THE TOTAL BREAKDOWN

Joey is at Tijeras de Oro, Esperanza's salon - and he is determined to confront her about that guy in purple!

I whisper in her ear, asking if she’ll have a minute soon to go outside and talk. She’s busy right now, she says, but maybe in 15-20 minutes she can take a cigarette break. I say ok, and go back outside to breathe in the day. Purchasing some Chiclets, I begin ponder the upcoming showdown. I get back, we go outside, and she gives me a kiss on the lips before she lights up her cigarette.
“So, where you been, baby?” She twinkles her eyes like she does, and I start to melt and buckle. But, somehow I manage to hold on.
“I be wondering, where my little papi at?” she says through an exhale of smoke.
The Eagles song, Lying Eyes, suddenly races through my head.
“I been around, you know, working, keeping busy…
I’m being as nonchalant and cavalier as possible, as I continue chewing my gum. I’m trying to figure out what tack I could take, to confront her about this guy in purple.
“I called a couple of times, but nobody answered.”
“Oh yeah, my abuelita’s been sick this week, poor thing, she been in bed and everything. So she, like, couldn’t get up for the phone, or nothing.”
Smoke-smoke-puff-puff-exhale-gum-chewing-chew-chew. Nobody says anything for a minute or so, until she turns to me, almost like she suddenly remembers that I’m still standing next to her. I’m studying her face, searching for my ‘in’.
“So…what did you want to talk to me about, baby?” she smiles provocatively.
“Um…y’know, Esperanza, that Saturday night, y’ know, when we went out…and then we were in the car together? Y’know, that was kind of – great.”
She pinches my cheek.
“Oh, you so cute. Yeah, that was fun for me too.”
I feel myself quickly succumbing to her beauty, to her charm, once again. I fight the urge to collapse, to just give in. This time, I got to stand my ground.
“Um…so, like, yeah, so like last week -Thursday? I’m coming up to see you, right, and I’m, like, across the street down there, and then - I see you with this guy…you’re both standing here? He’s, like, wearing all purple (sigh)? First, you’re all, like, yelling at him, and shit - and then you slap him and -
“Oh, honey - that’s Hector,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Who…what…what was going on? I mean…”
“Oh, we was having a little argument and shit, that’s all.”
“I mean, but…like - who is he, this guy Hector?”
“I know Hector for a looong time baby, from around the barrio.”
“But…but - who is he? Like, your boyfriend, or something?”
She lets out a long drag of smoke.
“You could say that…like, yeah - we got, like, a history together”
“But… but - how come (gulp) you never, like…told me?”
She looks at me now as if for the first time, she realizes what I’m talking about. A mix between surprise - and like she’s trying to suppress a smile, or a laugh.
“Oh…papi…you…thought…you thought – we was like boyfriend and girlfriend, or something?”
I look at her silently. I feel the flush, the crimson, the embarrassment, rise up into my face.
“Oh, baby…I’m so sorry! I didn’t know you –“
She tries to pull me towards her, tries to caress me, but I move away.
“But – we – we…you took me to your house…we like - did it - in your car?!”
I’m hoarse now, almost yelling.
“Baby, I do like you! You’re so sweet! You painted that mural of me, and that’s, like, the sweetest thing anybody ever did for me…so I wanted to give you a present. Like a fantasy, y know? Hector, y’ know, we been like, together…like knowing each other, for a long time-”
“He’s your dealer too? (I snap) He get you your-”
“What?!”
You’re…on…doing…something Esperanza! Why…why do you do that to yourself? You’re so…so beautiful! You could…you could – do – be anything you want.”
“You don’t know what it’s like in the barrio, papi. It’s different than where you come from. He-he helps me…he helps me – you don’t know… you too young…you too young!”
I turn around.
She continues to talk, and then yell, as I walk away, but I can’t hear her. I don’t want to hear her. The whole world is a blank.
I know if I had stayed one more minute- one more second-I was going to break down. Bug out big time. Just keep walking. Storming down the street, I’m blistering. Blustering. God!! These fucking people staring at me. What the hell are you looking at?! Get the fuck outta my way! I don’t yell, but I’m looking for someone to just bump me. Just let them make eye contact, even. Shame. Intense, profound shame.
Epic shame. Alienation. I don’t want to be part of this human race, anyway. Somehow, I make it down to Warnanco Park. Just get to the wooded part. Get to the wooded part - and you’ll be all right. You can exhale. Throw up. Whatever. I sit there on the ground, on the crunchy dead leaves, with my purple pants, my purple shirt, and my black coat. I feel every bit of meaning, every shred of identity, every sense of who I think I am, has been sucked out of me. Like I’m a human Slurpee, and the only thing that’s left is the misted concoction of super-sweet chemicals at the bottom of the plastic Big Gulp cup.
She was going to laugh at me! Why don’t you just lop my fuckin’ johnson right off, huh? It would be less painful. The ultimate castration. Who am I now, anyway? I can’t go back to who I was, or what I was, before I met Esperanza – because I have no idea of who that person even was. Like I never existed before I met her. I’m unformed. Like a fetus. I lie down in that fetal position on the cold hard ground, on top of the brown crunchy dead leaves.

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.”