by Joey Goebel
Teacher
This is getting ridiculous. I’ll admit it, I am a very impatient person. I wish they’d play. I told my partner I’d be home by eleven. Hey. Kip’s here. I figured he’d be at the bar with Emilio and the gang.
“This song is entitled Honorable Discharge,” announces the African-American. What a sick title. “Two, four, six, eight!”
So they finally begin playing. I have to admit, they’re actually pretty good. Really loud, upbeat, and strong sounding. Intense, yet melodic. Unique.
“Sometimes men and women make mistakes. And nine months later, they develop when the water breaks.” (I think that’s what the African-American is singing.)
Ember looks so cute, even though she’s trying hard not to. She’s staring at the audience like she’s possessed. She’s playing that big guitar really hard, so good for her. You go, girl.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this is good for her. She can get rid of some of that frustration on stage. It seems to be healthy.
Ex-Boyfriend
Man, I hate to say it, but they rock. I mean, I’m almost feeling bad for what I did. Aurora’s still on my mind, but damn, that old girl is looking pretty good, too, as weird as that sounds. She’s up there kicking ass on that guitar with her legs spread apart.
The crowd is getting into it. There’s a good vibe in the air, and I can’t help but bob my head to the music.
Father
I’m so proud of my daughter. I had no idea she could play drums that well. Her hair and arms fly all around her, with her beautiful form in the middle. It is a fast song, but she’s keeping the beat perfectly.
Her band exhibits a delightful spunk in its passionate delivery of hard, thrusting rock. And the crowd is loving it! It’s only taken a minute, and they’ve already been won over. The audience is starting to move around and up and down to the music.
The song ends and the venue unleashes a load of approval in the form of cheers and applause. Some audience members hold their arms erect to display their enthusiasm. I turn to the comely young ladies that stand next to me, old colleagues of my daughter’s.
“That’s my daughter up there!” I yell. “And they’re good!” The young ladies nod in agreement.
“Yes! I can already see some of the brain wires retracting!” enthusiastically yells Luster after the applause finally dies down. I don’t know what he’s talking about, but he’s obviously very happy. He continues:
“As F. Scott Fitzgerald would have said, ‘I am thankful to have an existence at all, if only as a reflection in your wet eyes.’”
Another song commences. I see the crowd moving together with smiles on their faces, and I really do think something positive is going on here tonight. God is really into what they’re doing. Pubes.
Cop
I’ll be damned. I don’t know why, but the crowd seems to be enjoying it. Sounds like a bunch of noise to me.
Boss
I can see him up there playing that gay-lookin keyboard guitar-like thing, but I’m really not hearing what they’re doing. If Johnson’s the leader, I’m sure it’s a bunch of freaky alternative shit, so screw it. I’m in the zone. I’m able to block out all the noise, just like in the war. Besides, I didn’t come here to listen to no music.
The bottom line is that I have an opportunity that no man ever gets. My enemy, the man who took me out of action (and a fucking towelhead no less), has presented himself to me on a goddamn silver platter. I’m doing what any red-blooded American male would do if he had the chance. Like they say, payback’s a bitch.
Brother
Shit. I gotta say, my little brother rules, you know whum sayin. So this is what he’s been doin in our room, writing songs in those notebooks and shit. It’s fuckin hype shit, too, you know whum sayin. I mean, it ain’t, like, what I’d bump up to in my ride, know whum sayin, but it’s still straight though. Bling bling. He’s up there dancin all silly and shit, all over the shit. I love it. Has a straight, loud voice, too. Crowd feels it, you know whum sayin. I’m all about love, know whum sayin. Yeah. Yeah. Uh-huh. Yeah. Shit. Mothah fuckin redneck pulling a gun out. Shoots that foreign dude’s keyboard. Music stops. Shoots him again. Foreign dude’s down. Everybody screaming. I get mine out. Jerome gets his. We cap the redneck’s ass just in case, you know whum sayin. Everybody’s running out screamin and shit. The show’s over.
XIV. Doing His Job
Ray
What is a happening? I don’t understand. Noises not good. Sounded like war. Bleeding so freely. Ceiling tiles, black sky. Ambulance. I bleed freely.
My testicles. He got my area. It was him. I saw him. It was Joe. He didn’t forgive it after all.
The end of the story flashes in my brain. The Germans and the British. Both their commanders threatened the peace with treason. The fighting resumed. And that’s an order.
Luster up above.
“Tell the wife and kid I love them. Tell them I’m sorry I stayed behind here. Sorry ’bout this. Good-bye.”
“Do not talk like that, Ray. You were shot in the nuts. You will get through this, and we are going with you,” he mouths.
“Oh no you’re not, mother fucker!” speaks a man voice somewhere. “No one except the foreigner is going anywhere.” Luster leaves cursing.
The foreigner is taken away.
Cop
So at least I got one Johnson where I want him, the crazy one. I still don’t believe that his brothers were totally innocent with what went on earlier, even if the witnesses claimed that Joe shot first. Still, I’ll get to the bottom of this and book them soon enough. But for right now, I got this one to deal with.
“What the fuck is this all about, cop in a doughnut shop?” asks Johnson.
“We have reason to believe that your band is in possession of an illegal substance.”
“What?”
“We know you got the drugs.”
“False!”
“Give it up, Johnson. One of your buddies ratted on you. You’re finished. Now gimme the drugs!”
“Sweet shit! I do not have any drugs!”
“Oh, come on, Johnson. We get a call saying you guys have a bag of crack. Then a foreigner gets shot. The two go together. It’s a textbook example of a drug-related crime. Your brothers were even here to have your back. Now hand over the drugs, mother fucker!”
“Battleship sunk!” he yells. “Have you ever seen a man’s dreams dissipate in five minutes? It is one thing to get shot at, but then to be accused of this malarkey. Our injury has been insulted.”
Poor ol’ Joe. They’re rolling him past us. He was a good man, a man’s man, and a damn hard worker. I don’t know why in the world he would get caught up in a mess with these heathens. Somebody’s gonna pay for it.
Opal
The girls and I are still in shock. Ember’s on my lap, crying for the first time since I’ve known her. Being the oldest, I feel like I should say something.
“I think the show was going really well ’til Ray got shot.”
“Totally,” says Aurora sadly.
The cop and Luster walk over.
“If you ain’t talkin, I’ll just find the stuff myself,” says that cop who interrupted our practice, that one with the mustache and buzz cut. “All of you stay right there. Don’t even think about going anywhere.” He walks off toward the stage.
“How’s Ray?” Aurora asks Luster.
“If this were a movie, you would just say, ‘Is he…?’ and not finish your sentence, and then I would interrupt you, as if the audience should be sheltered from the word ‘dead.’”
“Come on, Luster. Now’s not the time for that crap,” I say.
Luster looks embarrassed, which is rare for him.
“He should be okay,” he says. “He was shot in the scrotum, but he is still conscious. Right now, we have another problem on our hands with that cop.”
“What’s going on?” asks Aurora.
“He thinks we have drugs. He thinks that is what the shooting was ov
er. He says someone called and ratted on us.”
Oh, shit. Ember looks up at me, probably thinking the same thing—oh, shit.
I can’t just not say anything.
“Uhh, I should probably tell y’all something,” I whisper.
“What?” asks Luster.
“I just remembered I have a big bag of crack in the back of my amp.”
“What?” hoots Aurora. Luster stares at me.
“I’m just kind of hiding it from the person that stole it,” I say.
“Who stole it?” Aurora asks.
“Well, uh…” Ember looks up at me, then at the others, her face still red and moist from crying. She slowly raises her hand. Sorry, Mom and Dad. I’ve failed as a babysitter. Guess I wouldn’t have made that great of a parent after all, dammit.
Ex-Boyfriend
Dude, I guess I wasn’t the only one that had it out for that band. It’s been a rough night for ’em. But you know, they shouldn’t have fucked with me, ’cause that’s something you just don’t do. Aurora’s got a sweet ass and a band that rocks, but you just don’t treat me like that and get away with it, stealing my calendars and then shutting me down like that…I’ll be cool to you as long as you’re cool to me, you know whum sayin, and she was not cool to me.
I see my cop bud looking around on stage, so I sneak around backstage.
“Pssst. What’s up, Officer?”
“Hey. What’s up, David?”
“Just chillin’. Haven’t seen you ’round my Ken’s Fried Chicken for a while.”
“Yeah. Been busy. What you doing here?”
“Actually, I’m the one who called. I’ll show you where I found their stash.”
Aurora
I knew we should’ve been keeping a closer eye on Ember. I guess we were all caught up in our own stupid problems with the “humanoids,” like me with that David prick. I should never have let my guard down for someone like him, someone so average.
“Ember, how could you?” I ask.
“Luster’s brothers were being mean to all of us that one night. No one was looking. So I took a bag.”
Oh. I remember. Luster’s brothers were too busy hitting on me to notice their precious crack was being stolen by an eight-year-old. And I was too busy being hit on.
“She didn’t even know what she was stealing,” says Opal.
“Yes I did!”
“She showed it to me, and I took it from her,” says Opal. “I know I should’ve thrown it away.”
“Why didn’t you?” I ask.
“Well, you know how I am. I’ll try anything once. I was saving it in case I ever felt the urge. I never felt it, though. Shit. I’m sorry.”
“But who would call the police on us?” I ask. Nobody knows. I always felt everybody was out to get us. I guess I was right.
The cop returns with a large Ziploc bag full of what I presume to be crack cocaine. It’s yellowish white.
“I’m only going to ask you all once. Whose is it?”
For once, we are silent.
Ember
I cried sad tears for Ray. They needed out. But now I’m mad again. I hate cops. Especially this one.
“Come on, Johnson! Am I going to have to arrest all four of you?”
He can’t do this to Luster. I’m the one that ruined everything. I hop off Opal’s lap and scream at the cop.
“Don’t blame Luster! It’s my crack! I stole it. Luster had nothing to do with it!”
The cop looks down at me and smiles. Like adults always do. Now Opal stands.
“Hush, Ember. It’s mine, officer. I didn’t smoke any of it, but it was in the back of my amp.”
The cop laughs at her.
“Ma’am, little girl, that’s really sweet of y’all, but who are you kidding? What would you two want with a bag of crack? Meanwhile, not only was Johnson acting high as a kite on stage, but his family has a history of being arrested for selling drugs. Give it up, Johnson. Y’all can’t fool me.”
“The policeman is right,” says Luster. He sounds soft and calm. “Whom are we kidding? He has to have it his way. He has to make things right. He has the way things are in his head, and he has the uniform to make them be. So, yes, that is my crack. Arrest my ass, if that is the way it has to be. Take me away.” He holds out his hands to the cop.
“Luster!” we all scream. Luster looks at me and smiles like a little kid. The cop is already cuffing him. I cling onto Luster’s leg.
“He’s lying, officer! Don’t you dare arrest him!” yells Opal.
“Ladies, please. I’m just doing my job. Now stand back.”
The cop pushes me away. He leads Luster off by the arm. Opal, Aurora, and I stare helplessly. We miss our men.
Luster turns around and smiles. He tries to wave good-bye but has cuffs on. So he kind of wiggles his fingers at us. He turns back around. We hear him yell at his all-time loudest, “Just doing his job! Paying his bills! Nothing personal!”
He had always hated it when people said things like that.
XV. Six Epilogues
Husband
Everything back to normal is comfortable. Back where I belong is good for my health. No more punchings, beatings, and shootings. Peace!
I’m looking similar to other Iraqis and treated the same. Got my routine down and no more surprises. But I still get a feeling when I pull up to my house. I guess the opposite feeling of how I felt that night before I went on stage those months and months ago. But no more of that. The future is what’s for dinner.
After another day of work at the sandal factory, I walk in the house to see the wife kitchened, bunned up, and aproned, making our house smell like home.
“Hey, honey. How was the work today?” she asks, tongued Arabically.
“Eh, shitty as usual,” I answer. Also tongued Arabically.
We got a stable dinner table. Still the fighting, but not as big. Aymon is behaving and toning back down his clothings. Not so funky now.
Fork, knife, spoon, shut up. Can’t stand the silence, so I break it.
“Aymon, how was school today?”
“I still hate it. Nobody likes my kind of music. Nobody understands me.”
His talk reminds me of Aurora, who won’t write me back.
“Things will get better,” says the wife. “You are at an awkward age. Soon you will grow a beard, and life will become less confusing.”
Milkah might be right. Once I got back here and regrew the beard, life did become less confusing. I want to add on to the support by showing my son he is not alone.
“Don’t feel bad, Aymon. I have been experiencing a similar situation at my work. I make mix tapes of rock music for peers. When I ask them if they like what they hear, they pretend like they don’t hear me or even leave the room.”
Aymon nods. “Yeah, it’s like, nobody here gets it, you know what I am saying?”
“I know what you are saying,” I reply.
“Fine! Both of you can go back to America with the infidels and get shot at!” shouts the wife. She won’t let me forget that I left a nut in America. She runs away from the table. I try to stop her.
“But, dear, I left it all behind to be with you! Dear—Ahh, screw it.”
This happens every once in a few, usually when we talk about U.S.A. things. She gets over it after a few minutes of alone time. Aymon and I keep eating.
“Father, do you miss America?”
I think fatherily with thought before answering.
“I miss my friends. But they were not your typical Americans. They didn’t shoot me. Do you miss America?”
“Yes. I miss playing music with my friends.”
“Me too.”
I write these friends of mine but never get written back to. I don’t understand. Maybe they think I should’ve stayed. But what I had to do I had to do I had to do. After what happened, Milkah felt for me. She was willing to take me back. I knew it was time to return. Besides, the way things were heading, the band could be no more with
or without a Ray Fuquay.
“And I miss the girls who were allowed to wear such slutty clothes,” continues Aymon.
“Oh, yes! Slutty clothes!” I didn’t want to show him this, but I can’t resist. I raise up my boring cream-colored shirt to reveal my Budweiser halter-top underneath. “Don’t tell your mother!”
“I won’t.” He is proud of me. I can see it in his eyebrows.
“Ooh! Do you know what else I miss?” I ask. “The language. I was just getting the hang of it before I left.”
I’m going to do something I haven’t done in a very long while. I’m going to switch back to English.
“I wonder if I can still speak English.”
“You can!” says Aymon in English. “Hey! I can too!”
“I remember when Luster was helping me with English. He said the worst mistake I could make in speaking the language was starting a sentence with—what was it? …Ah yes…‘With all due respect’ or ‘Could you do me a favor?’”
We share laughter.
“I wish I could’ve met your friends,” says Aymon.
“I do too.”
My wife reminds us this is an Arabic household when she shrieks from her bedroom, “What’s that I hear you speaking in there?!”
“Nothing, dear! Come and eat with us!” I say Arabically.
I hear her coming back, but I need to say a little more English to my son. I know this will be the last time I get to speak the crazy language for a while. So I try to make it something good. I lean in closer to him and whisper.
“Remember, you can always think in English. No one would ever know. Besides, nobody ever says the words in their heads anyway.”
Grandmother
I hope where Ember is they’ll let her watch the TV. She would be so proud of me. Jenny Jones was always her favorite. She always said she loved to hate the people that came on there, but surely she wouldn’t feel that way about me. Luster wouldn’t be proud of me, though. He used to say that for the average Kentuckian, appearing on a talk show is the summit of human potential. I guess it’s downhill for me from here on out.
