THREE GUYS

        I had already decided I am going to see Esperanza today. No doubt. I’m going to bring my portrait of her, too, make a present for her. But maybe even equally as important, I am finally going to the mythical Three Guys clothing store in Elizabeth. The ultimate place for the baddest collection of ‘rags’ on the planet. At least according to what I can ascertain in snippets of the black kid’s conversations. I knew enough that if you don’t shop there for your clothes, you were ‘raggedy,’ man! You were corny. You gotta be ‘clean,’ or you would be severely snapped on. I knew this place was somewhere around Broad Street, probably not too far from the PAL and Esperanza’s beauty shop. So I’m ready for the g-h-e-t-t-o. In fact, I’m really starting to dig the buzz that I’m receiving from journeying to these exotic locales. I had just completed my first adventure-filled week of work as a dishwasher at The Fox Hole, and the resulting wad of cash that is my reward is bulging proudly in my pocket. It’s amazing how closely manhood and money are tied together, I muse. It inspires me to dreams of lofty possibilities.

I bop purposefully down Broad Street, moving in the direction of where I believe Three Guys to be, all the while, visions of SuperFly, and pink and purple suited pimps wearing large Fedoras with plumes, roaming through my mind. I wonder if I would have to dodge machine gun fire to get into the store.

When I eventually do arrive at my destination, my anticipation takes a steep nosedive. Instead of stepping over dead bodies, and being accosted by ferocious drug dealers, the entrance to Three Guys turns out to be a shoddy, little brick face storefront! Tucked inside downstairs from Papa Bo’s Soul Food restaurant. I turn up my collar, and make my way down the rusty stairway, gliding into the small, cramped store, as yet another shock greets me. The atmosphere. What an atmosphere! It is downright mellow- even peaceful. Immediately, my shoulders involuntarily relax. Subdued, multi-colored lighting. A quixotic, sweet and sour type aroma permeates the air, reminding me of the ritual at High Mass, when a procession moved solemnly down the aisle. The Monsignor reciting prayers in some deep undecipherable Latin tongue, while swinging these golden decanters spewing a scented vapor. That’s what this smell reminds me of.

The soft, yet catchy music purring from the stereo, a music that is foreign to my ears, inspires a kind of calming hypnosis. All horns and clarinets it seems, as I subconsciously tap my feet to it. Ancient photos and posters, maybe from like the 40s or 50s, of black musicians blowing horns, adorn the wall. Others appear to be African musicians in their native dress, beating different types of drums. The name, Baba Olatunji, is written on a number of them.

In the back of the store, I see three dudes standing together, two of them bopping their heads skywards and snapping their fingers softly, as the other plays a clarinet, or some type of horn. It seems like they’re floating along in some kind of mellow musical bliss. More so as the horn player hits certain notes, until gradually coming out of it, when he finishes playing.

"Sweet, my brother, sweet".

"My man, you play a truly tight horn. Nice."

 It seems really magical, the state they’re in. Finally, one of them notices me standing there, and they all stare at me for a few seconds. The youngest one of the group approaches me. A dude with a big Afro, and small, rectangular tinted glasses perched on his nose. He wears a long multi-color type of shirt that I later learn is called a ‘dashiki’, which was traditional African dress. To my surprise, he smiles warmly, extending his hand to shake.

"My brother, welcome to Three Guys. How can I be of service to you today?”

I try to emulate his relaxed cool.

"What's up? Yeah, man, I'm looking to maybe buy me a pair of, like, some happenin' Swedish knits…and a silk screen shirt too, man."

I feel a little awkward using the slang, but I push myself through it. He smiles again and turns, as he waves his hand to follow him.

"Come my brother, let me hip you to a world of happenin.”