Carlin Romano: Philadelphia Noir

“I’m thinking: what the hell is going on? I’m thinking: where are my Walkmans? I’m thinking: where are you all the time?”

“I’m out. You should go there sometimes.” He laughed his high-pitched laugh, the one that said how absurd the world is.

“Okay, so you supposedly went to the movies tonight, right? What happens to Gator at the end of Jungle Fever ?” I asked.

“Ossie Davis shoots him.”

“That’s right. The crackhead dies. Remember that,” I said.

“Crackhead?” Dahani sounded his laugh again. I didn’t realize how angry I was until I felt the first hot tear roll down my cheek.

I stomped out, leaving his door open. That was an old maneuver, something we did to piss each other off when we lost a fight. But then I thought of something and went back in there. He wouldn’t admit that he’d taken my things. But he agreed that if I didn’t say anything to our mother, he’d take me to the pool. He could only take me at night after it closed, and only if I kept my mouth shut about going.

That night, a Friday, we made our mother’s day by convincing her we were going to hang out on South Street together. Then, as it was getting dark, Dahani and I walked silently toward 47th Street. A clump of figures looked menacing at the corner until we got close and saw that they couldn’t have been more than fifth graders. We slowed down to let a thin, pungent man rush past us. Even though the night air was thick enough to draw sweat, the empty streets reminded me that summer was ending.

“Is anybody else coming?” I asked finally. “Jason?”

“I haven’t seen that nigger in months. Ever since he pledged, he turned into a world-class faggot.” Jason, my brother’s best friend from Friends Select, the only other black boy in his class, had started at Morehouse the same time my brother had gone to Oberlin.

“So it’s just going to be us and the security guard?” I had worn a bathing suit under my clothes, but felt weird about stripping down in front of the character Aja described.

“Look,” my brother said, “be cool, okay?”

“Cool like you?”

“You know, Nzingha, this is not the best time of my life either.”

“But it could be. You could go back to school,” I said, teetering on the edge of a place we hadn’t been.

“It’s not that fucking easy! Do you understand everything Mom’s done for me already?”

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Let’s just go where we’re going.”

We passed under a buzzing streetlight that could die at any moment. I had a feeling I knew from nightmares where I boarded the 42 bus in the daytime and got off in the dark. In the dreams I heard my sneakers hit the ground and I thought I would die of loneliness.

We finally reached the tall wooden gate with its warning about getting towed. In a low voice that was forceful without being loud, Dahani called out to someone named Roger. The gate opened and Dahani nearly pushed me into a tall, skinny man with a tan face and eyes that sparkled even in the near dark.

“Hey man, hey man,” he kept saying, pulling my brother in for a half-hug.

“What’s up, Roger?” said Dahani. “This is my sister.”

“Hey, sister,” he said and tried to wink, but the one eye took the other with it.

I looked around. It was nicer than the dingy gray tiles and greenish walls at the Y pool, but to tell the truth, it was nothing special. I’d been going to pool parties at Barrett since sixth grade and I’d seen aqua-tiled models, tropical landscaping, one or two retractable ceilings. This was just a standard rectangle bordered by neat cream-colored asphalt on either side. There were a handful of deck chairs on each side and tall fluorescent lamps. This is what they were keeping us out of?

A bunch of white guys with skater hair and white-boy fades drank 40s and nodded to a boombox playing A Tribe Called Quest at the deep end near the diving board. Then nearby enough to hover but not to crowd, were the girls, who wore berry-colored bikinis. I thought of my prudish navy-blue one-piece. There was a single black girl sitting on the edge of the pool in a yellow bathing suit, dangling her feet in the water.

“Aja?” I called.

“Nzingha?” she replied, sounding disappointed.

Then I recognized Jess, who seemed not to see me until I was practically standing on top of her. Actually, this happened nearly every time we met. “Hey,” she said finally. “I thought that was you.” She always said something like that.

“What are you doing here?” Aja asked.

“My brother brought me.”

“That’s your brother?” Jess gestured with her head to Dahani, who stood with his hands in his pockets while Roger pantomimed wildly.

“You know him?” I asked.

“He’s down with my boys,” she said. I tried not to wince. “Speaking of which, hey, Adam! Can you bring Nzingha something to drink?”

We looked toward the end of the pool with the boys and the boombox. One of them, with a sharp-looking nose and a mop of wet blond hair sweeping over his eyes, yelled back: “Get it for her yourself!”

Jess’s face erupted in pink splotches. “He’s an incredible asshole,” she said.

“And this is news?” said one of the other girls. She had huge breasts, a smashed-in face, and a flat voice. Suddenly I remembered the name Adam . Aja had a flaming crush on him for nearly a year, and then Jess had started going out with him on and off. Last I heard they were off, but now Aja liked to pretend she’d never mentioned liking him.

“I don’t want anything to drink anyway,” I said.

Aja asked if I was going to swim and I don’t remember what I said because I was watching my brother walk down to the end of the pool where the boys were, trading pounds with wet hands. He reached into a red cooler and pulled out a 40. Roger stayed at the tall wooden gate.

“They think they’re gangsters,” Jess said, rolling her eyes in their general direction. “They call themselves the Gutter Boys. All they do is come here and smoke weed.”

“That’s not all,” the girl with the smashed-in face said with a smirk.

“Is my brother here a lot?” I asked.

“I’ve only seen him once. But this is only the third time I’ve been here, you know, after hours.”

My brother didn’t seem interested in swimming. I didn’t even know if he was wearing trunks. Instead he walked with a stocky swaggering boy toward the darkness of the locker room. Don’t go back there , I wanted to scream. But all I did was stand there in my street clothes at the water’s edge.

Adam cried out, “Chickenfight!”

“Not again,” said smashed-in face. “I’m way too fucked up.”

Adam swam over to us. “Look, Tanya, you’ll do it again if you wanna get high later.”

Tanya’s friend murmured something to her quietly. Tanya laughed and said, “Hey, Adam, what about this?” Then she and her friend began kissing. At first just their lips seemed to brush lightly, and then the quiet girl pulled her in fiercely. I stepped back, feeling an unpleasant arousal. The boys became a cursing, splashing creature moving toward us. “Dayummm!” called Roger, who began running over.

“Keep your eye on the gate, dude!” yelled one of the boys.

“Okay, you big lesbians get a pass,” said Adam when they finally broke apart. Then he turned to Jess. “What can you girls do for me?”

“I think we’re going to stick with the chickenfight,” said Aja, giggling. She still liked him. I could not relate.

While they sorted out who would carry whom, my brother emerged from the locker room. I waited until he and the stocky boy had parted ways before I began walking over.

“Dahani,” I called in a sharp voice.