Chulito (8 page)

“More college talk?”

“Fuck you, Chulito. Don’t act like you don’t understand me.”

“Sorry. Damn. So you saying we can’t hang?”

“Why would you want to anyway?” Carlos asked, his expressive brows arched like two parentheses framing his eyes.

“You’re different.”

Carlos was always different. Chulito liked that Carlos stayed out of trouble and never hung out on the corner. He was a bookworm and talked about the novels of James Baldwin, Gabriel García Marquéz and Virginia Woolf and would get heated and say “The schools are leaving out our Latina writers from our curriculum like Sandra Cisneros, Julia Alvarez, Isabelle Allende and Esmeralda Santiago.” He loved reading out loud from contemporary cats like Abraham Rodríguez and Junot Díaz. Chulito connected to the stories about the Bronx or the hood and loved talking about them with Carlos. Also, Carlos always knew what new movie was out, especially the ones that didn’t make it up to the Bronx multiplexes, and he listened to music different from what everybody else jammed to. Chulito could hear Carlos’ music coming down through the ceiling. Carlos was down with hip hop and salsa, but he also listened to rock and jazz. Carlos had a special love for Nina Simone and once proudly told Chulito that she lived in France because of racism. Carlos had no issues doing his own thing because being different, in some way, meant that he was better than everyone else.

“You’re different, too, Chulito. That’s why you and I connect and I don’t connect with all those other fucks.” Chulito looked away and down the block as if he were searching for someone.

Carlos picked up his bags and said under his breath, “Why do I fucking bother.”

“Wait, Carlos, why you so heated?”

Carlos shook his head and looked at Chulito. “On the ride back here from school I couldn’t wait to see you again. I called you about four times, and when you didn’t answer I felt something was up. Then I saw you on the corner, I got scared because I thought I’d come back to the same old shit. I don’t want to get hurt.”

“You don’t ever have to be scared of the fellas on the corner again. I got your back.” Chulito slapped his chest with the flat of his hand.

“My hero? I can’t trust you to protect me. Besides, I’ve taken pretty good care of myself.” Carlos chuckled.

Chulito’s anger rose. “Don’t laugh at me, bro.”

“I just think it’s funny that you say you have my back and you threw a bottle at me.” Carlos’ face went red and the tears returned. “How do I know you won’t do that again—or worse—next time?”

Chulito felt like his heart was going to shatter as he saw a tear slide down Carlos’ cheek. “Sorry, pa, I swear I’ll never do that again. I told you I got your back. I’m dead serious.”

Carlos put down a bag and wiped the tear. “You might mean what you say, but I never thought you would do it in the first place. Look, I wasn’t coming back home after the semester. I planned to get a job out in Long Island and do my internship with the
New York Daily News
so that I could stay the fuck away from here. But after talking to you again I came home to continue our connection. Then when I heard those guys chanting your name, it was like nothing had changed. So I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be friends again.”

Chulito felt stuck. It was tough enough for them to just be seen together, so how could they have a friendship, let alone open up what he felt for Carlos? “Whatever.” Chulito turned away from Carlos and looked up at the windows and across the street to see if anybody was watching. “So it’s like that?”

“How can it be any other way?” Carlos sounded forlorn.

“Then don’t let me hold you up.” Chulito leaned back on the parked car and lit a cigarette like he didn’t give a shit, but tried desperately to figure out what he could do.

Carlos took two steps toward him. “Chulito, I know why this isn’t easy for me, but why is this so hard for you?” He searched Chulito’s eyes more intensely than he ever had before.

Chulito turned away and shrugged, but wanted to burst out and say, “’Cause I’m feeling you, ah-ight? But we gotta keep it on the low.”

Before another word was said, Damian approached, shirtless and doing trunk twists. Chulito was annoyed by the interruption. “Nigga, why you always gotta be showing off?”

“’Cause I got a lot to show off.” Damian rubbed his abdomen.

“Jail. That’s what you got to show off. Y’all niggas always come out looking all buff and then you let shit go. Watch, next summer, if you still here, you’ll probably have a little belly and shit.”

Damian looked at Carlos. “What you looking at? This ain’t for you.” He turned to Chulito. “Is that little faggot giving you lip, Chulito?”

“Nah, it’s cool.”

“Fuck you.” Carlos’ tears were back. His face flared with rage.

“What?” Damian walked toward him. “You betta watch your fucking mouth.”

Chulito got in between. “Chill, Damian.”

Damian backed off. “You betta watch your fucking self, Carlos.” He returned to searching for cars.

Carlos picked up his bags. “I hate this fucking neighborhood.”

Chulito turned to Carlos. “Yo, Carlos, wait a second. You said that you know why this is tough for you. Why is it?”

Carlos turned to Chulito, took a deep breath and exhaled. “It’s because I dig you, Chulito. It’s the one thing you and I don’t ever talk about, but I get so worked up and angry when we don’t connect because I dig you, and not like when we were kids.”

Chulito looked away from Carlos to hide his grin. He had imagined a more dramatic declaration, but Carlos was smooth and hearing him say those words made Chulito want to leap in the air and shout, “Yes!” But he suppressed his feelings and just shook his head. “Wow, don’t hold back.”

Carlos shrugged. “Now you know.” He turned to go into the building but stopped to find his keys. “So what do you think?”

Chulito wanted to say, “Me too, Carlos, I fuckin’ dig you, too.” But he just nodded his head. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Yo! Chulito!” Kamikaze called out as he bopped toward them.

“Well, I better go,” Carlos nodded toward Kamikaze, “before the next asshole gets here.”

“He ain’t like that. Kamikaze is real cool.” Chulito got up from the car and straightened out his Yankees jersey.

Carlos smiled. “His name is Kamikaze? Classic. I’m sure he’s cool.” Carlos looked down the block at Kamikaze. “And he’s cute, too. Is he my competition?”

“Yo, don’t be going all crazy and shit. Kaz ain’t like that.”

“Chill, Chulito, it was only a fucking joke. You don’t have to be so sensitive, blood. Take care.” Carlos vanished into the dark lobby of their building before Kamikaze reached them.

Kamikaze held out his thick palm high in the air ready to collide in a powerful high-five with Chulito. Then he slipped his arm around Chulito’s neck, pulled him close and kissed his temple.

“Yo, cut that shit out.” Chulito protested and looked back at the building entrance to make sure Carlos hadn’t caught it.

“What the fuck? I can’t kiss you? Since when?” Kamikaze teased.

Since thirty seconds ago, Chulito thought. “I dig you, and not like when we were kids.” Carlos’ phrase was like a wrecking ball slamming into the bricks of Chulito’s mind. Chulito struggled to not cross the pato line. Now Kamikaze’s brotherly kiss felt weird even though at times they’d sit in their underwear and smoke weed or sit side by side near the Bronx River sipping Hennessey and watching the sun rise. They were just two niggas hangin’. They didn’t cross the pato line and Chulito could keep his feelings in check.

Kamikaze had a serious look. “Hey, Chulito. I love you like you was my little brother.”

Chulito looked into Kamikaze’s eyes and said earnestly, “I know.”

“So because you turn sixteen, you too old for me to be kissing you? Who gives a shit?” Kamikaze shouted like a town crier. “This is our neighborhood and we do whatever the fuck we want, right?”

“Yeah,” Chulito said hesitantly. “It’s just that…”

Since he was a couple of inches taller than Chulito, Kamikaze bent his knees to look at Chulito eye to eye. “¿Qué pasa, panita? Did I do something? ‘Cause I know you get all silent and moody when something is up.”

“Nothing is up. Just don’t kiss on me out on the block in front of everybody. O.K.?”

“Whatever you say, little bro. If you too grown for me to be expressing my love for you, I got it.” He winked at Chulito and laid out the day’s plan.

Damian’s cries of “Auto glass! Auto glass! Auto glass!” sliced through the sounds of salsa and hip-hop music streaming out of apartments, kids playing on the sidewalk, trucks booming down the street, and an old man calling out, ‘Coco! Cherry!” as he pushed his cart filled with fruit flavored ices.

Chulito watched Damian flash a bright white smile at a female customer then throw his head back and laugh as he ran his hand across his smooth chest letting his thumb linger over one swollen brown nipple. He looked over to Chulito and nodded at him. The sun made Damian’s skin glow and his pale brown eyes look like they were lit from within. He scratched his cleanly—cropped fade haircut along with his freshly clipped moustache and eyebrows. Damian’s body was tight with long, brown arms that ended with big, strong hands. A thin line of hair ran down the middle of his rippled stomach and disappeared behind the elastic waistband of his underwear, which Damian wore low. His pants were even lower. Chulito could see the tops of his lean hips, and a hint of his pubic hair.

Kamikaze followed Chulito’s gaze and made eye contact with Damian.

“Yo, Hercules,” Kamikaze called out as a big eighteen wheeler rambled down Garrison Avenue, spewing thick gray smoke into the Hunts Point air.

“Kaz! You got my message?” Damian swaggered across the street with his hips leading the way.

“Yeah, I called you back, nigga, and your girl answered.”

“Yo, yo, yo! Ex-girl. Man, that’s over. I had enough of her shit. I get out of Rikers and you would think she would be happy to have me back, especially wit all this.” He held his arms out and turned around to display his buffed body. “But hellll no! After two days it was back to the same old shit. The rent! She wants kids! She needs money for this or that! Fuck, I don’t get paid from this shit job for another two weeks, I’m living off of the tips and commissions.” He shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out a fistful of dollar bills.

“So, get yourself another one.” Kamikaze held up his hand and Damian high-fived him. “Damian, I don’t get why chicks always want to sink in their hooks. Like that chick Brenda is always trying to pin her baby Joselito on me. That chick’s had every dude from Bryant Avenue to Manida Street, how does she know that kid’s mine? No way. Just trying to pin me down.”

Damian nodded. “That’s what I’m talking about. Chulito, little bro, look and learn from your elders. So check it out, I bounced and moved in with Lefty until I could get my own place. So just use my celly when you want to connect.”

“So why you call?” Kamikaze asked.

“I want my usual. You got something with you?” As Damian talked he looked up and down the block and kept rubbing and caressing his chest and shoulders. Chulito stole glances at Damian’s hands.

“Let me call one of my boys to swing by and take care of you, but I got a little personal gift in my car.” Kamikaze winked.

“Vamos, vamos, before my boss gets back.”

The three of them continued down Garrison until they reached Hunts Point Avenue and waited for the light to change. Chulito turned his head to look back at the spot where he and Carlos had been talking. The warm breeze that had pushed Carlos around the corner was now traveling through Chulito’s braids tickling his hairs. A chill ran through his body.

“C’mon, Chuly-chu,” Kamikaze called from the middle of crossing the street. Chulito straightened up. He narrowed his eyes and walked across the street tough and strong. As he reached the other side, the spicy, fried smells from the Spring Garden Chinese take-out floated up his nostrils and gave him a craving for some chicken wings. Chulito jogged to catch up to Kamikaze and Damian.

Their conversation was in full swing. Damian leaned in close to Kamikaze. “So I’m gonna call up some of my dogs and we gonna chill at Lefty’s place, smoke up some weed, get some bitches and fuck up a storm, straight up and down! You two wanna come through?”

“Maybe for a minute. I gotta take care of business, Big D. I’m a working dawg.” Kamikaze went to private parties, but it was usually for sales or to make an appearance that could lead to future sales. He was never a part of a crew, just his own man, so in a way a part of every crew. No one was close to Kamikaze except Chulito.

“How ‘bout chu, Chulito? You wanna come? Since you sixteen and all you can hang with the big boyzzz.” Damian’s big smile glowed against his brown skin.

“Thanks, bro. Maybe I’ll come through, but I gotta take care of this nigga,” he said, pointing a thumb at Kamikaze who was getting into his car.

“Git ya bump in the car,” Kamikaze ordered, slamming the door shut.

“Thanks, Kaz,” Damian called out. “Later, Chulito. Try to come through.” Damian turned and walked back down Garrison Avenue. Chulito watched the muscles in Damian’s back flex and sway with each step.

Chulito got into the car. Big Pun protested through the speakers about the plights of poverty and making wrong decisions, all set to danceable beats. Kamikaze looked at Chulito and bopped his head. “That is the shit.” He made a U-turn on Garrison and stopped at the light. As Damian crossed Hunts Point Avenue, Chulito watched him run up to Martha and put his arms around her. She shrugged him off and he tried again. As the traffic light changed, Kamikaze lowered the radio, rolled down the dark window. “Hit it, Damian. Don’t take no for an answer.”