Street Love

by Walter Dean Myers

  Nods in her own world while

  She waits for the next one

  Did you see Leslie’s eyes? Wild beyond tears,

  Beyond pain, past hurting

  I will tear that History apart.

  All I need…

  MISS DAVIS

  I’m sorry, but I know you’ll do well.

  We’ll make every effort to keep you and your

  Sister together. Sometimes things can be

  Arranged but there are no promises.

  The Letter of Determination

  Will be handed down in twelve days

  And then we will know

  We will have the answers in hand

  And then we can move on from there

  It’s not up to me, you see

  My hands are tied.

  But may I give you some advice?

  I see you have brought a young man

  With you. Remember that your mother has no

  Husband, just babies

  Yes, and a History

  JUNICE

  Damien, I am lost

  Did you hear her, how could she keep talking through

  That fixed smile, that frozen face

  The narrow head that kept turning away from me

  Why doesn’t she give me a chance?

  Look, now we are walking down the same street

  We took coming here. Time has passed, people have

  Been born and some have died

  But everything is the same. The sunlight haze

  Sweeps across the concrete

  Framing the rhythms of souls lost in their

  Own lives, but for me nothing

  Has changed.

  She has given you a date. Something about twelve days

  An execution date. Everything will be over then

  Will be determined.

  When my mother came out of her

  Mother’s womb, Black and skinny, and screeching

  When the doctor who delivered her skipped

  The box naming a father

  When the gypsy cab came and picked them

  Up to make the drive to Alphabet City

  When the smell of reefer rose sweet

  And pungent through the gray project walls

  When my grandmother called her friend to come

  To see the new baby and no one was home

  Everything was already determined

  The steps are there, we just have to follow

  Them to whatever doom there is

  I have to think, he said

  There is nothing to think about, Damien

  What logic stands against logic?

  I want to raise my sister and break the

  Chains that bind us even though I know

  Those chains cannot be broken

  What logic sets that right except the rightness

  Of denial? How will I discover how to

  Defy gravity? How to fly over truths?

  I have no money and without money there

  Will be no way of living. What can you

  Think of that will deny this? Do you think for

  One moment that I want what is best for

  Me? For Melissa? Reason spits in my face

  With its sassy presence. I don’t have a

  Better reason than the book Miss Davis held

  Before her small bosom like a hand-me-down Bible.

  I am too real not to know that real will kill me

  I am too street not to know what the streets hold for me

  Let me think

  Thinking is all I have

  If wisdom is a pretense

  Then let me pretend to be wise

  Go. Think. Turn black into white.

  Night into day. I am tired of thinking.

  I know where it will lead me and I don’t

  Want to be there.

  Go love. Do your thinking.

  DAMIEN by HIMSELF on the CORNER

  Junice turns and walks away

  Through the familiar shifting rhythm

  Of a Harlem crowd

  I have never felt so alone

  Cogito ergo sum; I think, therefore I am

  Dead thoughts in a dead language

  What good is thinking? What good is I am

  If I am is not something larger

  Than I could ever be alone?

  The thinking, the furrowed brow

  Had always been, until this time

  A comfort.

  To this very moment every

  Red horizon produced a new day

  Every cloud its cleansing shower

  The sun never stopped its

  Brilliant arcing across my blue skies

  What strange land have I entered

  Where tsunami questions roar and crush the soul

  And the gravity of the blood moon pulls no

  Answers from the brooding tide?

  What is there to think about

  To weigh carefully

  That Junice and Melissa enter

  Some benign level of Hell

  And what if Hell is not so Hellish As it won’t be once I put it

  Beyond my sight, into the cool

  Regions of intellect. If Hell

  Is not so Hellish once out of

  My mind, what will life be,

  When I am out of Junice?

  Comfortable? Without a doubt.

  Carefully planned? To the last letter.

  Life will resume, the too-familiar

  Curtain rises once again, but

  I’ve forgotten all my lines.

  More important than what happens

  To me, for the first time

  In my life more important than

  What happens to me, is what will happen

  To Junice?

  Can I shut my eyes, seal my ears

  Not know what she stutters through

  Her tears

  That every distance

  From love is too far? That every

  Battering of the heart is impossible

  To heal, and that a lifetime

  Of shielding the wounds

  Is too high a price to pay?

  Junice has laid down her dreams

  For the world to see

  While I still clutch mine to my bosom

  And whine my prayers to a God

  Who wants more

  Of me than I can bring to Heaven’s door.

  SLEDGE and DAMIEN and HARLEM in front of JACKIE ROBINSON PARK

  SLEDGE

  Yo, ballplayer, where you been hiding?

  They put up two neon signs downtown and

  Neither one of them spells out your name

  You skipping the race or setting the pace

  On up to the Big Time and putting

  Down the little folks?

  What, you ain’t speaking?

  I saw you with Junice, bro.

  You liking that tall mama?

  DAMIEN

  Liking? You’re not deep enough to understand

  Anything deeper, so I’ll say I’m liking her

  SLEDGE

  Yo, if you’re talking about love

  You must be slipping or tripping

  Skirts are made for lifting

  Not gifting with no emotion

  Or are you Doing the Right Thing

  Getting on the Bus and all that

  Zing-zing kind of fling White dudes

  Be talking about?

  DAMIEN

  Hey, I’m in love, Sledge,

  But I don’t expect you to dig it

  They don’t keep love in the sewers

  You hang in

  SLEDGE

  Yo, Damien, I know her situation

  She’s just part of the booty nation

  She’ll be out here tricking

  When the rent is due. Or don’t you get the clue

  When you see that her mama

  Resides with the Upstate Brides?

  DAMIEN

  Sledge, you are jus
t another turd

  Who hasn’t heard the word that the

  Flushing is done. Take your stink

  Someplace else, man. I don’t have

  The time for your mental grime.

  What could you know about love?

  SLEDGE

  Yeah, you in love. And with your higher

  Brain you got her higher parts

  While I had to settle for those holding

  Me close and whispering my name

  Over and over.

  DAMIEN

  Watch your mouth, fool!

  SLEDGE

  If you feel froggy, come jump in my direction

  If you feel like a soldier, march on over

  If you needy, come get some of what I’m

  Handing out by the fistful

  Then there are two stallions

  Standing toe to toe

  One’s breath warming the face of the other

  Sliding past the emotional pains they

  Can’t express to the physical pains they

  Can.

  Then they fight. Fists fly, legs spread

  Damien’s fury forcing Sledge to back up

  As he wards off the blows. Sledge goes

  For the groin. The two roll on the

  Cracked cement as children watch, never

  Putting down their sodas, their bags of chips

  It is just the everyday violence of a

  Ghetto afternoon. Suicide bombers expressing

  I-amness.

  Damien pounds away. Basketball muscles

  Are quick, his hands are even quicker, but

  Sledge goes into his sock and pulls his shank.

  Its arc is quick and the spurt of

  Blood is a thin red bird in the slanted

  Light of late afternoon

  Suddenly the two warriors are apart, standing

  Sledge, his breath coming in deep gasps,

  His eyes bloodshot and wide, stumbles away from

  The kneeling Damien.

  “He’s cut!” a child calls out.

  “It ain’t deep,” is the knowing reply.

  Damien feels the wound that has made a thin

  Line along his jaw. The child observer was right

  It wasn’t deep. A trickle of blood

  Runs down the neck and into the collar

  Of his open shirt.

  “Excuse me, young man, I see you are on

  Your knees,” a homeless man interrupts. “If

  You’re finished praying perhaps you could

  Give an old man a dollar or two for a sandwich.”

  Damien’s glance is angry. The homeless man

  Amused. The children move to the jungle gym

  Only Damien feels abused.

  Damien stands for a while on the corner. Across the

  Street two policeman sit in a squad

  Car and look in his direction. If he had been

  Hurt seriously they would have come over

  Would have done whatever necessary for the

  Greater good of the community. He starts down the

  Hill, not planning to go but going

  Not knowing what he wants to know

  But knowing, looking and not looking

  Until he reaches her block.

  When she appears, head down

  Groceries hugged against her chest

  He calls her name and she stops, half in her

  Doorway, her keys still pointed away from

  The street, almost spilling the onions.

  JUNICE and DAMIEN

  What happened? She asked. You’re a mess.

  Do you know Sledge? He asked.

  He exists, She said. But you’ve been hurt, come upstairs

  I’ll wash your face. What happened?

  I just fought Sledge, and lost, He said.

  Why?

  He said he had made love to you.

  I needed to shut his lying mouth.

  To put the lie to his lay.

  I knew you would never go with him.

  He pulled a knife. But that doesn’t matter now.

  What matters now?

  All I need is to hear the words from your lips to move on,

  To stumble past his profanity.

  Just tell me you are who I know you are.

  What are you saying?

  What words do you want from my lips? Words

  That say that Sledge has not touched me? That I

  Am pure? Unused? Excused? Unabused? Unconfused?

  Is that how you are defining me? What is it that you want?

  Some girl of your dreams with fairy-tale themes

  Spouting from her lips? I am not the virgin version of your

  Life, Damien. I am only what you see, this stick

  Of a woman trying to make enough magic

  To negotiate the shadows of these streets. You want

  To name me according to my abuser, when I am only

  Me. I can’t use it. My life is not packaged,

  Not tidy. There are leftover strands and jagged

  Edges that cut even my friends. Blame Sledge if you must

  Or God if you still trust in Heaven

  Damien, I believed in you because I

  Want to believe in the love I feel for

  You. If that’s not enough

  I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

  Damien walks away,

  There is a stinging pain in his face

  There is even more hurt within

  The tall body, suddenly

  Doubt-weakened, unsure, pushing

  One foot before the other, an alien

  Pushing through the underbrush

  Of his own planet.

  At home he finds his room

  The four corners of his bed, his quilt

  And under the quilt, his darkness

  But in the landscape of his once-friendly

  Mind there are only strangers

  Coming at him with visions

  That distort his world

  Here are the Sledges hate-hating their way

  Through life, mocking tenderness with their

  Leering grins.

  Here are the Regulators, who check their

  Passions at the time clock, tsk-tsking their

  Way to Pensionville.

  Here is the Artist, snip-snipping from

  His own memory (call it history)

  Making his own portrait of her.

  The night carried a thousand dreams

  One moment the violence of his fight

  With Sledge had him ripping at the covers

  The next found him still and trembling inside

  The coolness of the sheets, listening to the

  Echoes of Junice’s words as she walked

  Away from him…away from him.

  DAMIEN and his MOTHER on SATURDAY MORNING

  Damien, I spoke to Kevin’s mother

  (Toast and tea on a tray)

  He told her/she told me

  You’re in love with a girl

  Is she a nice girl? Kevin’s mother said/he said

  Jail/drugs/mother/said/sister, too

  I know you won’t like her, I thought

  Who knows what is right/wrong/good/bad

  These days? Did you want eggs?

  She is on the verge of bubbling over

  Restless in the invisible cage she paces

  As if it were a frame and she the vision

  It encases. The voice rises in pitch.

  We all must choose/pay dues/even though

  Choice is not always easy/queasy/feelings

  But nevertheless/I confess/the biggest mess is when we

  Let our emotions/notions/devotions to causes

  Change us/rearrange our lives in strange ways

  Her hands move nervously, spilling

  The tea onto the paper napkin

  You have a station in life, education, the dedication

  Of your father and me, you do know how muc
h

  We care, we have dared to care all these years

  You can’t just turn/spurn/burn your bridges

  I missed your basketball practices?

  Have you started your season yet?

  Her name is Junice, I said.

  She is Black, but comely

  She brings me to places I haven’t been

  Before, other sides of far horizons

  She is an unfortunate girl

  She swallows rainbows

  And when I put my head against her

  Breasts, I hear music

  Infatuation is a situation that maturation

  Shows us must fail in the long run/bright sun

  Of hard truth, Damien

  You owe us the fruits of our sacrifices

  Our turning away from worldly vices

  To give you all the advantages and advice

  That would carry you beyond beyond

  It would be a terrible thing for you to

  Surrender your life for some girl that I

  Hate and I do hate her if she is going to

  Ruin your life and after all you are my

  Son and that has meaning. You have a life

  And you just can’t leave it. You just

  Can’t leave it lying in some gutter or some

  Cheap hotel room with some girl who is no

  Mystery, Damien, she is no mystery! The way those

  People live. It’s just the opposite of how we

  Live. Her mother’s life is just evil! Is that

  What you want? Look at her history!

  The screaming goes on

  Goes on,

  I shut out her voice, her words

  But can’t escape

  Their awful weight

  He spoke to himself

  Listened to his heart

  Mumbled through the tears

  Yes, she is the fruit that will

  Sustain me and yes, she brings

  A rain that I know can chill

  But it is a rain so sweet and sings

  A song my soul insists

  That I follow, if I would exist

  As more than I have ever, ever been

  If my mother calls it evil, then I embrace the sin