Judges' general comments can be found at the bottom of this entry

Light That Fam

By Anthony Morales

1,827 words

copyright 2005

Blazing is almost deep. Many times people just get lost in the giggles, zoned asleep with their eyes open, consumed by munchies, feel real horny or seek higher alternatives. Me, my mind starts running the Kips Bay Pee Wee 1 mile race around the places I’ve been, where I’ll go and what I do. I’ll let the wind push my pen across the page seeing what God will let me think next. Everytime I’ll listen to the breeze speak its mind and watch how the smoke will curl around itself and vanish, like those beautiful girls at Jimmy’s you never see again but you remember how fly they was.

Running around those memories and fantasies is like shopping at the supermarket. You see what is readily available that you can think about easily, then you see that deep shit that’s low fat and good for you, but you don’t like how it taste so you put it back on the top shelf and let it collect dust. Make sure you don’t got nothing on you though, the popo will stop you in your dreaming, that’s what I’ve learned twice going down for that.

Upon sparking, I travel back to the first time my mind lost its cherry. Spring Break 1996. Back home when the parents was beefing and I was old enough to smell it. Saturday night, my brother was far gone in his own cloud in college dealing with cracker and wine conferences on his path towards suntans and SUVs. Moms went out with my aunt to sweat off solace and sip on sweetness at a local Latin club for lost loves. Pops, well Pops was letting the forces of gravity help him fall into some pussy that he recycled

It was a full moon and I had just come back from the Academy, where they tried to spray starch my soul and footnote my fury. Felt like I was a speck of pastele in a big glass of leche. Coming back home was like coming out of jail (I should know I’ve done it twice) a chance to use your five senses, tasting rice and beans, hearing new “exclusives” on mixtapes, feeling new sneakers, looking at the sunset. Needed to link up with my Junior High School crew- Partners in Crime, Anton and Bryant. They still hung out together went on to bigger and better tag ups. Tonight was my night, both my folks left me out to dry like Pops sweaty clothes after tennis. Anton and Bryant were eager to light me, they were type hesistant two years before about my OT (out of town) move.

-What son you coming back white.

-I see you didn’t come back white said Anton

-Any girls up there?

-I’m glad you hanging with us, Ant. You need to loosen up your belt hanging out with those white boyz.

-I’m sayin, any beef yet?

-Nah, but I wanted to explain that my roommate asked me for a pair of socks one time, I had never been asked that and I said HELL NO, he said Fuck you, and I swear I wanted to put my fist through his heart on some Indiana Jones type shit.

-Hit this.

On the corner of Pugsley and Turnbull, in front of the yellow and red bodega that’s where I see myself 16, standing atop a random cinder block holding a half full bag of crunchy cheez doodles, eyes closed, listening hard at how the cars hug the streets and lightning bugs cursed each other out and I open my eyes and look at the world like

Oh shit. Illl……..

About the middle of the el, I’ll be thinking about college. My bro passed me the Dutch when I was 18 years old.

-You a man now.

Me and him, brethren, getting high on the I95, blastin’ Can-I-Bus and Nas “Life’s a Bitch then you die/That’s why I get high cause you never know when you gonna go.” Rewindin’ punch lines, discussin’ our life lines and what’s it all worth.

-Yo Bro, I’m thinkin’ about this seed.

-Seed? Ain’t there a few steps you missing? Wifey? Home? Dough? Job?

-I know I’m just sayin’, I see my mans and all and I think that it’s beautiful, That’s like a little you.

-Do you, just think about how we came up with Moms and Pops, that’s all.

Bro graduated from college a year before I went there. He dealt with the bullshit on the brain before I knew about our colonial condition and wanted to do something. He told me about elevator encounters with women clutching their purses while he blast Bobbito mixtapes with luscious leathers and his piece had the Virgin Mary with emeralds in her eyes. He was like,

-Look at this woman, man. My chain costs more than her entire outfit, she worried about me. I should be worried about her robbing me!

Bro introduced me to the art of copping at the spot. He pulled up to the corner,

-You know who it is. Go Head.

I hopped out went up to shorty no older than 12,

-Let me get two.

He blinked looked me up and down, went into his I Love NY coffee cup, hits me with it in the left, give dough in right. I looked around for eyes that watched me saw none, like

-Let’s blow this.

Remember before the Yankees game. No shit in sight, two brothers thirsting. He pulled up next to a Porsche. Dude was feeling my bro’s rented Mustang.

-What’s good? You need some it?

-We was just about to ask you.

156^th and Broadway Bakery comes out with some skimp bag of fire. There was blue smoke from the purple potency. It made my scalp sweaty like OD’ing on Sazon. It reminded me of us playin’ basketball at the Stevo Courts, pops playin’ tennis, Moms runnin’ laps, Bro tryin’ to dunk, me being like You can do it! Me taking jumpers him saying you just missed it.

He went off to Miami and comes back every now and then. One of our best times was at the World NightClub with DJ Sniper and EM playing Hot 97 exclusives throwing hands in the air cutting the Newport choke, and on Spanish songs, we moved aside to let the gordos boogie with flaquita bonitas. We laughed said Damn at potential wifes and gave each other dap after screwdrivers because it was all worth every single time we had to scream and curse just to be heard. On the way home haze was burned while the sun came up and I came outside and wrote until the clouds collided and it rained hard. God was glad we were together mostly in one house- 20 Clason Point Lane.

Who was missing? Who is always missing?

I called him the next day

-Yo Pops. What’s poppin’?

-Nah I’ve been doing my work learning this new language for the Post Office. I’m trying to be like you, graduated from college, taking classes when you 60 is hard son.

-Where you been? You know Jim was in town this past weekend.

-What? Why didn’t you call? Send me an email!

-Get the fuck outta here! An email? What you my boss now? I gotta be sending you memos? I’m your son mafucka!

It was real because I can read another person’s bullshit like no question. The moment you start speaking and stuttering spitting clichés shaking- I know I got you. I should know because I bullshit better than anyone. I definitely knew because I learned from Pops.

-We just need to chill.

Next week, he calls me and tells me, be outside in 10 minutes, go to Jimmy Sabater’s house. Inside there, I see a black and white photo, September 23, 1963 Hunts Point Palace- La Lupe, Tito Puente, Joe Cuba, Cheo Feliciano, Celia Cruz, Machito –

Salsa en Nueva York History.

-Come on Tone let’s dip.

-Where we going?

Stop in front of Liquor Store.

-I ain’t payin for drinks inside.

Comes out with big bottle of Red Passion Alize.

Make a U Turn. The Wild Palm in neon lights, he cracks open the bottle and his chest.

-Pops, you my man I love you of course but you be fuckin up sometimes.

-Well, I think this is the way my Pops raised me. He didn’t. I lived with my aunt and grandmother no mother and father. Shit I went to Morris High School everyday in the South Bronx in the 50’s only Italians Irish and Blacks. I had one pair of green pants all 4 years (I caught a vision of Kermit the Frog singing It ain’t easy being green – cultural coqui) I stuck out like a sore thumb because that’s what I had, working in those factories moving steel and shit.

-Pops when am I gonna go to Puerto Rico?

-Why you wanna go there?

-Moms asks the same question.

-I mean everybody you know is here. Shit I lost all contact with my peeps en la isla back in ’68 in a battle for la finca. Nobody talks now, and the last time I went there was with your mother and we stayed at a four star resort all paid for including room service rice and beans.

-I just wanna go there and feel the history soak my skin in the sea.

-Feel you. Gotta do that.

-Pops, when we gonna light that fam?

-Can’t do that son. Too much wasted time. How do you think I was a mail carrier for over twenty years and did my job everyday overtime? I had to avoid dogs rain snow freezing cold just for people to be bitchin about they welfare checks. I had to be blown. Been there, done that. I been all over New York City for that primo weed- Columbian Acapulco Gold. It was good while it lasted. But look at what that got me – a busted car, a busted marriage, a bunch of scratched records and a bunch of scarred memories. Nah son.

We finish half a bottle, go in the club, laughed at the viejitas dancing to Willie Amadeo’s “Amargura de Amor” and bounced before midnight.

Wake up in the morning. Wash face. Throw on wrinkled clothes. Buy the Daily News with egg turkey cheese and cup of tea milk 2 sugars. Hit the benches with the elephant sprinkler flowing. Light that. Think about the day. Go to school. Write some shit. Read. Think. Hope. Wonder. Dream. Imagine. Create. Defend. Ignore. Let go.

Each time I hop on some form of transit to show the world my face, I look at this face. On windows with the right shadow, I see my imperfect beautiful self. When we go through the tunnels, I watch even closer and get deep into my past, often scattered and separate, like the flavors in the swirl of a 50 cent rainbow helado.

Judges' general comments:

This is a truly an original piece. The perspective is so fresh our judges actually had a hard time keeping up with it in places! Wow! What we really loved about this piece was its ability to take us right into the street scene with great vernacular, rhythm and excellent sensory details.

A really fun piece to read!

Anthony's strengths, much like Paul Barra's, are definitely his crisp visuals created by playing up on sensory details, his creative slant, and his ability to bring his characters to life. Very nice.

Our suggestions for improving the piece further include toning down a bit of the lingo--just slightly as we definitely don't want to lose the "feel" of this piece as since none of our judges were familiar with the lingo used throughout the story, we often had a hard time following it. But lots of ethnic writers have found a way around this obstacle by fleshing out the descriptions of the lingo used in clear visuals or, at the least, through subtle contextual clues.

Additionally, this piece could use some transitional work to really help it flow through the pathway that Anthony has chosen to take us to the heart of his story on the impermanence of life and duality of all that we experience.

Excellent start on a piece that is truly gearing itself towards not only being published --but also blazing the trail for the beginning of an exciting writing career. Good luck, Anthony!