Too Old To Care. in Musings

I went to the ABC Furniture store in the Bronx.

Luiz came along with me and one of my friends who lives in the Bronx, she met up with me.

Personally, I don’t make it my business to prepare anyone on how to behave or interact with each other. I believe that people are people and I know that I am a person that can be super duper ghetto, hood rat, project Puerto Rican or I can be extremely proper traveling to places you can’t even pronounce.

All said and done, Luiz is a white boy. Although he is Brazilian, he is a plain old assimilated American white-boy. My best friend is Dominican and Trinidadian from my ghetto. I grew up with her in the projects and we would do a lot of crazy ghetto shit together, sometimes I would get my ass fucked up and sometimes she would get fucked up. I thank God now as an adult that none of the people that we started fights with were so inclined to be dangerous enough to have murdered us. My roots are my roots. I didn’t grow up on the Upper East Side with white people, trust-funds and an allowance. I grew up in the projects, I was lucky enough to have money to eat lunch at school. and because I was gay and different than the other boys, I was lucky enough to have survived out of that slum. Where all of society just throws us to one corner of the island and we all live in sky scrappers crammed like sardines and forgotten by the rest of Manhattan.

I don’t think Luiz understands that type of poverty. Where it’s a survival of the fittest. Dog eat dog world. You treat people like animals, they will survive like animals.

I’m at the outlet in the Bronx and Yesenia is blowing up my phone.

“Nigggggggga!! Where you at!?” “Waitin’ for your Puerto Rican gay ass on the corner” “Got me lookin’ like a ho…like I’m naw?”

I always have had an amazing time with Jesse. She’s a lot to take. She makes fun of me because I’m so white-washed. Yet she was the one person who dragged all of my shit to storage, put me in contact with a lawyer, and told me to wake the fuck up, when I left Alex.

Alex hated her because she was so boisterous, obnoxious, ghetto and flamboyant. Yet, she was the person who gave us the most expensive gift for our wedding. She was the one that arranged our engagement party along with my High School best friend. So I’ve come to the realization that if you don’t like her because she’s loud, obnoxious, honest, blunt, and because of her profession— you will never, ever be the guy for me. It’s just that simple.

I see her posted up against a fire-hydrant. I realize that this furniture store is in the ghetto, a bridge away from really dangerous Bronx projects.

I jump out of the cab and she runs over to me and it was like we were 15 again. I felt 15.

“AHHHHHHH YOU FUCKIN’ LIL’ DOWNTOWN FAGGOT LOOKIN’ LIKE A BAG OF SCHMONEY!” she kisses my face and my neck and her hair smells like cherry blossoms and I had a little bit of a straight boy moment. “FUCK YOU, NEVA SEEN A GOOD LOOKIN’ HO WITH RED BOTTOMS UNTIL YOU!” and I hugged her and I sunk into her shoulder and in my thoughts.

I love this girl. She has all of the luxuries that I’ve had and more. We would smoke weed on a stoop. Drink Colt 45’s. I would be called a faggot and she would fight. Or we would both get fucked up together and lay next to each other nursing our black and blues together in my twin bed.

“YOU USE WHAT CHU GOT TO GET WHAT CHU WANT PAPI!!!” she said as she twirled “AHHHHHHHHHHH!” she laughed.

I introduced her to Luiz. Luiz seemed really dismissive. Jesse shrugged as she was over dressed (as was I) to go discount shopping in the Bronx outlets.

Jesse is a stripper. She’s proud of what she does. I could care less about what she does, because just like my profession it doesn’t project anything about my character, it’s a job that pays my bills. And she is fucking proud to be a stripper.

If you ask her where she’s from WORD FOR WORD she will say “I grew up in the Harlem projects… My mom is from Trinidad my dad is from Dominican Republic, but I’m made in Colombia”

And none of it makes fucking sense, until you become aware of why that person asked where she’s from…they mean why do you look like that… and she’s proud to say that all of her plastic surgery, her ass injections, her breast implants, her lipo, her mini-brow lift and whatever other procedure she’s done is from Colombia—so she’s made in Colombia.

When Luiz heard her reply. I laughed nervously. Luiz looked at her confused and irritated. I explained to him what she means, the nuances of what she means— and as she click-clacked her way to a gorgeous canopy bed, she said “Andy! Not everyone is as smart as you. Nigga I’m from Harlem, my tits are from Colombia”.

I went off to pick out furniture with her. She hugged me and we reminisced about how poor and shitty we lived. How now she owns a house in the white part of the Bronx. How I live in SoHo and own a hair salon. How we would put our money together to get four fried chicken wings and pork fried rice.

I hated everything in that outlet and left to a different one further up. A lot more expensive, I picked out a head board that was made of black snakeskin and a whole lot of shit that I needed.

This year I need to cheer up. I can’t allow anyone to bring me down.

I run to the restroom and have a huge argument with Luiz.
I felt like I kept running into the same issues with him as with Alex.
Jealousy. This birds of a feather flock together mentality.

Just because she takes her clothes of for money doesn’t make her a fucking prostitute. Just because I am friends with her, doesn’t make me a stripper or a prostitute.

When I come back Jesse is screaming out to me and jumps on a bed and starts to twerk on it. Am I embarrassed? YES. However, I laugh my ass off and discourage her—did anyone die? Nope. Do I care what anyone thinks of us? Nope.

I go up to the man to pay and he smiles and points at Jesse and says “She’s a good friend, she paid everything for you” and I turn around and she’s twerking.

I just feel a surge of emotions—I get really emotional and start crying. She gets really closed and starts telling me to “man up—I got you baby!” and I just start realizing how two flowers can grow very different in the same pile of shit—but still very similar.

She paid 8k for my furniture. “Call us even bro-dude-nigga-schmigga, you helped me pay for my house, I got your bourgeoise ass sexy gay furniture” she said gripping me.

I never realized how masculine she was until that moment. She’s been hardened by the ghetto, she’s been hardened by the men that she’s met doing what she does. She’s a lot rougher than what I remember her being. She’s always been a tomboy, just that she’s so absolutely rough but maybe it’s because we grew up in different environments after our ghetto years.

We partied with her until the middle of the next morning.

I woke up on an air bed in her house with Luiz. Luiz told me that he hated her and didn’t like her loud energy. All this shit that I didn’t want to hear not because I was hungover but because she is the very few circle of people I can actually, truly trust.

I get it… Luiz doesn’t like anyone louder or more obnoxious than me. Maybe you would get along if you’d realize that I love her because she’s a part of me. Legitimately, she is similar to me in indescribable ways. In essence we are the same.

I’m kind of done with Luiz. At lease in my heart—I’m done. I’m too old to pretend I’m not ghetto. I’m too old to try and section off friends from boyfriends. I’m too old to not live my life the way I want it and have someone who accepts all pieces of me…regardless of how cringe worthy it may be.

P.S. I’ve quit cocaine—1 month sober.
P.P.S. I can never quit alcohol—

xoxo

Andy