with wings on his feet that made him fly and be a hero. Jordman was real nice and strong and his hands always smelled good, like weed. Jordman took the lady's boy with him everywhere. One day the pretty lady was sick in the street and she was at the nightmare place and she didn't know how to get home. Jordman used his wings to fly around the streets to find her. He found her and flew her to a spaceship. The spaceship was real high. It had a McDonald's in it, and the pretty lady ate french fries. Then she had a bath. Then she ate more french fries and she stopped being skinny. Jordman told her the boy missed her. Jordman flew the pretty lady back down to 301 Third Street. She brought the boy a toy from the spaceship McDonald's. They lived happily ever after.

*  *  *

I drawed mad good pictures for that one, and Ms. Hudson put plastic shit around it so it stay nice. Ms. Hudson say to me, “I wish you wouldn't smoke marijuana, Eric. It's bad for you.”

“How you know I smoke?” I say.

“How
do
you know I smoke?” she say. Then she go, “I'm not dumb, Eric.” Damn.

She ask me do I want my drawings in her newspaper. She say they good enough, and everybody like 'em. She say they go good in the art section. I tell her I'm no Herb. She say she rather me use my names, but she not make me. I think 'bout it. I lets her put my shit in the paper. I don't lets her use my names.

*  *  *

They takes Mickey and me. We home, sleeping, they comes in the door. They say Mickey's teacher made a call. They say we going to different places. Mickey to a family. Me a group home. I bug. I be screaming all kind of motherfucker, faggot, pieces of shit. They call my moms a ho. I jumps one of them 'cause they making Mickey cry. I tells Mickey I'm gonna come get him. I say to Mickey, don't you worry 'bout nothing 'cause I'm gonna get you. They almost be arresting me, but I tells them call Ms. Hudson. I tells them, she gonna tell you. I sees Mickey take his notebook with him out the place under the bathroom sink.

First night at the group home they be leaving me alone. Second night some brother try to fuck my ass. I tears his nose off. Knock out three teeths. Third night some kids be talking to me. They all right. Fourth day they makes me go to school. Ms. Hudson give me all kind of phone numbers, say she been calling. Say she dos anything to help. Say she make sure I gets to see Mickey. She ask me I all right. She close the door and let me sit.

I calls the numbers Ms. Hudson give me. Those people say they gonna help me get back with Mickey. All of a sudden I real busy. I got to go meets these people. They nice. They don't be thinking I stupid. They say yeah, I got to be with Mickey. Welfare not telling me where he at. Ms. Hudson's crew say I got a right to know. They say all kind of laws being broken.

I say to Ms. Hudson, “Why can't Mickey and me lives where you at?” She don't answer nothing. I guess she got her own kids. I guess she don't need no more. Also, she white. I can't live with no white bitch.

*  *  *

I eats, I sleeps, I shits. I goes to school. I watch TV. I draws. I practice my English and maths. I waits for finding Mickey. I not talking to Ms. Hudson. I goes after school, but I not talking to her. She don't seem like she notice. She still talking to me.

They say my moms in a program. They tells me she not allowed talk to nobody for a while. I hear Shorty got slammed. I smokes my weed. I waits for finding Mickey. I try to see if I can get with him in my dreams. It worked one time. He say,
How you get here?

I say,
Fix me up a blunt.

*  *  *

When they find him, Ms. Hudson go with me to Queens or some shit. I knowed it. Ms. Hudson make me bring new pictures for Mickey to write stories. Her people say one more week they gonna put me and Mickey together somewheres. But then we got to change schools.

Ms. Hudson say, “Why don't you come every day this week? It's our last week.” We in the train when she say this. I be trying to act like I not with her 'cause I ain't no Herb.

“Who gonna teach me so nobody think I'm dumb?” I say real quiet.

“You'll have to watch every teacher very carefully,” she say. She look right in front her face and don't move her mouth much, like she know I don't want nobody seeing us down. “You'll have to choose someone. You'll have to make the first move.”

“Bunch of motherfuckers,” I say.

“Watch your mouth,” she say. She not so bad.

*  *  *

Mickey live in a real house. First thing I see a pretty lady holding a baby. Don't see no cat nowhere. Lady say hi real nice. Point to some room behind that room. Everything clean. Next thing I see Mickey. He be jumping on a bed with some other bug. He jumping hard, but he ain't got no smile. He jumping like he fix up a blunt for me. Trying real bad, taking it real serious. My chest be mad bugging, my eyes funny. I guess I be kind of crying. Mickey see me. He stop jumping, and he go real still. He be looking at me, and I be looking at him. He get off that bed like he got wings on his feets. He fly straight on my chest. I hug him up tight, like I his mama, or some shit.

He smell so good.

“I CAN'T DO the assignment,” I tell my American Culture and Society professor after class. She's in a rush, scraping papers and books from the desk into her black bag.

“Uh huh,” she says.

“I don't have the money.”

“It's seven dollars,” she informs me, as though that ought to clear things up.

“I don't have seven dollars,” I say. It doesn't embarrass me anymore, the way it did when I was younger.

“Why don't you speak with Financial Aid?” she suggests, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder. “Maybe they'll cover the cost.”

“Do you think they'd cover my day's pay I'll lose if I go?” I ask politely. “It's about sixty dollars.” I'm not trying to be difficult.

She sighs and then actually looks at me for the first time. It's a good thing I decided not to wear my cashmere sweater or leather pants this morning. They don't exactly look like hand-me-downs. She glances at her watch. The next period's students are seating themselves behind me, and their professor stands quietly, but close, waiting for us to get out of his way. Mine starts walking again.

“We'll figure something out,” she says, over her shoulder. “I'll let you know what next week.”

*  *  *

She forgets, but it's moot because Monique points out the obvious while we're eating Chinese in my dorm room.

“What's the big deal?” she says. “Caitlin's mother would love it if you took her to the Statue of Liberty.” She's right. I don't know why I didn't think of that. Usually I think of everything. Lately, though, I've been scatterbrained. Misplacing keys. Putting my lipstick in the refrigerator.

Monique is chewing with her mouth open, probably trying to provoke an insult. It doesn't work. Partly because Hector told me a few weeks ago that the more I keep up our “little patterns,” the worse it is for her. Sort of like unintended brainwashing. I don't know how my self-destructive little sister found a guy like Hector, but he is a genius when it comes to her. I think he ought to be a psychiatrist instead of a nurse, but he says he doesn't want to hear about everybody's tragic lives. Just those of the ones he loves.

He is truly a phenomenon. Even without his eyes, he would remind me of Tiresias. The blind wise man. But with his eyes, there's no question. They're so light they're almost transparent. At times they're a milky white. Next to his dark skin and hair, those eyes seem impossible, freakish even. Or saintly, if like me, you tend to lean that way.

“Do you want to come?” I ask Monique.

“With what seven dollars?”

“Caitlin's,” I tell her. “Mrs. Anderson always gives me more than I need for trips like this.”

“Can Hector come, too?”

“Of course,” I say.

She smiles. I'm still not used to seeing her smile. She was just starting to, right after she met Hector, but she stopped again for a long time, after she lost the baby.

“Okay,” she says. “We'll come.” And then she closes her mouth, for a change.

*  *  *

There are pros and cons to being a part-time nanny. On the pro side, I spend most of my time in luxury. The Andersons have two refrigerators—one for soda and juice only—a bathroom larger than my entire dorm room, a TV my height, and an amazingly comfortable L-shaped leather couch. Also, I have first pick from Mrs. Anderson's discarded clothes, usually worn about twice and only slightly big. I'm allowed to do my laundry at the Andersons' for free and to use the phone as often as I want, as long as I don't call long distance. Which is fine, because there's nobody long distance for me to call.

On the con side, there's a huge amount of cleaning, on top of the baby-sitting responsibilities, and I'm generally expected to put aside my own life at a moment's notice to accommodate the Andersons' emergencies. That's difficult a lot of the time since the Andersons don't seem to understand that I'm trying to put myself through college and can only stay at NYU if I keep up a certain average, which is drastically affected by whether or not I miss an exam or have to forgo studying for one in order to baby-sit so that the Andersons can go to the opera.

I was almost fired last year over not being able to stay an extra two hours.

Normally I would,
I'd told Mrs. Anderson.
You know I would.

I was frantically pulling on my coat and boots. Hector had called me not five minutes earlier.

It's going to be a real problem,
Mrs. Anderson had said as I was opening the door to leave,
if you can't be flexible once in a blue moon when we need you.

My sister is having a miscarriage right now,
I'd told her. I was calm. I didn't scream. That's Monique's department. Mrs. Anderson looked as though I'd hit her, though.

What's a miscarriage?
Caitlin had asked.

I never heard how Mrs. Anderson explained that one because I left.

Later I got a message from Mrs. Anderson saying that she hoped Monique was recovered and that she was looking forward to my return to work.

I thought your sister was younger than you,
she said a few weeks later.

She is,
I'd said.
She's sixteen.

Mrs. Anderson was a little more polite with me after that. I didn't mind, though, because I don't have all that much to do with the parents anyway. It would be bad if I had a kid who was a brat. Caitlin's not. She's too smart for her own good, and she's pretty spoiled, but basically she's a nice little person. Once, before Monique was pregnant and before she met Hector, she found Caitlin and me in Caitlin's favorite playground on the Upper East Side. Even though she claimed to hate kids, Monique would do that every now and then, find some excuse to dig in the sandbox or to push Caitlin in the swing.

This time Caitlin spotted Monique before my sister was even inside the gate. Caitlin started shrieking for Monique to go doubles down the slide.

Please, please, please?
Caitlin had begged. I vetoed it because I could smell my sister from about a mile away, and I don't think you should be drunk on slides around little children. So I'd sent Monique back to Brooklyn, and Caitlin had cried.

If I could be small again,
Monique told me at the playground's fence, slurring her words and watching Caitlin sob,
I'd want to have a friend like her.

*  *  *

My professor reads essays out loud in class as examples of what we should be considering when we make our Statue of Liberty visit.