had shown up, all carrying signs. FREEMAN IS A SELLOUT! FREEMAN IS THE CHARLES BARKLEY OF LITERATURE. Others had signs that admonished the new black aesthetic for not being four miles away on the black side of town at a black bookstore.
We walked by the mini-mob.
Rufus asked me, “Did that woman just tear the head off a doll?”
“That was a bobblehead.”
The bookstore was still packed. A few women were leaving, signed books in hand. No sign of Sade. Rufus caught a table inside Starbucks. I ordered us two Venti-sized liquid cracks.
I sat down, my mind changing direction, now on Panther. Then my brother laughed.
I asked, “What’s funny?”
“I beat Hollywood’s ass. Spends half the night at Gold’s Gym and I whooped his ass.”
Any other day I would’ve been on the ground laughing hard enough to break a rib.
Any other day.
Then Rufus looked sad. Not proud of what had happened between him and his friend. Had the same expression a man had after a falling out with his wife. Proud and sad all at once. Proud for standing up, then sad for things getting out of control. That look of love in limbo.
My eyes went to that huge banner praising Freeman. Then to the flock of loyal fans. Then to the protestors who were walking back and forth in front of the store.
I told Rufus, “Yeah. Got you that signed book. It’s in the sedan.”
“I got halfway through his new book and ...” He made a face, then sipped his brew.
I sipped mine. “And what?”
“Almost every page was a déjà vu. I must’ve read it before.”
I shrugged.
He said, “I double-checked the bookcase. Pasquale makes me keep all of my books listed by author and in alphabetical order. I didn’t have Dawning of Ignorance. But I know I read it.”
People stared at us. Latecomers and worshippers of CP-time rushed by, Freeman’s latest book in one, if not both, of their hands. Most of those stares were directed at Rufus. Albino. Swollen face. Soft shoulders. They hurried on, celebrity worship and shopping on their minds.
Rufus said, “They must think we’re a couple.”
I shifted, shook my head.
“The metrosexual and the homosexual. We could do a treatment for a sitcom.”
I ignored his joke. A discarded New York Times was on the table next to us. I grabbed it. Front page had a story about a Humvee that had run over a land mine in Iraq. Thought about Panther’s brother for a second. War was far from over. Skimmed that article. Soldier killed and the family felt slighted by the military. Not even a phone call. Soldier had an eleven-month-old infant daughter. Wife hadn’t seen her husband in seven months.
I went to the crossword puzzle, took out that Pilot pen I had in my pocket.
“To incite by argument or advice.” EXHORT. “Liable to be brought to account.”
Rufus put his hand on the paper. “Don’t leave me. Don’t run away. Not right now.”
I put the paper down, left that dimension and the last answer hanging in the air.
Rufus didn’t want me to escape.
Me and my brother sipped our high-octane liquid crack like time was on our side.
Me and my brother.
I forgot about my world. Forgot about Freeman and Panther and Arizona and Lisa. Forgot about million-dollar books and destroyed apartments and guns being pulled on me. Just thought about the medicines Rufus kept in his cabinet. I never talked to him about what he was going through, just had looked it up on the Internet. Read about CD4 cells and plasma viral loads. Didn’t really comprehend what all they said. Just knew that there were four kinds of medicines used, medicines with words like nucleoside and transcrip tase and inhibitors.
On the outside we looked like night and day. Yin and yang. From build to hair we’ve always looked different. But Rufus was like me. Same DNA. Nothing like Lancaster in that old black-and-white movie. We were brothers. Refusing to chill out and wait for death to come.
Reverend Daddy had said, “Hate unites people. It’s almost like we need somebody to hate in order to pull together. When we stop hating, we all seem lost, like we have no direction.”
In between the women he put his healing hands on, Reverend Daddy was preaching about how hate of the white man and oppression united black people. How the ignorance and fear that spawned hate had bonded so many others. How without a clear and common enemy people seemed to fall apart. I’d seen how hating terrorists had united the country,