Yelena Moskovich - Virtuoso

“Don’t say that, Dee.”

“I’m sorry Tiff. But I’m serious, Spicey, that boy was like holy when he be running, you could feel it.”

Deandra looked over at Tiff.

“Anyway, maybe I shouldn’t be running my mouth ’bout it.”

“No, it’s fine. I mean she wanna know.”

“What happen?” Zorka asked, swallowing her Sprite.

“…Nobody knows,” Deandra picked up. “Like even those smart-ass doctors at that Mount Sinai Hospital couldn’t figure it out. Ray-Ray just grabbed his side, hunched down and collapsed. Then he wasn’t moving. Coach ran up and he was like pushing everyone away and the other runners kept coming in and some ran around him and others stopped cause no one knew what was going on, and Coach was saying to Tiff and her granny, “It’s gonna be ok, just give him some space.” But he ain’t movin! Give him some space, he kept shouting. Then the ambulance came and they were shouting for everyone to BACK UP, and they got out that machine with the wires, and cut his shirt open and taped them wire-ends on his chest and stomach and they were shouting CLEAR, and Ray-Ray’s chest jump up, as if he wanted to get up and run, but then it fell back to the ground, and Tiff ’s granny was getting in a fight with Coach and one of them ambulance men, cause they was pushing her away, and she kept saying THAT’S MY BOY THAT’S MY BABY BOY—And…”

Deandra glanced over at Tiff and stopped.

“I’m sorry, Tiff. I didn’t mean to get into it like that. I’m sorry…”

“It’s fine, Dee. Yeah, Ray-Ray was real special. Not just cause he was my brother, but I mean for the community too. Everyone was like, well Ray-Ray can do it… don’t matter what… You know? Made everyone feel like, we can achieve whatever we want, and like if you be working for it, like reading and doing your homework, then training and practising, you gonna get it, that’s how it was. It’s like what they say at Church be all riding on Ray-Ray, cause he made it happen like that.”

“But why you not study and practise like Ray-Ray and get big scholarship too?” Zorka asked.

“Nah, see here’s where you don’t get it, Spicey.” Deandra stood up and walked to the window. Then she turned around, “…cause you ain’t black and you ain’t even American, so you way off if you think I’m just gonna read those white-ass academics, and white-wash my goddamn brain so I can get a fuckin C+ in their history class where we be learning ’bout our Presidents and the Louisiana Purchase and the Great Depression and shit, but ain’t nobody gonna talk ’bout what the fuck their white asses did to my people … And ain’t they real content with themselves, hoardin us into section 8 housing and detention centers, ‘ keeping the streets safe’ , whitefolk all ‘Tough on Crime’ but they just guilty as fuck about history, stashin us away so no one sees what they done.”

“Dee, relax, she just asking… she don’t know,” Tiff said, walking over to Deandra.

Deandra took a step back and turned towards Zorka.

“Like seriously, I don’t know what kind of fucked up shit went on in your country or whatever, and I’m sorry ’bout that too, but shit’s real here. Like it’s not history, it’s now.”

Zorka was looking into Deandra’s soft, round eyes, willed and faithful.

“History is now,” Zorka repeated.

After Raymond’s funeral, Tiff ’s grandmother would open her prayer book and sit by the window as usual, except Tiff could see by her mouth that she wasn’t reciting the prayers or reading from the Bible. She was just mouthing to the clouds, “Give him back.”

“Blessed be the God and father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.”

Deandra hated it when things got too serious. She’d always pull up her tracksuit bottoms and let out a laugh.

She kicked Zorka on the ankle with a smile.

“Besides, ain’t you supposed to be a dyke anyway?”

“Come on, Dee, don’t use that word,” Tiff said.

“I’m just playing, I mean ain’t none of my business if you into girls, unless you got a problem with it, then it’s my business, but – I mean, come on, girl, what’s up with your hair?”

“It’s no good?” Zorka asked touching her hair.

“You got like a mullet thing going on…”

“This is dyke hair?” Zorka asked.

Both Tiff and Deandra burst out laughing, covering their mouths and bending over to their knees.

Finally, when the laughter subsided, Deandra spoke.

“Nah, it’s cool, girl. Keep your hair like that. But everyone gonna be thinking you into girls, that’s all. Are you?”

Zorka thought about it.

“Yeah,” she answered.

“For we walk by faith, not by sight.”

Tammie had an old student of hers who was now the manager at the Marcus Southgate Cinema on 30th Street, so she pulled a few strings and got Zorka a job there on the weekends, switching between collecting tickets and indicating the direction of Theatre 1 or Theatre 2, or working behind the concession stand, asking customers if they would like sweet or salty popcorn, or a combination of the two, and if they’d like to save fifty cents by getting the menu with the large Pepsi.

At first Zorka was embarrassed and tried to make fun of her job to Deandra and Tiff, but Deandra sang out “ She work harrrrd for the money, so haaaard for it honey !” and Tiff said, “You get to see some films for free then?”

Zorka snuck in Dee and Tiff whenever they wanted to see a film, and always gave them the large sweet-and-salty popcorn and two Sprites “on the house”.

Tiff told Zorka that if she really didn’t like her job she could ask her granny if they were looking for anyone to help out part time with the cleaning in the building where she’d worked as a custodian.

When the manager caught on to Zorka’s favours, he pulled her aside and told her that he didn’t want to have to call the police about this.

“Bout what?” Zorka said.

“About you getting your friends into the cinema for free to do drugs.”

“They don’t do drug, they just watch film…”

“Alright listen, I’m doing this as a favour to Tammie…”

“Why?” Zorka snuffed. “You fuckin her behind my uncle’s back?”

The police brought up Zorka’s alien status and hinted that she was still a guest in this country and should behave accordingly, otherwise she’d risk deportation.

When Zorka came by the cinema that summer, they already had some blonde chick working the cash register – Zorka recognised her from the bus stop. Just when Zorka was gearing up to make fun of her goody-good look, Deandra pointed discretely in her direction and said to Zorka:

“She a dyke too, by the way.”

Zorka looked her over carefully.

“Oooo, you like her, don’t you,” Deandra continued.

“No, she is simple looking.”

“Nah, girl, you totally crushin on that Mickey Mouse club over there.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m a go over there and tell her that you wanna get with that.”

Zorka pulled on Deandra’s T-shirt, whispering, “Stop, I kill you, Dee, I swear! I do not like her, I just looking.”

Deandra stepped back and Zorka let go and Deandra began smoothing out her T-shirt.

“Damn, girl, why you stretch out my shirt like that. Whatever I don’t need to play no Mickey Mouse matchmaker for nobody.” She shrugged her shoulders so that her T-shirt would fall right again.