Speak UP!

The dark man sat heavily on the stairs in the Bronx subway station.
He took a deep breath, took off his knit cap, and blew some condensation from his nose.

It was cold but he wasn't thinking about that. His stomach growled at him fiercely.

He had tried unsuccessfully to ask for something to eat on the 6 local train. In fact he had been at it for several hours going up and down, but he was a terrible beggar. He couldn't sing or dance, and he didn't possess a good elevator pitch regarding his meagar situation. 

He also had terrible stage presence and was soft spoken.  On the last train,  and elderly black man had shaken his head at him and said "You gonna starve out here young fella if ya don't go ahead and open your mouth."

The day had been exhausting and he fell into an uneasy slumber on the subway stairs. He dreamed that he was Aladdin from the animated Disney film of his youth.  Even though he was absolutely destitute, somehow he was perfectly clean, well manicured,  charming, brilliant,  and beautiful.

He woke up as a rat scurried over his thigh. Struggling to his feet, he limped up the stairs and walked into the blistering cold of the  south Bronx.

He passed a man who muttered to himself "weed and seed" and hazily  observed that there was lots of dog shit on the ground. He pressed onward, and remembered. Almost there.  Almost there.

"Lydia!" He called hoarsely up to a hulking grey warehouse.  It had once been an ironworks factory but it had been converted into spacious lofts.

"Lydia," he tried again, a little louder.  The fourth floor apartment he yelled to had lights on but he could not see if anyone was there.

He sent a prayer up to Heaven in thanksgiving  when the door to the building  swung open. The elderly  lady who exited stared at him suspiciously but let him pass unmolested,  and he slowly began climbing the steep staircase. He was panting by the time he made it to his destination, apartment 4C. He knocked tepidly, and waited. When nothing stirred,  he rapped upon the steel entry insistently.

A beautiful young lady with large hazel eyes and long dreadlocks answered the door. She was statuesque and regal.

"Jordan, " she said without emotion.
"Lydia," he pleaded.

They faced off.

"You should go home," she said quietly, "Mom and Dad are a mess."

"Lydia, I...need something to eat, please." The young man had begun crying and mucus dripped from his nose. He was shattered.

"Go HOME," the beautiful woman repeated. Then, with great dignity,  she began to close door.

This was too much for him, and his senses screamed with the pain of rejection.  He flew at her in a rage but was much weakened as a result of lack of food. She pushed him down and kicked him.

"You spoiled brat! Get a JOB and stop being a pain in the ass to everybody. You're 23 years old. DO SOMETHING with yourself," she spat venemously to his prostrate body.

She turned on her heel and slammed the door.

Jordan was stunned.  His big sister had always been a defender of his,  an advocate.  When his parents had busted him for pot in middle school and tried to send him to reform school in South Africa, she'd successfully intervened and had miraculously helped him get admitted to the prestigious Xavier Academy in Chesterfield.  She'd even supplied him and his buddies with alcohol while he was there. Five years his senior, she was mature and brilliant and a phenomenal painter. She had been the one who had convinced his parents to give him money to buy DJ equipment so that he could "work on his craft " rather than shipping him off to the army once it became clear that he would not be going to college. When he had lost it all at a party he was working at a month after he acquired it while he'd been on a really bad acid trip that had left him completely senseless, she had hardly chastised him.

The last year had been a strain on their relationship though.  It was mostly due to the time Jordan  had spent living at his sister's apartment in the fall.  His dad was threatening to get him work in his construction business in Pelham, and Jordan had begged his sister to take him in "Just til dad chills out."

While at his sister's,  he'd done nothing but smoke, drink,  and sleep. He didn't contribute to the rent, did no house chores,  and was a complete and utter slob. It was Lydia's roommate who, right before Thanksgiving,  kicked him out. Lydia had at first tried to defend him but she saw that her roommate was right ; her brother was a lazy brat.

Now, days after new years, he had run from home because he his dad had given him notice that he would be starting work on Monday,  no ifs ands or buts.

He'd cut off Jordan's credit cards, suspended his cell phone,  removed his computer, and taken away his car keys. It was like being removed from the world, and Jordan had stormed out with $20 cash to his name and bought a train ticket to the city.

He'd been too ashamed to crash at his friends' apartments and had avoided his sister. He spent consecutive days on the subway just staring dully,  trying to make meaning of his life. It was immense hunger that had forced him to the Bronx.

Jordan trudged down the stairs and and headed outside. He felt something was very wrong with him and knew that he just couldn't get it right.  He was useless and he had never been good at anything. He was a blip, an insect,  a waste of space. He was nothing and nobody.

He blinked in surprise when he saw that he had walked to the third avenue bridge. The lights of East Harlem across the river winked at him. He paused and stared at the cars that flew by. He  took a deep breath and looked down at the pitch black Harlem river. He contemplated.