by Sam Pink
A train slowed down and came to a stop right above us.
Spider-Man stood up quick.
He grabbed my shirt and said, “Get up.”
We moved.
He pointed at two oil stains on the ground by where we were sitting, fresh drops.
“At shit’ll burn you,” he said.
He laughed and held up both hands, curling his fingers and dragging them down his face while looking straight up so his eyes were mostly white.
In an extra-raspy voice, he said, “Guhhhh…no…my face! Burning from the oil…guhh.”
He knelt down, reaching up, then quickly turned around, still kneeling.
He spun his head to make eye contact with me, covering the rest of his face in the inside of his elbow.
“Don’t come near me,” he said. “I’ve — changed.” He did deep breaths that sounded like “Sersh…sersh…sersh.” He yelled, “I said get away!”
“I can help!” I yelled, holding out my hand.
He stood up, laughing.
“That’s my shit, man,” he said. “Gah be nuts. Fuckatta here.”
He grabbed his tallboy and took a big pull and sat back down on an overturned bucket.
This other guy I’d met at Danny’s — Face — he walked up from the other end of the alley holding a 40.
“Wha’s good, Janny?” Face said, clapping hands with Spider-Man.
Spider-Man said, “Ey man.”
Face and I clapped hands and patted shoulders.
“Face,” I said.
“Where I recognize you from, cous?” he said.
“Danny’s.”
“Aw shit, that’s right, cous.”
We sat down.
I gave Face the bamboo chair and I sat on an overturned bucket.
Spider-Man got a call on his phone.
It was Janet calling from the post office.
Her wheelchair wasn’t working.
Spider-Man went to go help.
“Smash this bitch with me, cous,” Face said, opening the 40.
I took a pull.
Face got out a Ziplock bag with some cigarettes he’d bought at the park.
“Now, I’m telling you, jo,” he said. “At least two of these mine. Don’t care what Janny say. Feel me?”
“Yeah.”
“Yizzir,” he said, lighting one, snapping the bag closed.
He had really long fingernails, tattoos on his hands.
I handed him the 40.
He took a huge pull.
“Man jo, don’t wanna go to fuckin work tonight,” he said, yawning, then shaking his head.
He talked about working at the Two Door.
Told me about one night after the bar closed. He and some of the other workers were in the alley drinking, and the brother of one of the bartenders called him a nigger.
“That foo always at the bar tryna fuck with me. So when he called me a nigger — I mean, that shit just a word jo, feel me? — but he trynna disrespect me in front of people. So I beat his ass, cous.”
“Hell yeah.”
Face laughed. “Du’s brother was there too — he just watched, hah. Yizzir. He kept telling his brother to shut the fuck up but he wouldn’t, so I beat his ass. Scraped his face along the alley and pushed his face into a puddle and shit. Don’t be pushing my buttons, cous. I’m the coolest guy ever, but don’t be pushing my buttons. Don’t fuck with me, cous. I done kicked everyone’s ass on this block.”
He did a weird punch combination that looked like someone had wrapped him up in rubberbands and he was trying to get out.
He nodded towards Spider-Man’s bed and said, “I done kicked Janny’s ass too. He a bitch sometimes.”
“Spider-Man?” I said.
“Yizzir. That nigga bi-polar. He flip out and I gotta beat the brakes off his ass.” He laughed like ‘Hik’ik’ik.’ He sniffed and hawked on the ground. “Plus that nigga annoying, jo. Talkin bout, you mention anything about them comic books, nigga go on and tell you the whole damn movie. S’like, ‘I thought I saw this shit, but oh well.’”
We both laughed.
Spider-Man came back into the alley, pushing Janet in her wheelchair.
He was sweating
He came up to Face. “Ey, you get those squares?”
Face cleared his throat. “Yeah, Janny.”
He showed Spider-Man the ziplock bag of cigarettes.
They disagreed about how many were for who — with Face claiming to have paid for at least one, and Spider-Man maintaining that none were for Face.
Spider-Man started yelling, grabbed the bag. Then he said, “Nah fuck it, you know what, here, take your fucking cigarettes”—throwing the bag at Face.
Face tried to give the cigarettes back. “Come on, Janny. Relax, man.”
Spider-Man took the bag of cigarettes and put one behind his ear, pocketing the rest, staring at Face.
Janet said, “Beb, um, can you fiss my foot peez?”
Spider-Man put her foot back into the plastic holder on her wheelchair.
She told Spider-Man about the burrito in the harness underneath her chair.
They split it.
He helped feed her while combing her hair.
A small piece of steak stuck to her nose after a bite.
She started to tell me about her online business with the piece of steak stuck to her nose.
She made bead necklaces and sold them online.
“Yo,” Spider-Man said. He put the comb in his armpit, holding half the burrito in his hand. He pulled his collar down, showed me a necklace with alternating red and green plastic beads. “Shit’s beautiful ain it?”
“Oh nice,” I said. “Christmas style.”
He said, “Dahhhh”—continuing to comb Janet’s hair. “This my baby, I love my baby.” He knelt by Janet and looked her in the eyes. “I’d do anything for you. You’re my heart. I’d go to the gates of hell for you — go inside and close the gates to keep you out. I’d fight the Cerberus.” He held up the burrito for Janet to bite. “Fuckin, kick the Sears Tower up into the air and lay in the street for it to land antenna-down on my chest. Anything.”
“Hey man,” I said to Face. “You hungry? I’m going to get some tacos.”
“For certain, cous,” he said.
I went and bought some tacos.
When I got back we all sat there in the alley under the train tracks, eating.
Janet mentioned she was learning to crochet at the library.
Spider-Man started to tell a story about his mother teaching his last woman to crochet but Janet interrupted.
“Wuh, who was that, huh?” she said. She turned to me. “See? Thuh, that’s how I find out bout this shit. Fock.”
Spider-Man threw down the comb. “My fucking ex-wife goddamnit! Tryna tell a story about my mom and you fuckin interrupt me. Fuck you!”
He crouched over her, his mouth right by her eyes.
She didn’t say anything, staring up in different directions — her hands by her chest with the fingers out, piece of steak on the tip of her nose.
Everyone was quiet while Spider-Man screamed at her.
“You make me look bad in front of my fuckin friends,” he yelled.
He grabbed Face’s 40 off the ground and walked away, foam coming out of the 40 as he uncapped it.
Janet said, “He just um — he just need to, wuh, walk around.”
Nobody said anything.
Face and I ate.
Spider-Man came back after a few minutes.
He sat down on a parking block and took a pull off the 40, pumping his one leg up and down on tiptoe.
He spoke quietly, one hand splayed out.
He told Janet not to interrupt him.
“When I talk about my mom, let me talk. Ok?”
She said ok.
He put the 40 down and hugged Janet. “Ok. I love you.”
She said, “Luh, luff you more.”
“Love you super most.”
“I luff you,
uh-finity.”
“You’re supposed to say I love you more than the galaxy,” he said, smiling and blinking his eyes cartoonishly.
Then he grabbed Janet’s nose between his first and middle finger and pulled his hand back with his thumb sticking out between the fingers. “Got your nose.”
She grabbed his nose but didn’t put her thumb through her fingers like you’re supposed to.
They both laughed, holding each other’s noses.
Eventually, he put her nose on his face and she put his on hers.
And I remembered the gum I had with me.
It was this shredded bubblegum, manufactured to look like chewing tobacco.
I’d bought a three pack a while ago — Ground Ball Grape, Swinging Sour Apple, and You’rrrrrrrrrre Out! Original.
“You guys want some of this?” I said, reaching into my back pocket.
I’d been pretty liberal about offering people ‘a pinch’ wherever I went.
Because fuck yeah I wanted the pinches to go around.
Wanted everyone to know they could always rely on me to get a pinch.
The package I had with me was ‘Ground Ball Grape’ flavor.
It said, “Whole lotta gum inside!” on the front, below a cartoon baseball player holding a bat and looking ready to swing.
I handed the package to Spider-Man.
“Get yourself a pinch, man,” I said.
He took a good-sized pinch.
“That’s what I like to see,” I said.
Spider-Man put the gum in his mouth and started chewing, rolling his eyes in circles and going, “Na, na, na.”
Face laughed like ‘Hik’ik’ik’ and said, “Janny talking bout that na na na.”
Pretty soon everyone had taken a pinch and was just enjoying everything.
We finished the 40.
Face left for work.
Spider-Man opened a dumpster by his bed and searched through it and got out a chessboard and a bag with the pieces.
We played chess while Janet continued work on a black and white beaded necklace.
We set the board on an overturned bucket and I used a bottlecap in place of a missing knight.
The game progressed slowly at first.
But then Spider-Man easily took a few of my pieces and put me in checkmate.
I acknowledged it by saying, “You motherfucker.”
We reviewed all my possible moves and how each led to check.
I’d point out a move and Spider-Man would show how one of his pieces could attack, making the sound, ‘Kersh.’
I shook his hand and helped him clean up the pieces.
We put the pieces and board back in the dumpster.
The dumpster was full of stuff — shirts, plastic containers, an umbrella, a package of cookies, etc.
I said, “Oh man, you got cookies?”
“Dahhhh, cookies. Gah be nuts. Here.”
He handed me the package.
The cookies had a drop of red jelly in the middle, according to the front of the package.
“Thanks man,” I said.
I hugged Janet goodbye and walked down the alley.
I ate the cookies on my way home.
The drop of red jelly was the best part.
FUNG BUSSY
Tonight when I passed by the alley no one was there, just a rat walking over Spider-Man’s bed in the moonlight.
So I walked towards the Two Door.
Saw Face coming back from a liquor store down the block.
He had a 40 and a stack of fastfood cups.
He asked what I was doing. “We finna smash this 40 over by the bus stop, cous, come on.”
At the bus stop there was a short fat guy, balding with a ponytail, wearing a huge Bears hoodie.
“Wha’s good, Mike,” Face said, slapping hands with him.
Mike was talking to a guy slumped over on the bus stop bench.
“Speedy,” Mike said. “I’m fucking telling you.”
Face pointed at the guy on the bus stop bench and said, “This my dude, Speedy. He coo man, but he fucked up tonight. Yizzir.”
Speedy was a skinny old man wearing an Army coat, sitting on the bus stop bench with his limp legs and a walking cane.
I sat down next to him.
He had a tiny ponytail tied with a broken rubberband.
Face poured out the 40 into fastfood cups and handed everyone a cup.
“Speedy,” I said, smiling at Speedy.
He laughed like, ‘Nehehe’ with a smile that slowly formed after he started laughing.
Then he started talking to me.
Drunk as fuck, just mumbling shit.
Something about Vietnam.
Something about being on the ground.
Something about running through bullets.
Something about motherfuckers.
Something about the Air Force.
I could only understand 1/3 of what he was saying.
Most of it sounded like, “Fussuh buminna….”
I’d just stare at him and when he stopped every once in a while, I’d say, “Yep.”
And he’d say, “N’yep” then start again with the “bussa ummina….”
The Blue Line train passed on a bridge over Fullerton.
Speedy made a gun with his hand and pointed it at the train and moved his hand up and down, his mouth moving.
When the train cleared I could hear him going, “Pish pish pish” for each shot.
“Man, Air Force shit is pussy shit,” he said. “Air Force is ambush…flying…bombs. Pussy shit.”
He kept pronouncing ‘pussy’ like ‘bussy.’
“Air Force is for bussy shit,” he said, snot going into his mouth.
Then something about Vietnam again.
Something about bullets.
He leaned forward and rolled up a pant leg, showing me the bullet scars on his calf.
“Z?” he said.
He almost fell forward but I grabbed him.
He tried to spit but it landed all over him.
Mike was pacing — cigarette in one hand, other hand in pocket — smiling at me and Speedy.
He went up to Face and said, “So hey man, I think I’m gonna copy some pornos and sell em out here. Do like, 2 for 10 or something.”
Face said, “O’boy down the block already do that shit, but he do 3 for 10.”
“Really?” Mike said.
“Yizzir.”
“Fuck,” Mike said. He started pacing again. He smiled at me and said, “Fuck”—widening his eyes a little.
Face said, “Ey but for real, we gotta get Speedy dumb-ass a cab, man. He my pops, but he out here all fucked up and he needa get home. I’ont wanna leave him out here when I clean up in this bitch.”
Face and Mike vaguely waved to cabs down the block across the street, opposite corner.
I sat there drinking my beer.
There were no cabs on our street.
“I got money,” Speedy told me. He was trying to reach into his pockets. “25 dollars an hour,” he kept saying. “I make money.”
Every once in a while he’d laugh like, ‘Nehehehe’—with a smile that slowly formed after he started laughing.
With that snake-like wrinkly face.
And that one big tooth in front.
“Doe fuck Korean girls,” Speedy said. “Watch out, they gah [something something] in the bussy, nehe.”
Face said, “Speedy, where you finna stay tonight? You my pops, but you done tonight, and I got work, so—”
“Stayin at yer place, bussy. Take me’a your place.”
Face said, “Uh uh, fuck that. I’on’t need you. You ain got no cootie cat.” He gestured by his crotch. “Sorry padna, but you ain got no split.”
Speedy said, “Ey, fuck you marfucker, nehehe.”
I laughed too.
Face put his hands in a prayer gesture. “Speedy, please, shut the fuck up, man. I’m trynna help you and you pissin me off, jo.”
Speedy said
some shit that no one understood, wiping off his bottom lip slowly with his knuckle.
It looked like he was waiting for our response, but no one said anything.
Then, louder, he said, “Bussy. I’nt some bussy!”
He had his mouth open a little, tongue along his bottom lip.
And that little wormy vein on his temple.
“I’na fuck a bish,” he said.
Face laughed like ‘Hik’ik’ik’ and slapped Mike’s arm.
Mike was taking a drag of his cigarette — fingers still around it — shaking his head no with his eyes closed.
“I’na fuck a bish,” Speedy said. “Some bussy.”
On the inside of the bus stop shelter, there was an ad for the Lincoln Park Zoo.
The ad showed stingrays in light-blue water.
Mike pointed at the ad and said, “Ey Speedy, you can fuck one of those.”
Speedy was nodding off, chin against his chest and hiccupping at intervals.
I caught him before he fell, resting him against the glass of the bus stop shelter.
Face said, “Come on, man. We gettin you home. Wake the fuck up.”
Speedy opened his eyes, a confused look on his face.
Face and I had to pick him up and bring him to the closest main street to hail a cab.
We each grabbed one of Speedy’s arms and put it around our shoulders, taking a leg underneath the thigh.
I got some spit on my neck from Speedy’s coat and his jeans were all pissed and steamy.
Oh Speedy.
Face and I carried him to a bench on Milwaukee Ave. and sat him down.
We hailed a cab.
A cab stopped.
It was a van.
Face and I lifted Speedy inside.
Cabby said, “No. Can’t do. Can’t do this, man.”
Face said, “Come on, man. His wife or son or somebody will be waiting for him. Just take him home.”
Cabby said, “Wife and son? No. No, man.”
I said I’d go with.
Face said, “Nah man” then turned to the cabby again. “Come on, man. Just drive him home. He know his address and shit. S’all good.”
Cabby said, “Can’t do that, man. No no.”
“I’ll go with, man,” I said.
