by Melvin Dixon
I teased him to get his sense of humor back. I tried out something new, a pas de deux with sounds and steps. “Eh-yah?”
“Caroom-boom clack,” he answered.
“Eh-yah.”
“Caroom-boom clack.”
I grabbed his hands and pulled him around and around and we were kids again playing Ring-Around-thc-Rosy and Little Sally Walker. I spun and he spun and we all fell down. The soles of our feet came together. We stretched long, low, and wide from the hips, then sat up like chocolate Buddhas, contracting stomach and chest in and out, in and out, two, three. I moved right into a lotus position he couldn’t do. I had him then. But he went off to the kitchen and started making dinner.
Soon I was sitting at the prettiest table. A vase of yellow freesias, red paper napkins, and Aunt Lois’s glass salad bowl dug out from a closet somewhere. Well, a man like that was a find. I hugged him good and he hugged me. This time I had to tell him about Phillip. Clear things up before I lost my way. Ruella, girl, how do you always get tangled up in these things?
“Jesse, you’re just like my brother.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“I already have a brother. His name is Phillip.”
“So do I, only his name is Charlie and we can’t stand each other.”
“Well, Phillip and I have had our differences,” I said, trying to ease up on what was really on my mind. “He’s in jail now, busted for dealing in heroin.”
“Oh,” said Jesse with a scared look, like he’d got mixed up in some other mess.
“I’m not into drugs,” I said. “Not me, chile. And I’m only bringing him up to say, well, I have a brother, Jesse. What I don’t have is a lover.” And there I sat with my mouth hanging open, like the words just fell out on their own. Jesse looked at me and didn’t say a thing. So I grinned and pulled my mouth in shut. Jesse chuckled, laughed. Then I started laughing for no reason at all, just seeing him laugh which made me laugh some more. Then we stopped. Just like that. I figured I could give him something Metro didn’t have. If he wanted to call me Rooms, well, he should know what spaces I really had. How much there really was in me. I never said I was pretty. But I have my good points.
That night I climbed right on top of him. I rocked back and forth, smooth and easy. Jesse didn’t move. His eyes stayed wide open on the ceiling as if his powers of concentration could lift it right off. Then I rolled off him, pretending that all I wanted was to tickle him some, make him laugh again. Truth is, I felt silly. Real dumb. I tried to turn it into a game. Girl, I told myself, all embarrassed and blushing in the silent way colored girls blush, whatever did you expect to happen? One relevé doesn’t make a dance. He has to move with you. Rhythm isn’t a one-person thing.
My own advice didn’t help. I felt as small as a roach caught on its back, feet treading and tapping the air, eyes and antenna searching every which way and trying not to think about myself because I’d break down and cry, I was so embarrassed. Jesse squeezed my hand. Held it, like Phillip used to do. But Mama wasn’t there combing my hair, and the rash on my behind had long since gone, and the heat in me was just plain shame that my need could show up naked like that when you had to be cool about it. How could I have made Jesse know what he could have done for me? I was afraid he already knew.
“It’s my fault,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“No, Rooms, it’s mine.”
“Look, Jesse, we don’t have to, I mean, there’s no pressure on you or anything. Shoot, I can’t even talk right. Here I am falling for you, you handsome thing, you. And, well, I’m not a pretty woman.”
“Who said? I sure didn’t,” he said.
Well, I shut up just as quick. “There you go, Jesse. All charm and grace.”
“I’m being honest with you, Rooms.”
“Then call me Ruella, my real name.”
“Ruella.”
I took a deep breath. “Don’t call me Rooms. Not unless you mean to come through the door.” I felt much better saying it.
“Ruella, Ruella,” Jesse said. “Pretty Ruella.”
“Don’t mess with me, Jesse. Don’t play with me. Not now, please, not now.”
“We danced.”
“And we’ve been improvising ever since, huh? I need something more, Jesse. Something more than dancing. I can always dance solo.”
“I don’t want to hurt you, Rooms.”
“Ruella.”
“Ruella. I don’t want to hurt you, ever.”
“I’m not that fragile, Jesse.”
“But I am,” he said. He pulled back the covers and got out of bed.
“Where’re you going?”
“I am just that fragile.”
“Can’t you put Metro out of your mind for a minute?”
“Like you’ve put Phillip out of yours?”
“That’s not fair, he’s in jail.”
“So am I.”
That shut me up. Jesse started dressing in the dark. I turned on the light and moved so he couldn’t see me blink back the tears. “Where are you going?” I asked, but he gathered his clothes in one sweep and opened the bedroom door.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have come here.”
“No, Jesse. Don’t say that.”
“I’ll go. I’m sorry if things got out of hand.”
“Please stay, Jesse.”
“I’ll call you later.”
The front door eased shut behind him. His fast feet hit the stairs. I was too ashamed of myself to look after him or say anything more. But all night I couldn’t sleep for Jesse, then Phillip, then Jesse again crowding my mind, a rushing D train in my head.
There was only one thing to do. Ride out to see Phillip. I called in sick the next morning and went to Port Authority for the early bus going upstate. Comstock Prison is about two hundred miles north. Maybe Phillip could help me figure this one out. Ruella, girl, you really messed up this time.
The first year he was in I wrote and asked about his room. “What room, Lil’ Sis? This ain’t no hotel, it’s a goddamn prison.” He described the place. “It’s a cell, a goddamn 10 x 12 cell and nothing but bars and electronic locks and feet scuffling on the grated ceiling walk that separates the floors and reminds you that you’re never alone.”
After looking at the huge tan-brick building fenced in on all sides and counting row after row of bars on windows I had to say, you’re right, Phillip; no rooms. Cells. C-e-l-l-s. “You still want me for your hero, Lil’ Sis?” he wrote. “Being heroic and black ain’t easy. ’Specially if you a man. Ain’t nothing here but men. Black men, Puerto Rican men, even one or two white boys. You’ll see what I mean when you come next Visiting Day. I missed you the last time.”
I didn’t write him back. I didn’t visit. Truth is, until now I was scared.
The visitors’ room crowded quickly with women, mostly those from the same bus I took which ran from the Greyhound Terminal in Saratoga to the prison grounds several miles away. They were weary women. Some brought their children along. Others looked like young marrieds and were not much older than me. The younger ones wore tight blue jeans and loose, open tops. The mothers, perhaps, or wives of older inmates wore shawls or closed sweaters. Everyone was chattering and crowding into their assigned booths behind a glass wall.
Several prisoners entered first, and I was afraid Phillip would miss me or just not come. But sooner than I knew he appeared just inside the door and came toward my booth. He didn’t seem to recognize me. He moved mechanically, with the same indifference and routine of the guards motioning him to the booth, which was more like a cubicle than a desk, with glass walls for visiting. Perhaps Phillip was expecting the public defender or one of his drug cronies who didn’t get caught. Maybe even someone from the local community concerned about prison conditions. Maybe a preacher looking for converts. Anyone with promises to offer. Anyone but me.
Phillip was taller now and much larger than the thin, nervous man I saw three years ago. His hair was shorter and his eyes were la
rger than I remembered. Three years ago he had returned home fresh from the West Coast with money and time to burn and Los Angeles on the brain. His California road map had hypodermic needles and burnt spoons between the folds. New Jersey was nothing after L.A., and there I was living with Aunt Lois since Mama died. I was just out of high school and trotting off to dance class in Manhattan twice a week. I didn’t know anything about Hollywood, or the Pacific Coast Drive, or having the good times he talked about and missed. Aunt Lois just wanted him to get a decent job. She wanted him to be safe. “For his own good,” she told me. But she also wanted me safe away from him. I wanted to hear all about the surf and film studios and freeways giving you the itch to move, not his cheap hotels and sidewalk hits or running out of money and peddling anything on two feet.
But the Phillip straining to see me and almost walking past my booth was a paler Phillip than I remembered. I grinned and waved from my seat. His eyes sparkled for a moment like he was still figuring out who I was. I grinned again and he knew me. His eyes lowered away from me and back toward the door he had come from. I smiled again and lifted the telephone to speak. He sat down reluctantly. I had to knock on the glass to get him to pick up the receiver and talk.
“You never came before,” Phillip said. His voice was different. I watched him closely. He spoke slowly, each word weighing the last. “You never came before.”
“I couldn’t Phillip. I wanted to. I couldn’t.” I tried to smile.
“It wasn’t Aunt Lois those times before, was it? You ain’t even living there no more.”
I said nothing.
“My letters came back,” he continued. “Addressee unknown. No forwarding address. I can’t blame you for cutting out on Aunt Lois. But did you have to cut out on me too?”
“She knew where I was. She even encouraged me to leave. I was old enough, Phillip.”
“And did she keep you from visiting me before or hide my letters from you after a while? But you old enough, you said it yourself.”
“That’s why I’m here now. I couldn’t bring myself to visit before. You were so strange, so different. I wasn’t ready to see you, Phillip.”
“What you mean, ready? I’m your brother. The closest kin you got. And they killing me in here.”
“I’m sorry.” I couldn’t say anything more. I looked at him but he looked above me, not at me. He must have been watching the guard, the clock, the other prisoners, their visitors and animated conversation, the exchange of hopeful looks, I didn’t know. If I could have just touched him then, felt the texture of his face and known that mine had the same toughness of character, I’d have come back again and again just to help him and help myself be strong. I had to bite my lip to stop my eyes from filling up. I brushed them dry, still looking at him. Next to me, a woman pressed her lips to the glass, leaving the print of her lipstick. I turned back to Phillip and the glass between us. I tried to find something to say.
“Truth is, Phillip, I’ve got to touch base with you. I don’t really know what to say. You let me down. You were the only man who made me feel special, like I was a princess or someone important. Like I was even beautiful and deserved somebody’s good attention. You were my hope after Mama died. I wanted to go places, do things, dance on every stage that would have me. And I thought you could help me do that.”
Phillip watched me more closely than I wanted him to. “You couldn’t face it, could you? And I can’t really blame you for not facing it,” he said.
“What, Phillip?”
“That I was just ordinary. Not the black prince every brown girl is waiting for. No dragon-slayer, not even a good pimp. Just the no-count nigger Aunt Lois always complained about.”
“Forget about Aunt Lois. It’s me I’m talking about.”
“And me, Lil’ Sis. You think I ain’t worried about me? And brothers like me? Not just in this dump, baby. All over.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“You still a kid. You see all these black men in here? This ain’t just the colored section of the joint. This is it. All these niggers and nothing but niggers. This is where they put us when we don’t dance to they music no more.”
“But I was waiting, Phillip, I waited for that charm and magic. I waited while you were in California. I knew you’d get somewhere and send for me. I’d bring my toe shoes and leotards. Everything. But you got messed up in drugs and white folks. When you came back you had forgotten all about me. All you wanted was to get high and run the streets, so I figured I’d have to get where I wanted on my own. I didn’t want to know about your deals in Harlem or your getting busted and sent here. Phillip, I wanted to dance and be whoever I could be dancing. And now, Phillip, if I can tell you, I got myself mixed up in something I don’t understand. Something I can’t get right. I’m through being someone else’s dream or someone’s sweet baby doll. Somebody’s room or Lil’ Sis or whatever you all need. You know what I mean?”
“No. I don’t get you.”
“I’m not down on men, Phillip. But something’s happening to me that has to do with you, somehow. I don’t understand it all myself.”
“You must be mixed up with some man. You pregnant?”
“No. But you’re right about the man. I’m with someone now. A friend needed a place to stay, real bad. I let him come to my place. He’s a dancer Eke me. We’re auditioning for the same company.”
“You going together?”
“Sort of.”
“What’s he like?”
“He reminds me of you. I mean, we act together like you and I used to. We’re close. We tell each other things and, well, he’s not like other guys I’ve known. That’s all I can say right now. But you’ll meet him. I want you to.”
“He don’t know you got people here, huh?”
“He does now. I’ll bring him along next time. I’ll come to see you again, I promise.”
“He fucking you?”
“Don’t say it like that, Phillip. We’re just starting out. We’re taking our time. He’s nice, intelligent. He’s been to college.”
“You happy?”
“I think so.”
“I want you to be happy. I want to think about you being happy.” Phillip looked at the other visitors and the other prisoners. He watched another prisoner talking to a woman. He watched intently, almost with caution.
“You’ll be out soon,” I told him. “What about parole? A couple of months? A year?”
“That’s if I can hold on. Keep my temper even. Not let these motherfuckers mess with me. They do that, you know. The guards. Soon as you’re close to parole they try to fuck with you so you start fighting them or cut somebody up and shit. Then you get more years in the joint.”
“I don’t understand what’s happened to you. You wanted to be a lawyer once. You still read?”
“All the time. I got lots of time.”
“Then hold out just a little longer. I’ll get a larger apartment. You’ll have a place to stay. I’ll talk to my boss at the office about a job. Something. Anything. Too bad you’re not a dancer.”
“They all faggots anyway.”
“Not all of them. And besides, they say the same thing about prisoners.”
“Shit.” The sudden look on his face shut me up real quick. His eyes lowered and all the determination there, which would have made him strong against the guards or other prisoners or those months until parole, was fading. I was more afraid for him then than for myself. His frustration might never get him out of there.
“I’m sorry I said that, Phillip. I didn’t mean it like it sounded.”
“That’s all right.”
“Listen, I’ll be back in two weeks. I’ll bring Jesse. That’s his name. Jesse Durand. I told him about you. You were the most important man in my life. I didn’t even know Daddy. You did. And you were him for me. And you were yourself. You’re still important to me, Phillip.”
Phillip smiled, but his eyes were distant. “Sure,” he said. But his eyes searched arou
nd him on the prisoner’s side of the glass.
“Here, I’ve brought you cigarettes and a book. I’ll bring more, and you’ll meet Jesse. You’ll like him.”
“I hope I’m not here. They’re transferring me to Rikers since I’m so close to parole. You’ll come visit then? It’s closer than riding all the way up here.”
“Yes, for sure.”
“They think I’ll have a better chance getting into some pre-release counseling program. That way it’ll be easier to get work on the outside. I’ll have a better chance for parole, too.”
“You’ll be out soon after that?”
“Soon. You check with Rikers. The transfer should come in a few days. You’ll really come see me?”
“Yes, Phillip.”
“I’ll be looking for you.”
Somewhere behind me a bell rang. The guard by the door blew a whistle and people began leaving the room. I looked at Phillip again and hung the receiver back on its hook. Phillip didn’t get up right away, like he was waiting for something else. Another prisoner came up to him and patted him on the shoulder, almost leading him away. Phillip waved to me and smiled at the other prisoner. He spoke soundlessly to me again, his lips forming the word “soon” his finger pointing at me. And before I knew it, he was gone. When I turned around, I saw I was the last visitor to leave.
I boarded the bus waiting beyond the gates to the building. In Saratoga Springs I changed buses for New York City. I kept thinking of Phillip. He had smiled at me. He had smiled at the other prisoner. I had seen the difference in those smiles before.
By the time I got home it was late at night. The apartment felt empty. No use doing stretching exercises or yoga as tired as I was, so I went right to sleep. For once, the emptiness of the apartment was soothing. Jesse didn’t come back the next morning, and I got to the office early enough to sort the mail. From the thirty-fifth floor I could see people scurrying inside before nine o’clock. And then I remembered that this building was a mere rectangle of cinder block, with the same squared windows one can see everywhere in New York City or in Comstock State Prison for that matter. Small difference between apartment windows with accordion gates and prison windows filled with metal slats for ventilation. Sunlight never had it so hard. I telephoned my apartment. No answer—Jesse hadn’t returned. At noon, I went home for the day.
