Black Buck(35)

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Down the stairs. Turn the corner. Wave to Mr. Aziz. Dap up Jason. Say what up to Wally Cat. That’s the way it went on most days, but on day four of Hell Week, Jason, wearing military fatigues from head to toe, acted like he didn’t see me when I held my hand out.

“What’s good, Batman?” I asked, waiting for him to look at me. “You good?”

He pulled out his phone and plugged in earbuds, nodding to whatever he was playing.

“Yo,” I said, ripping one out.

He punched me in the chest, knocking me onto the ground. “What the fuck, man?” I asked, looking up at him, his hand still in a fist.

“Don’ fuckin’ touch me,” he said. “I don’ let no stranger touch me.”

I got up and dusted the sidewalk off my ass. “You’re buggin’, J. What’s goin’ on?”

“What’s goin’ on is that you out here runnin’ past me every day like you don’ even see me. Like I’m not the nigga who watched out for you when older niggas tried runnin’ your backpack, sneakers, or clean clothes your momma bought with money from her good job. But I’m buggin’, right?”

I moved to grab his shoulder until he backed away. “I already told you ’bout strange niggas touchin’ me. Next time it won’ be a fist.”

“Are you jealous or somethin’?” I asked, seeing real hate in his eyes. “That I’m movin’ up and you’re stuck on this corner? Is that it? I could try and get you a job, bro. Jus’ say the word.”

The hate in his eyes melted, and he laughed. “A job? You so lost you can’t see that you doin’ exactly what I am. Because no matter how you package it up and sell it, weight is weight. Except you pushin’ weight for the white man and your corner is an office. But you ain’ one of them. And when they find out you a nigga, jus’ like me, they gonna kick you to the curb. Watch.”

“Aight, man,” I said, tired of his shit. “Only difference is my weight won’ land me in jail. I’d say maybe I’ll catch you tomorrow, but I know I will, right here on this fuckin’ corner.”

I crossed the street to Wally Cat, who sat shaking his head. “You li’l niggas shouldn’ have no beef,” he said, patting the crate next to him. “All this Black-on-Black shit. Nigga, we gotta come together, like a community, ’specially when all these white folks comin’ in. Shit, you probably know some of ’em now, don’ you?”

“Whatever, man,” I said, rising from the crate.

“Sitchyo ass back down,” he ordered, and he pulled me down so hard I almost tripped. “Have some respect for an OG like Wally Cat. How’s yo’ girl?”

I shot a rope of spit into the street just like I used to see Wally Cat do when I was younger. “She’s straight.”

“And yo’ momma?”

“A li’l tired, man. But she’ll be aight.”

“Yeah,” he said, looking up at the sun, shielding his eyes. “She strong. Always has been. What about yo’ new sales hustle? You makin’ millions yet? You know when you do, you owe me. Nothin’ large, jus’ a couple thousand, somethin’ small for all the knowledge I been droppin’ on you over the years.”

I stared at him, wondering if he was kidding, but I couldn’t tell. “I’m not makin’ shit, man,” I said, spitting again. “Got all these white people, ’specially this one white guy, tellin’ me I can’t do it, that I’m not good enough.”

“Fuck ’em,” Wally Cat said, fanning himself with his fedora. “Everybody doin’ somethin’ got people tellin’ ’em they can’t do it. If you doin’ somethin’ and people ain’ tellin’ you that you can’t do it, truth is, you ain’ doin’ shit!” he said, doubling over the crate, laughter rocking his whole big-boned body.

“Tha’s the truth, nigga! And also”—he grabbed my shoulder—“in any game, you gotta have a short-term memory. Someone tell you some shit you don’ like? Forget it the minute they mouth close. Someone tell you some shit you do like? Man,” he said, sucking his teeth so hard that I swore he was about to swallow them, “you betta forget that shit even quicker.”

Reader: Highlight that whole paragraph, it’ll save you years of pain.



“Only thing that matters is this,” he continued, extending a thick, level hand in front of my eyes.

“What, your hand?” I asked, remembering I had to hit the train.

“Nah, nigga. A balanced mind, jus’ like this here balanced hand. I knew they ain’ teach you shit at your fancy-ass school.”

I dapped him up. “Good looks for the lesson, Wally Cat. I gotta jet,” I said, heading for the subway.

“Oh, and Darren!” he shouted from across the street. “Never, under any circumstances, fuck a snow bunny. Never! You’ll have bad luck for seven years! Why you think I’m out here on this crate?”

I didn’t pay those words any mind, but maybe I should have. A great fall would come, and I still wonder if it’s because I didn’t listen to Wally Cat.



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