fiction and musings from a gay black dude with delusions above his station
(Editor’s Note: This story is an expansion of “The Burrito Kiss” which was published on the gar spot previously. The story is set c. 1992.) Saturday nights meant church service and that usually meant glares and taunts from Righteous, my older brother Jerome. Hurry up. Comb that mess on your head. Wear something appropriate. Don’t be…
Rick called on Lionel’s cell just as he was packing up his briefcase. It had been a long ass day filled with too many meetings about too much stuff that they had been dealing with for too long and he wanted to bolt from the office. So naturally, the phone rang. He hadn’t even had…
Sonja didn’t tell her everything. She didn’t tell her about her father’s cackling. But she did tell her about the origin of the pink ribbon. She did mention Rick’s name. And she did tell her that Mickey met his late partner because he couldn’t get over the pink ribbon on Mickey’s horn as he played….
“Sonja! Oh my God, girl, how are you? How’s it blowing?” “It’s blowing,” she replied with a smile that Leticia could hear over the phone. “It’s good to hear from you, Sonja.” As Mickey rounded out the ballad he cooed from his tenor sax, Sonja opened her eyes. She reclined on his too comfortable…
He stood eyes closed and let the notes wash over him as he leaned against the wall, a Diet Coke hanging from one hand. He barely allowed her to speak when she arrived. “Take it out and play something,” he said. She complied. First came the stomper, now crooned the ballad. It threatened to lull…
As soon as Lionel entered the family room, tie undone, shirt untucked, beer can in hand, his eyes fell on the saxophone. It has occupied the same corner, slouched at the same unaltered angle, for the past four days. Dust has settled on its upper slopes. A cobweb draped between one of the keys and…
“The Passion Flower series, Mr. Gale,” he said after a long sip of brandy, “you asked what was the inspiration.” “Yes.” “It was my pathetic attempt at career suicide. I wanted to destroy everything I had built up. I wanted the world to write me off and leave me the fuck alone. But it didn’t…
We stood in front of a shelf marked 1953. A gap sat in the middle of otherwise tightly packed volumes. He began stroking the dust from the empty space. Again, it felt as if he were stroking my skin. This time I let myself experience it, for a little while. “Where are those volumes?” I…
Light, airy, and meticulously clean, attributes that well describe Mr. Horton’s apartment. His closet embodied the exact opposite. As we entered, he reached up and pulled a cord. A single bulb, brown with dust, hung on a thick wooly wire. The light revealed a cavern, cramped, long, and narrow with a pale wall grimed by…
“Listen, why are you here?” Startled, I looked up from my notepad. “The lifetime achievement award, Mr. Horton. My magazine wanted an interview.” “No! Why did they send you?” I had no immediate response. “You’re awfully young, you know that? How the hell do you even know who I am? What work of mine have…
