THE SKY IS FALLING

It's the day after Joey's counsel with Professor

That next morning as I begin to open my eyes, the Professor’s words reverberate in that murky semi-conscious zone, which bridges the dream world and the so-called lucid reality.

“Play that horn, man.” I whisper into the ether, suddenly sitting up in my bed, and shedding the comforter that embraces my body.

My voice is hoarse, that mucusy type of voice you have when you just wake up. But I’m instantly charged up now with a vivid sense of clarity. Of purpose. I lurch to my closet, pull out the new purple ensemble, puff up my hair, and blast out of the house like a fucking nuclear warhead.

Outside, the sky is striking. Blows me away. It’s as if God just commanded the angels to break out that shipment of cosmic ultra-ultra- blue we just got in, and spray paint the entire kingdom. Every crumbling brown leaf that remains shivering on the withered branches, just sparkles in contrast. The bus rolls into putrid downtown Elizabeth…even Kleins, that gloomy, archaic department store on the corner of Broad Street, with the E missing from its storefront block lettering, appears downright luminous.

I bound into Tijeras de Oro, which is pulsating with its usual blend of laughter, salsa, and gossip. This time though, I sniff out something new and pleasant - the aroma of freshly brewed morning coffee. It’s now competing with the assorted nasal palette of ammonia, hair spray, and perfume.

Huh, apparently somebody acquired a Mr. Coffee.

I slither my way through the throng of chattering, Café Bustelo drinking ladies, over to Esperanza’s chair. She’s working on some fake blond middle-aged woman, and that’s where this fiesta of the senses - crashes. Abruptly. Damnit! That look. Again. Hazy. Out of it.

For the first time since I had initially met Esperanza, I seriously allow myself the conviction that maybe, this isn’t going to go away any time soon. Maybe she has a real problem. Pity for her overcomes me - which is weird to feel for somebody you worship.

“Hi,” she smiles, through subdued droopy eyelids. Well, at least, it’s not as bad as last time, I tell myself hopefully. At least she recognizes me.

“Hi,” I respond.

“Oooh, I like that purple on you honey, it’s gorgeous.”

Yeah, I bet you do, I bet you like purple, I brood to myself, spitefully.

The fake blond says something to her in Spanish, a somewhat irritated tone ringing in her voice, as she points to her hair. Esperanza responds soothingly in Spanish, focusing all her attention on her.

I’m again struck by the contrast in Esperanza’s lacklustre demeanor compared to her usual larger-than-life vivaciousness. It’s kinda the difference between like, James Brown performing on stage, and say, James Taylor

A NEW OUTLOOK

When Joey finishes his confession to The Professor - Professor lays a whole new knowledge on him.

As I get up to shake his hand, he notices the copy of The Prophet he gave me. I’ve been absent-mindedly fiddling around with it, while we’ve been rapping.
“How’s that going for you? You’ve been able to dig what it’s laying down?”
I’m embarrassed again, but ashamed to admit it. I go on to explain that I’ve been really frustrated by all this spiritual stuff.
“I don’t know, maybe I’m just, like, spiritually dense, or something…I mean, I’m just not getting it, it’s not getting through. Like it’s too flowery, too mysterious. I let out a deep sigh. I need something I can, like, apply – to everyday life, you know? Make a breakthrough…philosophy of some type of action. Something I can change with…”
Professor looks at me for a few seconds like he’s sizing me up. Then, he turns around in his swivel chair, and starts fishing around behind him.
“I think I have something here that may be of some interest to you, youngblood.”
He pulls out a paperback book and hands it to me. The Autobiography of Malcolm X.
“You ever hear of Malcolm X?”
“I – I’ve heard of him, but -” I stammer.
“Courageous brother, a man of the highest honor and integrity. Pulled himself up from extremely humble beginnings to become one of the great leaders of the Black Revolutionary movement of the 60s. Then shot down by The Man for his beliefs.”
“Wow.”
“This is a powerful book, son. This is one of those books that inspire, that could change your life.”
He goes on to talk more about this Malcolm X, and the animation, the passion in his voice, grows with each passing minute.
I sit there fascinated. Spellbound.
After he’s finished “schoolin me,” I bounce back onto the store floor. Now fired up and enthusiastic, I purchase myself a happenin’ pair of matching purple Swedish knits, and shirt.

THE PROFESSOR

Joey is still distraught about the Esperanza situation and is confused about what to do next, so he decides to head up to Three Guys -the place where he bought his first cool clothes and consult The Professor.

So that Thursday, I decide to hop the #59 bus to Elizabeth, making sure I steer clear of Tijeras de Oro, and Esperanza. I walk sullenly into the store, worrying that they might not even remember me. Immediate relief follows, although I’m not sure exactly why. All I do know is that my internal mayhem melts away. Into the aroma of the bitter orange-myrrh incense floating through me. And the soothing sounds of the mellow jazz, playing in the background. I breathe deeply, allowing it to soak into my pores, and enjoy gazing at the old posters. And photos of the great Jazz and African musicians on the walls...it reminds me of those moments of ecstasy I felt listening to Etta James, while I painted the mural. I recognize Bakir (the younger of the two), rapping with a couple of customers in the back, as he displays some “rags” for them. I’m in no hurry, I just stand around, digging the ambience. After a while the customers duck into the fitting rooms with the clothes, and Bakir approaches me.
“Remember me?”
I smile hopefully, and his face lights up, as he shakes my hand vigorously.
“My man! The artist, right? What’s happenin’, baby?”
We start conversing, and I let loose about all the shit I’ve been up to since my last visit. Na-Na, the break-in we pulled at the school. The resulting mural, our trip to The Savoy Lounge…
“Say what? The Savoy? No you ditn’t! No you ditn’t. You telling me - you was actually over at The Savoy?”
“Yeah, I swear to-”
“Daaamn, brother! Ain’t nobody ‘round this way be goin’ over to The Savoy Lounge! Not even them hard-headed cats…you got to be buggin’!”
His voice (pitch) gets higher with each sentence, and we both start breaking up.
“Yeah, man, and there was this cat over there got stabbed in the neck with a pencil, and Na-Na painted it and…”
“Maaan! You trippin!”
The customers reappear from the fitting rooms.
“Hold up, man,” he says to me as he heads over to them, Professor should be back here in a minute.”
A minute later (as promised), the Professor emerges from outside. He’s shaking off the cold, and carrying a take-out container of steaming hot soup. He halts in mid-stride, quizzically scanning my face for a second, then breaks into a huge grin.
“Professor!” I beam, extending my hand.
“Hey, what’s up youngblood?” We slap palms.
“How’s them females been treating you?”
I hesitate for a few seconds, embarrassed.
“Well…that’s-uh - kinda been my problem these days…lately…I was, um, hoping…you…could lay some knowledge on me about that.”
He chuckles.
“Alright, alright, one subject the Professor always has time for, is imparting wisdom on the mysteries of the ladies. Mmm-hmm, always time for that. Step into my office, son.”
We walk back to this tiny office cramped with jazz memorabilia, books and clothes. He squeezes into the chair behind his desk and I sink into the old chair in front of it.
“So, what’s up, young man?”
Suddenly, I’m just blabbing. I mean, it’s like I’m in some kind of crazy confessional booth. I’m spilling out months of frustration and excitement, at a manic pace. Professor sits there, first blowing on, and then stoically lapping, the cream of mushroom soup up with his spoon. At least I think its cream of mushroom soup, as I observe it collecting on his beard. And he’s vigilantly swabbing at it with his napkin. He’s quiet, sometimes nodding in acknowledgement, other times arching his eyebrows in surprise.
I pour out the stories, the details about Esperanza, and how she seduced me in her car that night. Then how I saw her kissing the guy in purple. I could feel the heaviness push its way up my body, and well up in my tear ducts. Moistness clings there, fighting to make its presence felt, and I do not want to get emotional in front of the Professor. Very uncool. I steady myself, hoping he doesn’t notice, and continue onward. He smiles gently.
“My young brother, let me school you here for a minute, ok?”
I nod, eager to lap up this morsel of forthcoming wisdom.
The female mentality…well, my man (he chuckles), they got a whole other rhythm going on there…and it can change like that. (he snaps his fingers) We fellas…well, we might not understand it, sometimes. We might get confused, y’know? But, ultimately, you got to respect the lady.”
“But…but – Professor… what do you think I should do? I -
Let me lay it on you this way, young man…it’s like jazz. It’s like playing the horn. Sometimes you’re blowing, and it just doesn’t feel right – so you got to make some adjustments, dig? Sometimes, you got to take charge of the horn, so to speak. Now there’s other times when the horn just leads you, takes you where you want to go, dig? Then all of sudden, you hit that high note – BAM! Out of nowhere. That’s when it’s bliss. It’s all about understanding how to play that flow.”
Silence for a moment as I struggle to take it all in, trying to make sense of it all. A fleeting second of insight follows. Whoa.
“You’re right, Professor … I think I know what I have to do.”
“There you go, my man.”
“Another thing you could do, youngblood. You could buy yourself your own purple ensemble right now, we have some clean rags up here, you know? Fight purple with purple…catch what I’m sayin’?”
He smiles.
“Excellent idea, Professor! I’ll do that.”

LIFE GOES ON

Joey struggles to get himself out of the funk he’s been in ever since the Esperanza/purple guy incident.

The next week slogs by at school.  Sadness and despair ebb and flow, intermingling with anger and nihilism.  David White and the Orange Face brothers, swagger by me repeatedly, swearing and glowering. Na-Na hasn’t been in school for a while, and these jackals instinctively feel something is amiss. Circling me ravenously. Just waiting for the opportunity to pounce, and exact revenge. The longer Na-Na is away, the hungrier they become. Pining for the time when they don’t have to answer to his retribution.

It doesn’t get any better at night either. Still nobody to talk to, as I lay there in the silent darkness. No answers. Again. Seeking any kind of solace, I turn to the book, The Prophet. Again.

I flip through it, hoping against cynicism to glean a second chance at wisdom. Mostly, it’s this blabbering from this guy who comes down from a mountain and addresses these apparent retards from this village called Ophalese. And, they keep dogging him with a bunch of just inane questions.  I’m about to kick it (the book) to the proverbial curb, when one passage catches my eye, ‘Speak to Us of Beauty’.

“All these things you have said of beauty. Yet in truth, you spoke not of her but of needs unsatisfied.

And beauty is not a need but an ecstasy.  It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth.

But rather a heart inflamed and a soul enchanted.

It is not the image you would see nor the song you would hear.

But rather an image you see though you close your eyes and a song you hear though you shut your ears.”

Something about this hits me as beautiful. The truth. Or at least part of it. I close my eyes, conflicted. Feeling vaguely bad. Or sad. I brush it off as nothing more but the usual flowery philosophy that you can’t translate to apply in the real world.

It does, however, lead me to reminiscing about that meeting with the Professor, when I bought my gold ensemble. How fascinated I was by their world, and the way they used that jazz jive, like calling guys “cats”. Yeah, maybe I just need to buy some new clothes! Maybe that’ll make me feel better!