Birth of a Dark Nation Page 4

  By no means am I saying that he was beneath me, or that I was better than him in any way. All I am saying is that he was different from anybody else I had ever had an interest in. He shared things without saying them explicitly and provoked me without being spiteful.

  He was cool. And I could tell he felt the same way about me.

  We talked so long into the night that I fell asleep right there on the sofa. Like a perfect gentleman, he put a blanket over me and walked up the stairs, letting me sleep alone.

  Although I slept rather fitfully, plagued by dreams that I couldn't remember once I woke up in the morning, I still woke with a sense that I was in a safe place, with someone who cared about me just up the stairs.

  Happy Hour

  Cissy did her best to cultivate donors for Magdalene House. Her latest venture was a happy hour at a venue on U Street. The corridor had once been a burned out strip where no business would thrive, but with the addition of a metro station, the once dead street became something of a young professional hotspot in DC.

  Steve and I committed to helping Cissy man the event when the rest of the staff shied away. It didn't surprise us. When it came to the staff, they didn't do anything beyond regular work hours unless something was in it for them.

  The three of us walked up to the venue with its soft neon lights and tiny windows that were too high to peer into, in stark contrast to the other lounges and restaurants on U Street which practically invited the public in through their wide windows.

  "Aye… Is it true this place is a swinger's club after ten?" Steve asked.

  Cissy remained silent.

  "Oh my God, it's true!" I exclaimed. "You got us doing a fundraiser at a swinger's club!?"

  "Listen, I don't care what they do after we leave. All I know is that the owner is letting us use this place for free."

  "That's what's up," Steve said. "Well, hopefully, this will be a huge success."

  Despite Steve's hopes, the happy hour wasn't much of a success. It wasn't exactly a flop, but only about ten people came through, and most were Cissy's friends. I sat at the table next to Steve, collecting donations and logging them on Cissy's laptop while she made small talk with people she'd obviously already known for years.

  All of our promotion on Facebook and Twitter meant nothing at the end of the day. Magdalene House just wasn't the kind of place that would get its fundraising success doing happy hours. Magdalene didn't have enough political cachet for the vapid DC buppies to even consider supporting us. To them, and to many, we were the equivalent of a mom-and-pop store trying to compete with Target.

  I felt bad for Cissy, who smiled through the entire evening, even after it became apparent that Ernie wasn't going to bother to show up. Her friends didn't stay long, and only one or two actually bought a drink. Most just dropped off their donations and left within 20 minutes.

  As we packed up our promotional materials four hours later, a young Asian woman came into the bar, dressed in all black. Her black hair was full and bouncy, with one blond streak just right of the center of her head.

  "Oh, hello! You must be from the Magdalene group, right?"

  "Yes, we are," I smiled. "We were just packing up."

  "Oh, I'm sorry I missed you guys. My name is Chiyoko. I'm the bartender for the late night crowd."

  "I'm Justin," I said, shaking her hand firmly. It was slightly cold.

  "Oh, sorry about that," she laughed, noticing my reaction. "I've got bad circulation, so my hands are always cold!"

  "Not a problem," I smiled. "This is Cissy, she's the director of development. And this is Steve."

  "Pleased to meet you," he said. He was practically salivating over the young woman.

  "You guys are welcome to stay as my guests, if you want. That is, you know, if you're into the clientele here."

  "Maybe next time," Cissy said quickly. "I've got to get home to my kid."

  "Same here," I said. Steve looked at me from the corner of his eye.

  "I think I'll stay," he said. "Watch you work for a little while."

  "Fine with me," Chiyoko laughed. She then turned her attention to Cissy. "Oh yeah, I was hoping to give you this. I was going to mail it if I didn't catch you here."

  She dug deep into her purse and pulled out a wallet. She peeled a hundred dollar bill off of a stack of bills and handed it to Cissy.

  "Here you go. I read up on Magdalene House when the boss said you would be having an event here, and I just wanted to support."

  "Wow!" Cissy exclaimed. "Thank you so much! Would you like a receipt?"

  Chiyoko threw a hand up and shook her head vigorously. "Please, take it. It's the least I could do."

  Cissy took the bill and gave Chiyoko a hug.

  "Thank you so, so much."

  Chiyoko smiled back.

  "Have a good evening. It was nice meeting both of you. And as for you, Mr. Steve, let me fix you a drink. Bloody Mary?"

  "Works for me!" Steve said excitedly. As they disappeared back into the bowels of the club, Steve turned around and gave Cissy and me a thumbs-up sign. We laughed and left the club.

  "That Steve. What are we gonna do with him?" I wondered aloud.

  "Pray. Women are his Achilles' heel."

  "Where are you parked?" I asked.

  "Right here. Got really lucky finding a space. Are you okay getting home?"

  "Oh yeah, I'll be fine. I'm parked a few blocks down. See you at work tomorrow!"

  I began walking down 13th Street in the direction of my car. I laughed to myself again as I thought about Steve and his new friend, Chiyoko. He was one smooth player, even at 50.

  The street felt still. No wind blew, no cars moved, and everything felt oppressively immobile. My car seemed miles away and the muscles in my chest began to contract and tighten over my lungs.

  No, not again.

  I felt like the world was going to end if I didn't get to my car right then and there. The rustling noises began again and I picked up my pace. I reached into my pocket and tried to get a grasp on my keys but my hand kept shaking and sweating.

  I looked around. No one was there. But I knew somebody was. Somebody had to be.

  I broke into a sprint, finally getting my keys in my hand. My car was in sight, and if I could just get inside, everything would be okay.

  I ran, sweat falling off my brow, stopping only when I got to the car door. I hit the auto-unlock button, threw the door open, and hurled myself inside. I slammed the door shut and stuck the key in the ignition. I turned the volume up on the radio and tried to forget that I was panicking. In the passenger seat was a bottle of water—I grabbed it, fidgeted with the cap, and finally got the bottle to my lips.

  I finally began to calm down in the safety of my car.

  "This shit has got to stop," I thought.

  Carnival

  It was way too early to be awake on a Saturday morning, but these were the things we did for the guys we liked.

  "You lived in DC this long and ain't never been to Carnival? Shit, you live two blocks from Georgia Ave and you ain't never been to Carnival? Whatchu got against Carnival?" he asked me that week.

  "I ain't got nothing against Carnival!" I said. "I just…never made a point to go before."

  "Well, we going."

  I stood on Georgia Avenue and Kennedy Street in front of a pink and black brick building, in the oppressive heat of the early morning. The building had been a barbecue place once, but it was now a Chinese carry out.

  It was also the landmark where I'd met Dante so that we could enjoy the DC Caribbean Carnival. It was to be our first date, even though we had spent practically every day together for the past two weeks. One day, he might surprise me with lunch from the carryout. Another day, if the weather was cool enough, we would walk around the block and just talk. And of course, some days I would just spend the evening with him watching television and talking.

  I was digging him. So it was no big deal when he asked me if I would go to Carnival with him. I only
lived two blocks from the start of the parade route, so I might as well step on down the street and watch it with him.

  He got off the bus on Kennedy Street and I smiled slightly, not wanting to show the world how deeply I was attracted to him. As usual, he was wearing a crisp white sleeveless t-shirt, but today he was wearing faded green camouflage shorts. A red, white, and black bandana pulled his long dreadlocks back.

  "Nice bandana," I said, giving him dap as he approached me.

  "Thanks. Representin' Trinidad today."

  "Looks good. I'm representing the tiny nation of Kena Island. Population one."

  "You crazy," he said. "Hey, we goin' up this way today, Georgia and Missouri."

  "Is that the best spot to see the parade?"

  "See it? I said we're gonna be in it."

  "What the hell?" I said, stopping in my tracks. "As hot as it is out here, you want us to walk in the parade? I'm not dressed for this shit man."

  "It's fine, the weather ain't that bad, and you don't need to do nothin' special. I know the band. We good."

  "Dante, I don't know," I said.

  "Aight, just walk with me to this little park. We'll check it out. If you don't wanna do it, we can just watch. But we gotta hurry, the shit is about to start."

  He got some pep in his step and started jogging up Georgia Avenue to where it met Missouri. There was a park there where all the bands were assembling. For DC Carnival, a band wasn't just musicians; it included huge flatbed trucks with enormous speakers as well as dozens of dancers. Some of the bands had elaborate costumes with feathers and sequins. I had seen pictures of folks I went to college with who had gone to real Carnivals down in the islands. They were off the chain.

  DC Carnival was smaller, but still shaping up to be a lot of fun. On this hill were hundreds of dancers assembled and waiting to march with their bands down Georgia Avenue. Dante led me down the other side of the hill to the band furthest away from everyone else. These dancers were not wearing specific costumes at all, but instead were doused head to toe in blood red body paint.

  "This is the Cold Blooded Band," he explained. He took his shirt off and wiped the sweat from his forehead with it. It was my first time seeing his naked torso and I enjoyed the view. Every inch of his chest looked like it had been carved from mahogany.

  "Yeah, looks creepy," I replied. As I walked closer to the dancers, rather than looking ominous and scary, they actually all had smiles on their faces. I could tell that this was a friendly group by the way the laughed and carried on around each other.

  "So, where do the non-bloody folks line up?" I asked.

  Ignoring me, Dante introduced me to a friend of his.

  "Justin, this is Kenny. He's with Cold Blooded." Kenny was a tall man with cornrows and caramel colored skin. He was 6 and a half feet easy and had shoulders wider than most small houses.

  "Nice to meet you, Justin," he said in a deep bass. "Stand over there, please."

  I backed up a few paces as he directed and Dante stood next to me.

  "Clear!" Kenny shouted.

  Suddenly, I was drenched with red paint from head to toe.

  "Son of a bitch!" I immediately took my shirt off to rub the paint from my face, when another torrent of red paint doused me. Now I looked unrecognizable from the rest of the dancers.

  I looked over to my left and saw that Dante was also covered in the paint, even to the tips of his dreadlocks. The volunteers kicked us out of the station and told us that if we waited in the sun, the paint would be dry before we knew it.

  "Dude, I can't believe you set me up like that! I don't want to be in a damn parade all day, and I for damn sure don't want to be in this damn body paint!"

  "Hey… I just wanted to do something fun and spontaneous with you," he said quietly. "I'm sorry I ain't ask you first."

  I leered at him and then looked away. I was pissed. I was inclined to just walk back over the hill and go home.

  "Don't go," he said. It was almost as if he had read my mind.

  "I ain't going anywhere. I just better goddamn well enjoy this fucking parade."

  His white teeth shined through the red paint as he smiled.

  "You will," he said.

  After standing in the sun for about twenty minutes, the paint had indeed mostly dried, just in time for the band to wind up and the soca music to start playing.

  I hated to admit it at the time, but I really did end up having a great time. I hadn't heard good soca since I was in college. To hear it live and in a band of a hundred people was on another level all together. As soon as we began moving down Georgia Avenue, I forgot how pissed off I was at Dante.

  It was hot. Yet we danced all the way down Georgia Avenue, grinding and winding away. The sweat broke through our body paint and made flesh colored trails down our bodies. I didn't even realize until four blocks down the parade route that I was naked from the waist up. I did not have the same kind of body that Dante did. I was about a forty in the waist and curvy in places I should have been angular. In short, I probably looked like somebody's crazy pot-bellied uncle out there. Panic slowly crept over me.

  I stopped dancing and started walking. I tried to imagine that I was invisible and would somehow disappear entirely.

  Noticing how my demeanor had changed, Dante, who previously was swept up in the music, came back down to earth to reassure me.

  "You know you look good, right?" he said earnestly.

  "Whatever," I said. I didn't truly believe him.

  "Seriously." He slapped me on the back and prodded me into dancing again.

  Did I mention it was hot? We walked and we marched and we danced and we walked and we marched and we ran (when there was an unforeseen gap in the parade) and we danced some more. I swear I sweated off ten pounds that day.

  We finally ended up at Banneker Field, across from Howard University, for the big Caribbean festival after the parade was over. I was exhausted and hungry, yet Dante seemed to have even more energy. We got some Jamaican patties and ate them on the bleachers.

  "Aren't these supposed to have beef? Where's the beef?" I asked.

  "Oh, I got vegetable. You know I don't eat meat, right?"

  "Yeah, I noticed. But I like beef though! I guess I'll live though." I smiled.

  "You having fun?" he asked me, as we watched the revelers dance in front of the big stage and continued to bake in the sun hours later.

  "Yeah, I am," I said through a still-red smile on my face. "I kind of want to go home and shower, though."

  "Yeah, me too," he said. We had spent hours on the parade route and just kicking it at the festival but I didn't really want the day to end.

  "Hey… Why don't we go to my place?"

  "But I'm still all red and sticky," he said. His dark brown eyes gleamed in the sun as he spoke.

  "You can shower there," I said.

  "Word?"

  "Yeah man, you shouldn't have to catch the bus all the way across town like that."

  "We gotta catch the bus to Kennedy," he countered.

  "Well, I was just offering," I said. "And you haven't seen my place yet."

  "You inviting me over?"

  "Yeah."

  "You sure?"

  "Yes! See, now you actin' silly." I stood up and began walking to the trashcans and the exit.

  "You comin'?" I asked. He stood up and followed me off the field.

  As the parade had been long over, Georgia Avenue was now open to traffic again. We waited about ten minutes before one of the big 70-route buses came up the street. We paid our fare, but only after the driver told us we "bet not" sit down in his seats. We stood up for the ten-minute ride up the street, laughing the whole way.

  Soon, we were at Kennedy Street. I thanked the driver and we started walking the few blocks back to my apartment. There were no rustles in the bushes this time around. I couldn't believe I had been so frightened of nothing on the nights I'd had my panic attacks.

  I noticed at this point that Dante and I very rar
ely made small talk. When we did have conversations, they were thorough. Robust. But when there was down time, we sort of just…looked at each other. Sometimes, I smiled. Sometimes, he shrugged. Most times, there was just this sense of peace. It was only in that moment that I found it to be strange. To be around someone so often and to say so little, but to feel so at ease, was a new feeling for me, indeed.

  "You good?" he asked, as though he read my thoughts in that instant.

  "I'm good. My apartment building is on the next corner. The big yellow one."

  Kennedy Street was similar to Rhode Island Avenue, with its liquor stores and beauty salons, but my street also had more residential properties. One side of my street had Mexican and Ethiopian restaurants with a row of five houses in between them. My side of the street had two big yellow brick buildings. They were three story apartments, each with around twelve units. The buildings were on opposite corners of the block and an unbroken row of two story houses filled out the space between them.

  "This is it," I said. I took my keys from my pocket and unlocked the front door. There was no security system in this old building, just a Plexiglas door in a metal frame. I walked up the stairs to the third floor and Dante followed me.

  "This is an old building," he said, as he looked around the hallway. We had a black and white tiled floor and institutional-looking blue walls that seemed to come straight from a 1940s-era hospital.

  "Yeah, it is. We don't even have central air, man. I've got to leave one of my units on while I'm out just to make sure shit doesn't literally melt in this heat."

  I opened my door and the heat from the living room hit us.

  "And this is clearly not the room where I keep the air on," I joked. He paused and looked around my space. It wasn't anything to write home about. I'd guess that the 42-inch flat screen television was the most interesting thing in the room. I really needed to invest in some curtains, as the metal blinds—even when closed—were doing nothing to keep the heat out. Nor were the hardwood floors.

  To my surprise, he wasn't interested in the TV, or my CD collection, or even my DVDs, which had their own small shelving system. Instead, he made a beeline to the small, framed photos on my wall. He inspected each one carefully.