Birth of a Dark Nation Page 3

"I mean yeah, he's not like super fine or anything."

  "You like him."

  "No I don't."

  "Yesssss yoooooou doooooo."

  "I don't know him. I only just found out his name."

  "Nigga, you are about to skip down the street singing show tunes, I can see it in your eyes."

  "Shut up."

  "Just be careful. This dude is a corner boy. If he'll sell bootlegs to a stranger, you know he's reckless. You got too much to lose messin' around with a boy like that."

  "Dude, I don't like him."

  "Okay man. I gotcha."

  Steve walked back to his desk while I walked upstairs to my office. I sat down in my chair, adjusted the back, and reclined. As I stared at the ceiling, I made an admission to myself.

  Fuck. I am attracted to this dude.

  June

  Even though I hadn't had a panic attack since the night of the happy hour, I decided to drive to and from work every day afterward. And on each day, I noticed Dante. He wasn't always just posted up at the corner. Sometimes he'd be walking to the Dollar General or the carryout. Sometimes he'd be waiting at the bus stop to head to parts unknown. And, of course, there were the days that he'd be sitting out in the shade of the Masonic hall, selling his bootleg movies and music.

  What he said had resonated with me. I was usually too wrapped up in my own thoughts to notice anything going on around me. I didn't used to be that way, but the past few years at Magdalene House seemed to suck the life right out of me. I'd become reclusive and detached from social life. The few friends I had from college were scattered across the country and I hadn't managed to make new ones. In fact, I wasn't even sure how to make friends outside of work.

  I knew my mom was worried about me. I made sure I spoke to her every Sunday night, after dinner and before 60 Minutes. She and my dad were enjoying the retired life but always made sure I was doing okay.

  They knew I was gay. They were fine with it. My four older siblings had already begun to give them grandchildren, so nobody was upset that I probably wouldn't. At least not the old fashioned way.

  I never caused my family any problems. Syracuse was a breeze for me. And nobody so much as batted an eyelash when I left Hamilton, New York, to come down to DC to work. I was responsible. I was good.

  My mom worried if my goodness prevented me from taking romantic risks. She loved me and wanted me to be happy, but she didn't quite understand just how hard it was to meet quality guys, even in a city as gay and as black as DC. Men didn't seem to get me. They didn't seem to be attracted to me. So, I suppose I made the decision to stop being hurt and start focusing on me. My career. My small little corner of this world.

  I knew my mom wanted more for me, but as long as I stayed out of trouble, there wasn't much she could do to make me want more for myself than I already had.

  At least I had a job and a handsome guy to look forward to seeing a few days out of the week, even if it was just a wave in the air across Rhode Island Avenue.

  I didn't know him. I didn't even have his phone number. But it was nice to meet somebody new.

  As I sat down for our semi-regular staff meeting, I positioned myself at the far end of the room so I could see out the window.

  "New seat?" Steve asked. I smirked. He looked out the window and saw that Dante was on his regular spot directly across the street.

  "Lawd," he said. I shrugged. Ernie, our bumbling executive director, sat down and began the meeting.

  Magdalene House was the kind of organization that attracted two types of employees. First, you had the ones who were claimed to be passionate about the cause itself-women living with HIV. My boss Ernie fit in that category, as did the majority of case managers. While their passion was admirable, it didn't always translate into best practices. I learned that one couldn't govern or manage a nonprofit based on emotion. It takes a delicate balance of knowledge, skills, policy, and good, sound business practices. They were hired based on passion years ago. Now? They were just taking up space.

  Magdalene House was known for none of that. That made it challenging for the second, business-savvy group of people, employees like Steve, Cissy, and me to excel in our fields. Although Steve was a case manager and did have a passion for helping people, he held a master's degree in social work and often had a hard time understanding why our data collection and case management practices were so archaic. It was almost criminal how poorly records were kept. And that affected Cissy's job in development, too. Whenever a grant proposal had to be written which specifically asked for hard numbers, she had no choice but to guess the figures.

  So the day-to-day work got done because of a love for the clients and their plight, but important work like grant proposals, operations, and leadership got short shrift because, really, nobody was in charge. Nobody worth a damn.

  Ernie had been executive director for years, hired by friends on the board of directors who just needed somebody to keep the organization running day-to-day. By the time I got there, Magdalene House was already in the middle of a very slow decline.

  Steve was the first to notice. Even though the formal records were spotty, he saw that the caseloads for all the case managers were slowly dropping off. The clients weren't dying. They were just finding other places to receive housing and the other services we provided. Younger, shinier nonprofits were opening up their doors across town, and even though they did the same things we did, the clients were wooed away by the newness and the incentives of the other organizations. I couldn't be mad at them, either. With the private foundation money the new organizations were receiving, they were able to give their clients cool things for loyalty, like an Amazon gift card for six months of keeping appointments. Steve tried to introduce a similar incentive program, but Ernie wasn't having it. Magdalene couldn't afford that, he said.

  Cissy then began to see that Ernie wasn't giving her as much to do, and that he hired contractors to handle the government grants. It was obvious to everyone that Ernie was giving his own cronies work to do while slowly, but surely, taking away Cissy's responsibilities. She was basically relegated to writing appeal letters and trying to plan special events.

  Finally, I realized that all the external projects that I used to assist on had been cut. No more volunteer recruitment, no more supervising interns. Just running virus scans, downloading software, and ordering new equipment. The salary was adequate, but it was clear that Ernie was controlling us by taking away responsibilities.

  "I've got some bad news," Ernie began at our regular staff meeting. "We were denied funding for capital improvements on the house. We've got to wait another year before we can improve the HVAC system."

  The room grumbled.

  "I know, I know… It's tough."

  He always said, "It's tough," as though that were an actual answer to any questions we had.

  "But we've got to keep moving forward as a team."

  "I have a question…" I began. "It seems like we haven't been winning these major grants lately. Is there anything we can do to fortify this process? You know…as a team?"

  "Not really," Ernie responded. "It's totally a political process. They already know who they want to give the grants to from the outset. We just have to keep trying."

  Cissy tried her hardest not to roll her eyes at Ernie. We knew he was feeding us bullshit.

  The meeting continued much like a Charlie Brown special, with echoes of French horns standing in for the voices of my coworkers. The program staff was ignorant to the major issues. Except for Steve, they wasted time in meetings telling stories about clients rather than focusing on the hard data and contributing ideas toward a long-range plan. Luckily, it was Friday again, and I'd be home soon enough.

  Around 4:30 p.m., Ernie had left for the day, and the rest of my coworkers slowly tiptoed out. Before I knew it, I was in the building alone. I turned out the light in the attic and walked down the steep stairs to the second floor. I went to each small room, closed the blinds, and turned the lights out.
As I did the same for Ernie's office, I mused that his desk was too junky to ever find anything incriminating on it.

  I locked the door to the second floor and continued down to the main level. Somebody-probably Steve-had already locked the big brown door to the reception area, leaving me to just turn on the security system and lock the front door of the building as I left.

  As I did that, I felt a light tap against my back, then a second. I turned around and saw Dante down the sidewalk, lightly throwing small pebbles at me. One hit me in the chest.

  "Nigga, what are you doing?" I asked, brushing away the dust that the pebble had left on my red polo shirt.

  "Nothin', man. Just messin' with you."

  "Don't you have some movies to sell?" I asked him as I walked off our porch and onto the sidewalk.

  "Always man," he said, giving me dap. "But I just wanted to come by and see the homie. See what's good with you."

  "I'm okay. Ready to get out of here." I started walking in the direction of my car.

  "You got some place to be?" he asked me.

  "Just home. Gonna order some food and chill out."

  "It's just you? No kids?"

  "Nigga, you know I'm gay."

  "Yeah, I know. That don't mean you ain't got a family."

  "Well, I don't. It's just me."

  "Oh, okay," he said. He stopped walking. I paused along with him.

  "What's up?" I asked.

  "If all you gonna do is go home…I mean…you ain't gotta go home to kick it."

  "Where else I'ma go?"

  "You wanna come to my crib?"

  "Your place? I don't know about that, man."

  "Come on, I'm just across the street and up the block."

  "I don't know, Dante. Like tonight? Like right now?"

  "Yeah, right now. Come on." He started walking back up the street.

  I followed him and stopped at the corner.

  "Dante, maybe we can hang out another day. I'm really tired and—"

  "Will you stop trippin' and come on across the street? All we're going to do is order some food and kick it. You act like I'ma rape and murder you or something. Shit, I'm hungry too, nigga. Damn."

  "Well…okay," I said. Spending an hour or two at his place wouldn't be the worst way to spend my Friday evening. And I'd only be a block from my car if I needed to make a quick getaway. Not that I would need to.

  I caught up to him at the corner across the street. As we walked up Thayer Street, we passed a few kids skateboarding down the street. Where I grew up, skateboarding was for angry white kids. On the avenue, it was just another way for black boys to get around.

  The houses on Thayer Street were all designed slightly differently. Though most were square and compact with small front yards, some had vinyl siding and others had brick facades. While some had fully enclosed porches that were filled to the brim with junk, others had no porch to speak of.

  Dante's house was near the corner. There was no actual house on the corner-it was a vacant lot. Because I could see the front and the side of Dante's house, I could tell that it was much larger than I originally thought it would be. It was three stories tall, like the Magdalene office. I assumed that the third floor must have been a full attic like ours was.

  "This is the crib," Dante said.

  "All this is yours?" I asked.

  "Yup," he replied. "Used to belong to my cousin."

  "I see y'all are keeping it in the family." He opened the door and let me in.

  The house was simply decorated on the inside, with a brass wall clock and matching sconces on either side adorning the far wall where the sofa sat. The carpet was thick beneath my feet. The place itself smelled…old. Not bad. Just old.

  "Have a seat," he said. I thanked him and sat on the sofa, picking up the remote control from a small coffee table and turning on the television. I turned it to the channel nine news.

  "Make yourself at home," he quipped.

  "Thanks," I replied sarcastically. "I just don't like to miss the news."

  As he disappeared into the kitchen, I could hear him opening up the refrigerator. Annette Mitchell was on television reporting on some sort of scandal in city hall, as if that was anything new in DC.

  "I don't watch a lot of TV," he said, emerging with two cans of Diet Pepsi.

  "Word? I love it. I like being entertained. Music, sports, movies, all that."

  "That's what's up," he said, passing me a drink.

  "Thank you," I said, popping open the can. "So what do you like to do?"

  "I dunno, just chill I guess." He sat on the opposite end of the couch from me.

  "What's a day in your life like?"

  "Why you got so many questions?"

  I laughed.

  "You do realize we just met last week, and the extent of our relationship is me buying your bootlegs?"

  "Why you act so saditty, yo?"

  "Saditty? Are you kidding me? I'm just trying to get to know you better, dawg. You seem like a cool dude, but I'm starting to rethink that."

  Now he laughed.

  "You feisty."

  "Damn right I am." I sipped my Diet Pepsi. He chugged his and burped.

  "'Scuse me," he said.

  I burped in response. Loudly.

  "Nigga, you nasty!"

  "Whatever. I already farted on your couch."

  He laughed hard. I smirked.

  "Aight nigga, I'm no good at this, but here goes," he began. "I live a real simple life. This my family house. We had it a long time. Right now, it's just me living here. I ain't go to college or nothin' like that. And yeah, I be sellin' movies and shit to pay bills. I'm good at it. But I'm good at whatever I feel like doin'. I don't want you to think I'm just some scrub, you know?"

  "I don't think that," I said.

  "Yeah, you do. Look at your body language."

  I looked down at myself and saw what he meant: my arms were folded and my legs were turned away from him. I looked like I didn't want to be there.

  "You're observant," I said sheepishly. I uncrossed my arms and faced him more.

  "Yeah, I notice shit," he said. "So how long you been at Magdalene?"

  "About four years. The money is okay, but the work sucks. I sit in front of a computer all day."

  "I see. So you sit in front of a computer all day then come home and sit in front of a TV all night."

  "I mean, you make it sound like a bad thing," I smiled.

  "It's whatever. I just like taking walks sometimes. You know, be out in the air and shit."

  "That's cool," I said. I sipped some more Pepsi until it was gone.

  "That don't sound like your kind of thing."

  "It's cool. Dante, I gotta be honest with you."

  "What's up?"

  "I don't know what I'm doing here. I don't know what you're into. I ain't been on no date in years. I'm just-"

  "Whoa, dude… Slow down. You getting all hype for nothing. I just want to spend some time with you, yo."

  "Why?"

  "Because you fine as shit, nigga damn. And you seem jive smart. And on the real? Ain't no nigga ever step to me so bold like you did. I mean shit, what gay niggas you know gonna cop some straight porn? If you don't think that's hot, then you need to get it together."

  "You think it's hot that I like straight porn?"

  "Hell yeah. You know what that says to me? That you don't have no boundaries like a lot of these niggas out here. You down for whatever."

  "Nobody's ever accused me of that before," I laughed.

  "First time for everything, right? Now just relax. We gone order some food, watch some TV like you like, and get to know each other and shit. You say this new for you, well it's new for me too. A nigga wanna get shit right the first time, ya dig?"

  I nodded. And blushed a little bit. This dude was different. I liked it.

  We ordered some General Tso's chicken and vegetable fried rice and watched the rest of the news with a few awkward interruptions for "getting to know you" types
of questions. By the time the food arrived, the ice had finally been broken, and I felt free to delve a little deeper.

  "So, you ever get worried about getting in trouble for selling your movies?" I asked. I savored each bite of the spicy chicken dish.

  "Not really. Po-pos ain't thinking about nothing less than weed. Bootlegging shit ain't hurting nobody. Niggas in the hood ain't got no money for shit no way, so these studios ain't missing no loot." He shoveled a helping of rice into his mouth.

  "That's true. And plus, the Internet practically put shit you want right in your lap."

  "Yeah, true that."

  "You ever thought about using USB drives for movies instead of CDs and DVDs?"

  "How dat work?"

  "Like, say you sell your…clients, I guess…sell them a USB drive for cheap, and then whenever they want something new, you upload it to their drive from a laptop or something."

  "That could work. But I still gotta have discs for the niggas that ain't got no computers."

  "True," I said. "I guess you got this under control, you don't need my advice."

  "I like how you think, though."

  "Thank you man. Hey, you ever thought about doing a job that, you know, has benefits?"

  "Like a nine to five?"

  "Yeah."

  "You hiring?"

  "No."

  "Then no."

  "Damn, just like that?"

  "I got my income man, I'm good. For now at least. And I got some experience doing construction and shit like that. Landscaping. Even worked on a trash truck for a little bit. But I'm good right now. I can pay my bills."

  "I feel you. It's cool."

  "What about you?"

  "What about me?"

  "I get the feelin' you ain't into yo job all like that, either. When you gonna move on?"

  "You hiring?"

  "Naw."

  "Then I'm good." I winked.

  "You funny."

  We talked more, about a lot, but at the same time, nothing big at all. It was nice just getting to know the basics from somebody who was so simple and uncomplicated. He was just a dude making his own way. Nothing special.

  But he was very handsome, and even through the thick DC slang and accent, I could tell he was also very smart. He had a way with words that was intriguing.