Rasta Man, I'm Gonna CUTTT Ya Hair DOWN!

“Wait up,” shouted Gary, his breath vivid in the frigid night air. John’s ungainly frame was moving quickly though, striding purposefully away from the doors of the campus’s main building, Ramsay Hall.

“Come on man, slow down,” Gary blasted, already out of breath though steadily gaining on his friend.

City lights were coming on all around them and two gypsy cabs honked half-hazardly. John veered jerkily by a very young mother, whose baby’s wails protested against the gust of bitter cold wind that had seemingly arisen from nowhere.  His muscles, always tense, seemed to vibrate at will, the strain of the moments before weighing heavily on him, and he looked older than his 19 years.   He could not keep up this frantic pace; he was quite overweight. His bulk rested mainly in his lower mid-section, and when he wasn’t around, his friends called him “little phatty," though there was nothing little about him. 

            

“Well damn,” breathed Gary as he approached his friend, his fragile frame heaving in exhaustion.  He was a small fellow, and he was attractive. He had deep blue-black skin, and his large coal colored eyes always seemed to smile.   His long unkempt dreadlocks covered his honest face, and he had a very pleasant voice, though he did have a tendency to talk too much. Though he always smelled vaguely of body odor (and reeked of it after his present exertion) his genial disposition made it such that no one ever really commented on it. He was a great friend.

            

“What’s your issue man,” Gary said after gaining some his breath,  “What happened?!”

            

Snow had begun to fall lightly as they approached 138^th street and Grand Concourse, and a hush that was almost unnatural settled over the Bronx.  John headed down the subway stairs on the uptown side, and barely glanced at his friend.

“Ain’t you  gonna say nothing?! The meetin’ wasn’t even OVER!” Gary sputtered, his face wracked with earnest concern.

From the bottom of the stairs, John’s baritone voice issued forth.

“Go back then. I’m going home.”  And with that, he disappeared.

“Awwww,” Gary groaned, hustling down the stairs.

The train arrived nearly concurrently with the young men’s arrival on the platform, and they sat next to one another.

“You need to quit them cigarettes. You like to fall out,” John remarked to his friend, commenting on Gary’s exhausted sigh.

“Well shit, I guess you better start workin’ out then,” Gary laughed, playfully poking John in the stomach. John viciously kicked Gary in the leg, drawing a loud shout from Gary and a reproachful look from the elderly Latina sitting across from them.

“Sorry,” John muttered. He hadn’t meant to kick so hard.

“Hey man, what’s wrong with you anyway,” Gary said, massaging his calf. “I thought you said you wanted to JOIN the BMG. Why you actin’ crazy?!”

The train began slowing to a halt at 149^th street, and people streamed into their car, eager to get warm. John reluctantly gave his seat up to a man who reeked of whiskey and looked like he was close to toppling over. Gary issued a resigned sigh, and stood up beside his friend.

“Was it Charles? Man, I KNOW you and him ain’t cool since he stole your girl-“

“It ain’t that,” John said through gritted teeth.  That was old news, anyway. Gary pressed on.

“Look man, BMG is all about black empowerment.  Ain’t that what you always about?! Black Men’s Goup.  You know, supporting each other and the black cause within the Honta College Community! Yo, Charles is doin’ big things, I’m telling you, I wish we stayed to the end of the meetin!”

Gary would have continued on but he observed an almost violent look cross John’s face. In silence they approached Yankee Stadium. Stumbling, the inebriated man departed, the tune of “Jingle Bells” on his lips.

“What is our cause?” John suddenly asked, as the train barreled onward, above ground.  “What do we stand for?”

The snow had picked up significantly though it could barely be seen in the veil of darkness that engulfed them.

“THAT’s why we shoulda STAYED man!" Gary was revved up. “THAT’s what they talking ‘bout NOW! Look, we about to launch a  high school BMG chapter at BX 2, way down near Woodlawn, man. Did you know that the graduation rate of black boys over there is only 15%? WE can really make a difference and form a community that will UPLIFT over there. Man, had you joined last year like you shoulda, you’d know that this is a organization dedicated to Moving us black Men UP man, UP!”

Gary was flushed with excitement and, as he spoke, he became increasingly animated. The words “UP man, UP” had been nearly shouted, though only an inquisitive little boy holding his mother’s hand glanced their way.

“Sounds like slavery to me,” countered John. Brevity had always been his strong suit.

“SLAVERY?!” blasted Gary, nearly choking on a can of Pepsi he had produced from his bag.  “Is you lost your mind?”  John just shrugged his shoulders.

After a moment, he turned to his friend. “You gonna cut your hair, man? Ain’t that what Charles want you to do? Put on a suit and what not?”

The doors of the subway opened up and a rush of air swept through the subway car as a beautiful young woman with golden skin and silver flecked eyes entered.

“Damn,” breathed Gary, staring at the gorgeous figure that gracefully stood at the opposite end of the car. He was salivating, and looked almost ill so great was his desire.

“You’d forget black solidarity for any bad bitch, huh,” John said in a barely audible voice that only Gary could hear.

“YEA!!!..... NAWW!” Gary said, confused. He nearly melted into himself when the girl turned her head toward him and smiled, ever so slightly.

“SHIT,” whispered Gary, so loudly that the girl herself surely heard.

John rolled his eyes and moved to an open seat, well away from the girl. He knew that Gary would follow shortly, for he was very bashful around women.

“Whack,” John observed grimly, taking out his headphones as Gary trudged toward him.

“Awww…” Gary gushed indignantly, but he had nothing to say.  He knew his friend was right.

The boys got off at Alexander Blvd,  the next stop. The wind howling, and snow assailing them, Gary issued a proclomation:

“Imma do it. Imma cut my hair.”

John started, involuntarily stopping in his tracks, and impervious to the wailing storm whipping about them.

“Come on man, its getting’ bad out here. Come ON!” shouted Gary, as he used all is strength to push John forward, toward their building just ahead at 189^th street and 3^rd avenue

The boys had lived near each other their whole lives, and were like brothers. It was as a brother that John broke out of his usually reserved nature as they rode the elevator.

“Its MESSED UP man!” he blurted out, glaring down at his friend.  “They OWNIN’ YOU!”

“Huh?” Gary said stupidly, as they stepped off onto the 5^th floor where the smell of fried chicken grease greeted them.  

“You been growin’ your locks forever! Why you gotta cutt’em? Cuz they TOLD you so?!”

Gary laughed, though, he felt rather uneasy.

“John, don’t you never listen? We tryin’ to move UP. Now how am I suppose to get an internship wit' Goldman Sachs wit’ dreds? Huh? They comin next week, and I aim to be ready for’em. We gotta be thinkin’ about our FUTURE man!”

“Yea,” spat John, “a future where light skinned niggas like Charles bring the message of the white man down to simple street niggas like us. “

Gary stooped directly outside of his family’s apartment, stunned by John’s words.

“You just a slave man, “ John continued emphatically. “BMG? That shit only keeps niggas doin’ the things that whitey WANTS us to do.  You wanna make it in his world? Can’t wear ur hair like that! Can’t talk like that! Can’t act like that! Can’t think like that! Nigga, lets just sell our souls, why don’t we!”

John’s eyes flashed violently.  “FUCK ‘EM” he blasted, and he stormed by his friend, down the hall to his apartment, slamming the door behind him.

Gary stood motionless for a moment, and then sighed.  John was so damned stupid sometimes.