Life Is Funny Read online

  Mickey be a bad little motherfucker, he say my name before my moms’, which my moms didn’t even knowed ’cause she got that pipe or that needle up her ass so deep she don’t know nothing. She always with the stick, ever since I be small, but she add the pipe after Mickey got two and Mickey’s daddy shot by a cop for some shit. Mickey and me got to lift cheese puffs and beers and fruit rolls and chicken dumpling soups ’cause she never keep her check. I lift diapers for Mickey, too, ’cause he not so good at holding his water all the time. He cry pitiful when he mess up, but I don’t yell at him none.

  So I all quiet in the back Ms. Hudson’s class and she start talking ’bout some kind of ’signment, and I be noticing, the kids, ’stead of picking they noses, they laughing and nerving her all kind of questions. She telling how we got to write a essay ’bout what we likes in a date. What she mean is, what we likes to fuck, but she don’t say fuck, she say date, and everybody be laughing. She say we write what we wants but we got to use real words for “fuck” and “tit” and all that, she fail any motherfucker who write bad words. She give us the whole period, and we got to start now. Me, I don’t write good, I don’t like to write no ’signments, can’t remember last one I writes for nobody. But I be kind of tired of Jordman today, and I been thinking how I’m gonna help Mickey if he get older if I not practice the shit some. Sos I write. ’Fore I knowed it, I write three pages and the bell not even go yet. Here’s what I be writing.

  * * *

  First thing you got to have in a female is looks. She got to be fine. This what fine mean. Female can be any color but not white. But her color got to be smooth all everywheres, smooth like the color part your eye. Female got to be tall to my eyebrow. She got to be skinny in the middle and big butt and big chest. But her chest got to be small enough my hand get around each chest, no problems. Butt got to fit her legs right, and her legs got to be big. She got any kind of hair she want. She have good hair, okay, she got bad hair, okay. She got braids, she got extensions, she got color, whatever. It all okay but she can’t have no shells. She got to have big eyes, her eyes and her nose and her mouth all got to fit right, she got to have white teeths. I like it when the two front teeths not all the way together. She be extra fine, she got two front teeths a little bits apart. She got to have nice breath, and she got to keep herself clean. That a fine female.

  Next thing, she got to be fine on the inside. This what fine on the inside mean. She not doing no drugs. She not even drink beers. But she not no Herb. She just got a brain. She smart, but she don’t act smart. She stay in school, she make Bs and Cs and sometimes As, but she not in your face. She like a good time. She like making love, but she only like it with her man. She not making love with all everybody. She don’t want to have no babies until she finish high school. But she take care of it. She don’t make you wear no hat. She listen what you got to say, and she don’t mind you don’t feel like saying nothing. She like going to the movie, she like dancing, she like hanging out. Maybe she got a little sister she like. She got a moms and a daddy living at home and she like chicken dumpling soups. She like me.

  * * *

  I looks up when I done, and Ms. Bitch all in my face from all over at her desk. The bell ring. She still on my shit. I crumples up her fucking ’signment, leaves it on the floor. Ms. Hudson can suck my wad, all I care.

  * * *

  My moms at home, all skinny. She trying to sleep. She in the bed.

  “Why Mama can’t be still?” Mickey be asking me. He like watching her sleeping when she home. He think she funny.

  “She catch a nightmare,” I tell him.

  “Where she at when she catch a nightmare?” Mickey say. “She at the nightmare or she here?”

  I don’t even knowed what he mean, half the questions he nerving on me.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “Make me up a blunt.”

  “You all out,” he tell me. If I want more, I got to go Franklin Avenue. I got to lift me some shit, hang with the crew. I be tired.

  “Mama got some,” Mickey tell me. “She got two blunts already done. They in her coat.” He bring me ’em. They not fixed up real good, but they do all right.

  “When I can have some?” Mickey ask me.

  “Not never,” I tell him.

  We watch my moms. We both hoping she wake up and leave ’fore we tired, ’cause there ain’t no other bed.

  * * *

  The bitch tell me I got to stay after class today.

  “I didn’t do nothing,” I say. I makes my face get small. It scare white people when you makes your face get small. But she don’t look scared. The bitch laughing at me. She laughing at me the whole class. I can’t draw, all that laughing she doing. I try to draw Jordman beating her head on a car, but I be messing up. Then she be reading shit in class. She do that other days, but I never be listening. This time she only read one thing. I listen real good, ’cause she be reading my ’signment. I sees it all wrinkled. She picked it up on me and looked. She be reading it out loud, and everybody be listening. When she done she say it be an A except grammar so bad. She give it a C. She say it the best one in the whole class anyway. She don’t say my names. Don’t nobody knowed it mine.

  “Why you do that?” I be asking her after she make me stay.

  She show me my ’signment. It got Jordman and some shit and a fine girl drawed all long the sides. She tell me I draw good. She ask me ’bout drawing.

  “They for my brother,” I be saying. My heart beating mad fast. I be kind of nervous. “He like saying stories to ’em.”

  She ask me ’bout Mickey. She ask me what I want to do my life. She talking like she not be hating me no more.

  “What you doing?” I say. I be mad. Real mad. She trying to trick me. “Why you picking on me?”

  “I’m not picking on you, Eric,” she say, real soft. “I’m interested in you.” What that mean?

  “I always thought you were busy back there,” she say. She point to back the room. “I’m glad I finally found out what it was you were doing.”

  “I ain’t dumb,” I tell her. She think I be dumb.

  “Of course you’re not dumb,” she say. “But if we don’t do something about your schoolwork, everyone’s going to think you are dumb, and that’s worse than being dumb.”

  I think I be dreaming. I be in here, catching a dream, or I be in bed, Mickey next by? Teacher be telling me, do I want stay after school, get extra help so nobody think I’m dumb no more. Teacher be telling me I can bring Mickey, if he needs come, too. Teacher tell me think ’bout it, tell her anytime. Teacher tell me she hope I meet that fine girl I writes about. That bitch, she done tricked me all year. Made me think she waiting on me to smoke her.

  “I be coming,” I tell her. She smile at me. Not nobody but Mickey smile at me for the longest. She got a little place middle her two front teeths. Damn.

  * * *

  Mickey come with me to the Super Mart so I can lift me shit for after school. Shorty there, lifting gum. He like Big Red. He chew it after he get high. He swallow that shit. He must got it all filling up his insides now. He ever get his stomach cut, they gonna find a big wad Big Red.

  “Where you been?” he asking me. I ain’t lifted nothing yet. I got to wait till he gone. Don’t want him telling nobody I’m no Herb, taking notebooks and shit.

  “Around,” I be saying.

  “Saw your mama this morning,” Shorty say to Mickey.

  “Suck on your sister’s tampon,” Mickey say. Mickey so bad.

  “Where you been?” Shorty say again.

  You shrug, you don’t got to answer.

  “Take little Mick with us,” Shorty say. “We fix him up with some good weed. We let him do all the heavy lifting. Y’all oughta come around more.”

  “Yup,” I lie.

  “Why you lie?” Mickey ask me when Shorty gone.

  * * *

  We sit in front the room, Mickey and me, in Ms. Hudson’s class. We go three times each weeks after school. Four other kids
sit in there, too. They not Herbs. They like me. First, I think they dumb, but they not. We do English and maths. Ms. Hudson help us. She still throw us out, somebody starts messing, she still be mad we use bad words. But she help us. Mickey help us, too, ’cause he read better than us. First, I tell him, don’t be showing off none, or they gonna kick your butt. But Mickey, he ain’t no showoff. He help us little ways. He act like he don’t know he know more than us.

  Everybody like Mickey. Everybody like his stories. Everybody like Jordman. Mickey tell me we gonna switch it. He tell the story, then I draw the pictures. This Mickey’s first story we dos like that.

  * * *

  Once there was a pretty lady who went with men and had nightmares all the time. The pretty lady had a boy. The pretty lady loved her boy a whole lot, but her nightmares made her in a different place so she wasn’t ever with him. Jordman was a man with wings on his feet that made him fly and be a hero. Jordman was real nice and strong and his hands always smelled good, like weed. Jordman took the lady’s boy with him everywhere. One day the pretty lady was sick in the street and she was at the nightmare place and she didn’t know how to get home. Jordman used his wings to fly around the streets to find her. He found her and flew her to a spaceship. The spaceship was real high. It had a McDonald’s in it, and the pretty lady ate french fries. Then she had a bath. Then she ate more french fries and she stopped being skinny. Jordman told her the boy missed her. Jordman flew the pretty lady back down to 301 Third Street. She brought the boy a toy from the spaceship McDonald’s. They lived happily ever after.

  * * *

  I drawed mad good pictures for that one, and Ms. Hudson put plastic shit around it so it stay nice. Ms. Hudson say to me, “I wish you wouldn’t smoke marijuana, Eric. It’s bad for you.”

  “How you know I smoke?” I say.

  “How do you know I smoke?” she say. Then she go, “I’m not dumb, Eric.” Damn.

  She ask me do I want my drawings in her newspaper. She say they good enough, and everybody like ’em. She say they go good in the art section. I tell her I’m no Herb. She say she rather me use my names, but she not make me. I think ’bout it. I lets her put my shit in the paper. I don’t lets her use my names.

  * * *

  They takes Mickey and me. We home, sleeping, they comes in the door. They say Mickey’s teacher made a call. They say we going to different places. Mickey to a family. Me a group home. I bug. I be screaming all kind of motherfucker, faggot, pieces of shit. They call my moms a ho. I jumps one of them ’cause they making Mickey cry. I tells Mickey I’m gonna come get him. I say to Mickey, don’t you worry ’bout nothing ’cause I’m gonna get you. They almost be arresting me, but I tells them call Ms. Hudson. I tells them, she gonna tell you. I sees Mickey take his notebook with him out the place under the bathroom sink.

  First night at the group home they be leaving me alone. Second night some brother try to fuck my ass. I tears his nose off. Knock out three teeths. Third night some kids be talking to me. They all right. Fourth day they makes me go to school. Ms. Hudson give me all kind of phone numbers, say she been calling. Say she dos anything to help. Say she make sure I gets to see Mickey. She ask me I all right. She close the door and let me sit.

  I calls the numbers Ms. Hudson give me. Those people say they gonna help me get back with Mickey. All of a sudden I real busy. I got to go meets these people. They nice. They don’t be thinking I stupid. They say yeah, I got to be with Mickey. Welfare not telling me where he at. Ms. Hudson’s crew say I got a right to know. They say all kind of laws being broken.

  I say to Ms. Hudson, “Why can’t Mickey and me lives where you at?” She don’t answer nothing. I guess she got her own kids. I guess she don’t need no more. Also, she white. I can’t live with no white bitch.

  * * *

  I eats, I sleeps, I shits. I goes to school. I watch TV. I draws. I practice my English and maths. I waits for finding Mickey. I not talking to Ms. Hudson. I goes after school, but I not talking to her. She don’t seem like she notice. She still talking to me.

  They say my moms in a program. They tells me she not allowed talk to nobody for a while. I hear Shorty got slammed. I smokes my weed. I waits for finding Mickey. I try to see if I can get with him in my dreams. It worked one time. He say, How you get here?

  I say, Fix me up a blunt.

  * * *

  When they find him, Ms. Hudson go with me to Queens or some shit. I knowed it. Ms. Hudson make me bring new pictures for Mickey to write stories. Her people say one more week they gonna put me and Mickey together somewheres. But then we got to change schools.

  Ms. Hudson say, “Why don’t you come every day this week? It’s our last week.” We in the train when she say this. I be trying to act like I not with her ’cause I ain’t no Herb.

  “Who gonna teach me so nobody think I’m dumb?” I say real quiet.

  “You’ll have to watch every teacher very carefully,” she say. She look right in front her face and don’t move her mouth much, like she know I don’t want nobody seeing us down. “You’ll have to choose someone. You’ll have to make the first move.”

  “Bunch of motherfuckers,” I say.

  “Watch your mouth,” she say. She not so bad.

  * * *

  Mickey live in a real house. First thing I see a pretty lady holding a baby. Don’t see no cat nowhere. Lady say hi real nice. Point to some room behind that room. Everything clean. Next thing I see Mickey. He be jumping on a bed with some other bug. He jumping hard, but he ain’t got no smile. He jumping like he fix up a blunt for me. Trying real bad, taking it real serious. My chest be mad bugging, my eyes funny. I guess I be kind of crying. Mickey see me. He stop jumping, and he go real still. He be looking at me, and I be looking at him. He get off that bed like he got wings on his feets. He fly straight on my chest. I hug him up tight, like I his mama, or some shit.

  He smell so good.

  Molly

  “I CAN’T DO the assignment,” I tell my American Culture and Society professor after class. She’s in a rush, scraping papers and books from the desk into her black bag.

  “Uh huh,” she says.

  “I don’t have the money.”

  “It’s seven dollars,” she informs me, as though that ought to clear things up.

  “I don’t have seven dollars,” I say. It doesn’t embarrass me anymore, the way it did when I was younger.

  “Why don’t you speak with Financial Aid?” she suggests, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder. “Maybe they’ll cover the cost.”

  “Do you think they’d cover my day’s pay I’ll lose if I go?” I ask politely. “It’s about sixty dollars.” I’m not trying to be difficult.

  She sighs and then actually looks at me for the first time. It’s a good thing I decided not to wear my cashmere sweater or leather pants this morning. They don’t exactly look like hand-me-downs. She glances at her watch. The next period’s students are seating themselves behind me, and their professor stands quietly, but close, waiting for us to get out of his way. Mine starts walking again.

  “We’ll figure something out,” she says, over her shoulder. “I’ll let you know what next week.”

  * * *

  She forgets, but it’s moot because Monique points out the obvious while we’re eating Chinese in my dorm room.

  “What’s the big deal?” she says. “Caitlin’s mother would love it if you took her to the Statue of Liberty.” She’s right. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. Usually I think of everything. Lately, though, I’ve been scatterbrained. Misplacing keys. Putting my lipstick in the refrigerator.

  Monique is chewing with her mouth open, probably trying to provoke an insult. It doesn’t work. Partly because Hector told me a few weeks ago that the more I keep up our “little patterns,” the worse it is for her. Sort of like unintended brainwashing. I don’t know how my self-destructive little sister found a guy like Hector, but he is a genius when it comes to her. I think he ought to be a psychiatris
t instead of a nurse, but he says he doesn’t want to hear about everybody’s tragic lives. Just those of the ones he loves.

  He is truly a phenomenon. Even without his eyes, he would remind me of Tiresias. The blind wise man. But with his eyes, there’s no question. They’re so light they’re almost transparent. At times they’re a milky white. Next to his dark skin and hair, those eyes seem impossible, freakish even. Or saintly, if like me, you tend to lean that way.

  “Do you want to come?” I ask Monique.

  “With what seven dollars?”

  “Caitlin’s,” I tell her. “Mrs. Anderson always gives me more than I need for trips like this.”

  “Can Hector come, too?”

  “Of course,” I say.

  She smiles. I’m still not used to seeing her smile. She was just starting to, right after she met Hector, but she stopped again for a long time, after she lost the baby.

  “Okay,” she says. “We’ll come.” And then she closes her mouth, for a change.

  * * *

  There are pros and cons to being a part-time nanny. On the pro side, I spend most of my time in luxury. The Andersons have two refrigerators—one for soda and juice only—a bathroom larger than my entire dorm room, a TV my height, and an amazingly comfortable L-shaped leather couch. Also, I have first pick from Mrs. Anderson’s discarded clothes, usually worn about twice and only slightly big. I’m allowed to do my laundry at the Andersons’ for free and to use the phone as often as I want, as long as I don’t call long distance. Which is fine, because there’s nobody long distance for me to call.

  On the con side, there’s a huge amount of cleaning, on top of the baby-sitting responsibilities, and I’m generally expected to put aside my own life at a moment’s notice to accommodate the Andersons’ emergencies. That’s difficult a lot of the time since the Andersons don’t seem to understand that I’m trying to put myself through college and can only stay at NYU if I keep up a certain average, which is drastically affected by whether or not I miss an exam or have to forgo studying for one in order to baby-sit so that the Andersons can go to the opera.