daisy chains

hot and bothered (7)

Mr. Johnson lived in the corner of the city where black kids would run around half naked in the summer, and water mingled with sweat so you couldn't tell them apart.

His apartment suited him. He'd got it all messy like his head full of curls, with scraps of paper everywhere. There was a wall with just empty pages looking like they were ripped out of a notebook. I never asked why he got them hanging empty like that, and imagined sometimes that he'd written a secret of the universe on 'em but with invisible ink.

He looked at me, eyes close to tears. I tried to do the same but I was busy fascinated with the worn out typewriter sitting on his desk, the summer breeze wafting through his windows making his curtains flutter about like they're willed by magic, the sound of children squealing with irrational joy.

"What you thinking about?" and his face turned back to normal, that humorous secret smile that often played on his lips.

"Nothing."

He pointed at me and said, "There's your problem."

"I'm tired," I said as he stood from his chair and walked over to his bottle of vodka, perched on what three legged table among other bottles of liquor.

"Want some?"

I say, "No, thanks. How's the script?"

"A mess," he turned to send me grin. I though then that if anyone's crazier than me, it would be Johnson. He's got his head in the clouds. DVDs and tapes are strewn across the surface of his apartment. I only know Hitchcock and Méliès because of him.

He was working on some script for some white show. So far they've aired a couple of episodes and none have any colored folk. Just a bunch in some backgrounds.

Mama knew him from undergrad before she met dad and had me and then dropped out. She was studying to be a nurse, but they met on some black activist club and he only ever made film references.

"When I heard you were your mama's girl I didn't believe you would wanna be an actress. Then I saw you on that audition tape and I recognized her eyes instantly."

He looked over at me as he took a sip of his clear drink. His breath often reeked of it.

"Are you wasting my time?" he asked. "I got a few minutes. You wanna work?"

I shook my head.

Lately there'd been a dark cloud over everything and it would close in on me regularly. I didn't know what do but I was tired and hungry and all I ever wanted to do was the thing I loved to do, but the universe wouldn't let me like it'd got something against me.

Johnson's cramped apartment was one of the few places I felt at ease. I looked outside the window, the summer heat pressing its way against me and I broke out in sweat as I got my shit together.

"Next week same time?" I asked by the door.

He poured himself another drink. "Right."