Mat Johnson - Drop

‘Would you have ever left if I didn’t?’ David’s voice was light, vulnerable, not arrogant but sorrowful, not for me but for himself, the one that necessitated abandonment. ‘Would you ever have learned that you could?’ he asked, rising from his chair as he did so, his arms outstretched, palms open, his face calmer than a newborn’s while sleeping. The way he stood, the way that raincoat hung off him like a robe, so many folds it would take a lifetime to carve in marble; it reminded me of a picture I’d seen of a statue on a mountain in Brazil. David moved closer, and in the moment of his step I didn’t know what I should be doing, whether to kiss him on his sweating forehead, grab that pudgy neck with two hands and take his life for daring to play with mine, or hug his ample waist in joy that something that had brought me pain was over. When the moment came that I touched him, placed my hands within his, my response was there waiting for me. A grip on each shoulder, I gave him the best Philly gesture I could manage, pulling David towards me as fast as I shot up my knee into that gut of his, politely missing his groin and forcing the bulk of my thrust into that gluttonous belly. I gave him a lift — upsy daisy, flying off his heels and even toes for a second as his weight rested on my thigh. Now there’s a new look for that face’s repertoire: astonishment. Didn’t it look good on him too, along with that new vein bulging out of his forehead and the blood of pain bringing a glow to his cheeks. Flattering. David let out a burst of air; I felt it shoot up my chest and into my nose. Dropping him down to the floor again, I retook my seat casually and David, well, he just sort of fell into his. As he refilled his lungs in loud wheezes, I reached out for his drink, toasted him with it, then finished it off. All the while the fat bastard was actually smiling at me. Not just grinning either: the more David learned to breathe again, the bigger that gash on his face became, till it damn near reached both earlobes. Just joyful in his silent agony, the old cat hugging his waist as he got a good look at this man sitting in front of him. Me, I stared right back. Grinned along with him. Took care of my own drink before throwing down a tenner and walking out the door.

My greatest blessings are: my wife and world-Meera the Magnificent, the Johnson Family, Jaynes Family, Bowman Family, Freedman Family, Dwayne Wharton, Victor Durmot La Valle, Ric Pavez, Andrea Walls (of the Philadelphia Walls), Rob Seixas, Doug ‘Boogie’ Jones, Ted LaSalla, Beth Calabro, Owiso Odera, Loren Johnson, Ray Shell, Barbie Asante, Ric Wormwood, Gloria Loomis, Karen Rinaldi, Michael Cunningham, the Akers Family, Larry Wilkins, Stephen Butler. Dad-thanks for investing in me in so many ways. Marsha-you’re cherished. O. Ben Karp-fully bonded. William and Elizabeth Johnson-thank you for the friendship. Carl Jaynes-thanks for letting me sleep on your floor so I could make this happen. Many thanks to the Thomas J. Watson Fellowship Foundation. Philly.

Mat Johnson was born and raised in Philadelphia. He was a

recipient of the Thomas J. Watson Fellowship, and received

his MFA from Columbia University. He now lives in Harlem,

where he’s working on and setting his second novel.