I acknowledged it by saying, “You motherfucker.”
We reviewed all my possible moves and how each led to check.
I’d point out a move and Spider-Man would show how one of his pieces could attack, making the sound, ‘Kersh.’
I shook his hand and helped him clean up the pieces.
We put the pieces and board back in the dumpster.
The dumpster was full of stuff — shirts, plastic containers, an umbrella, a package of cookies, etc.
I said, “Oh man, you got cookies?”
“Dahhhh, cookies. Gah be nuts. Here.”
He handed me the package.
The cookies had a drop of red jelly in the middle, according to the front of the package.
“Thanks man,” I said.
I hugged Janet goodbye and walked down the alley.
I ate the cookies on my way home.
The drop of red jelly was the best part.
FUNG BUSSY
Tonight when I passed by the alley no one was there, just a rat walking over Spider-Man’s bed in the moonlight.
So I walked towards the Two Door.
Saw Face coming back from a liquor store down the block.
He had a 40 and a stack of fastfood cups.
He asked what I was doing. “We finna smash this 40 over by the bus stop, cous, come on.”
At the bus stop there was a short fat guy, balding with a ponytail, wearing a huge Bears hoodie.
“Wha’s good, Mike,” Face said, slapping hands with him.
Mike was talking to a guy slumped over on the bus stop bench.
“Speedy,” Mike said. “I’m fucking telling you.”
Face pointed at the guy on the bus stop bench and said, “This my dude, Speedy. He coo man, but he fucked up tonight. Yizzir.”
Speedy was a skinny old man wearing an Army coat, sitting on the bus stop bench with his limp legs and a walking cane.
I sat down next to him.
He had a tiny ponytail tied with a broken rubberband.
Face poured out the 40 into fastfood cups and handed everyone a cup.
“Speedy,” I said, smiling at Speedy.
He laughed like, ‘Nehehe’ with a smile that slowly formed after he started laughing.
Then he started talking to me.
Drunk as fuck, just mumbling shit.
Something about Vietnam.
Something about being on the ground.
Something about running through bullets.
Something about motherfuckers.
Something about the Air Force.
I could only understand 1/3 of what he was saying.
Most of it sounded like, “Fussuh buminna….”
I’d just stare at him and when he stopped every once in a while, I’d say, “Yep.”
And he’d say, “N’yep” then start again with the “bussa ummina….”
The Blue Line train passed on a bridge over Fullerton.
Speedy made a gun with his hand and pointed it at the train and moved his hand up and down, his mouth moving.
When the train cleared I could hear him going, “Pish pish pish” for each shot.
“Man, Air Force shit is pussy shit,” he said. “Air Force is ambush…flying…bombs. Pussy shit.”
He kept pronouncing ‘pussy’ like ‘bussy.’
“Air Force is for bussy shit,” he said, snot going into his mouth.
Then something about Vietnam again.
Something about bullets.
He leaned forward and rolled up a pant leg, showing me the bullet scars on his calf.
“Z?” he said.
He almost fell forward but I grabbed him.
He tried to spit but it landed all over him.
Mike was pacing — cigarette in one hand, other hand in pocket — smiling at me and Speedy.
He went up to Face and said, “So hey man, I think I’m gonna copy some pornos and sell em out here. Do like, 2 for 10 or something.”
Face said, “O’boy down the block already do that shit, but he do 3 for 10.”
“Really?” Mike said.
“Yizzir.”
“Fuck,” Mike said. He started pacing again. He smiled at me and said, “Fuck”—widening his eyes a little.
Face said, “Ey but for real, we gotta get Speedy dumb-ass a cab, man. He my pops, but he out here all fucked up and he needa get home. I’ont wanna leave him out here when I clean up in this bitch.”
Face and Mike vaguely waved to cabs down the block across the street, opposite corner.
I sat there drinking my beer.
There were no cabs on our street.
“I got money,” Speedy told me. He was trying to reach into his pockets. “25 dollars an hour,” he kept saying. “I make money.”
Every once in a while he’d laugh like, ‘Nehehehe’—with a smile that slowly formed after he started laughing.
With that snake-like wrinkly face.
And that one big tooth in front.
“Doe fuck Korean girls,” Speedy said. “Watch out, they gah [something something] in the bussy, nehe.”
Face said, “Speedy, where you finna stay tonight? You my pops, but you done tonight, and I got work, so—”
“Stayin at yer place, bussy. Take me’a your place.”
Face said, “Uh uh, fuck that. I’on’t need you. You ain got no cootie cat.” He gestured by his crotch. “Sorry padna, but you ain got no split.”
Speedy said, “Ey, fuck you marfucker, nehehe.”
I laughed too.
Face put his hands in a prayer gesture. “Speedy, please, shut the fuck up, man. I’m trynna help you and you pissin me off, jo.”
Speedy said some shit that no one understood, wiping off his bottom lip slowly with his knuckle.
It looked like he was waiting for our response, but no one said anything.
Then, louder, he said, “Bussy. I’nt some bussy!”
He had his mouth open a little, tongue along his bottom lip.
And that little wormy vein on his temple.
“I’na fuck a bish,” he said.
Face laughed like ‘Hik’ik’ik’ and slapped Mike’s arm.
Mike was taking a drag of his cigarette — fingers still around it — shaking his head no with his eyes closed.
“I’na fuck a bish,” Speedy said. “Some bussy.”
On the inside of the bus stop shelter, there was an ad for the Lincoln Park Zoo.
The ad showed stingrays in light-blue water.
Mike pointed at the ad and said, “Ey Speedy, you can fuck one of those.”
Speedy was nodding off, chin against his chest and hiccupping at intervals.
I caught him before he fell, resting him against the glass of the bus stop shelter.
Face said, “Come on, man. We gettin you home. Wake the fuck up.”
Speedy opened his eyes, a confused look on his face.
Face and I had to pick him up and bring him to the closest main street to hail a cab.
We each grabbed one of Speedy’s arms and put it around our shoulders, taking a leg underneath the thigh.
I got some spit on my neck from Speedy’s coat and his jeans were all pissed and steamy.
Oh Speedy.
Face and I carried him to a bench on Milwaukee Ave. and sat him down.
We hailed a cab.
A cab stopped.
It was a van.
Face and I lifted Speedy inside.
Cabby said, “No. Can’t do. Can’t do this, man.”
Face said, “Come on, man. His wife or son or somebody will be waiting for him. Just take him home.”
Cabby said, “Wife and son? No. No, man.”
I said I’d go with.
Face said, “Nah man” then turned to the cabby again. “Come on, man. Just drive him home. He know his address and shit. S’all good.”
Cabby said, “Can’t do that, man. No no.”
“I’ll go with, man,” I said.
Cabby looked at me and said, “Yes, you go with. Is ok.”
Face didn’t say anything for a second. Then he shrugged. “Aight jo, I’m sorry. Come find me when you back around. Come find me at the bar.”