It Starts

1987 - X See How We Are There are men lost in jail Crowded fifty to a room There's too many rats in this cage of the world

I was at a full sprint. My combat boots bashed against the sidewalk. My leather jacket was hot and the running wasnt helping me cool down. Where are my friends?, I remember thinking as I passed a girl who was lost in the music that piped in from her headphones. It was dark and I scanned the sides of the street for a place to hide. George Washington University campus was unfamiliar. We only went there for shows so I didnt have an escape route planned. Foot steps were coming up fast from behind me. Fuck, just run! If I get caught again, my parents are going to kill me. Thats him! I heard someone yell from the crowd. The one with the red hair! Passing a window, I caught a glimpse of my hair, bright and spiked out like a match that had just been lit. I started laughing. Behind me were the three rent-a-cops, fat and having a hard time keeping up. I made a sharp turn and lost the first one. Her hat fell off and she went back to get it. The other two picked up the pace. With every step, the chain and padlock around my neck bounced, slapping my chest and knocking my chin. I was drunk and, at full speed, felt myself tiring out soon. I couldnt take in enough air and my muscles were giving up on me.

1974 - NEW YORK DOLLS Human Being Well if you dont like it Go ahead, find yourself a saint Go ahead now, Try to find a boy Whos gonna be what I aint

That lying bastard! Father yelled at the top of his lungs towards the TV during the Watergate hearings. I hadnt seen my father angry before. He paced the living room like the lions Id seen at the National Zoo. I sat there and watched. I didnt care what was happening on the TV. Father was more entertaining with his red face and hair in disarray. Docile by nature, Father was the most peaceful man I would ever know and seeing him angry was something new to me. He had wavy dark brown, shoulder-length hair and a thick scrub-brush for a mustache with blackrimmed glasses, making him resemble something between a Beatnik and Groucho Marx. Send him to jail, that lying bastard! he continued as Nixons face flashed across the TV. Not too long after that, Nixon hired Fathers firm to represent him personally. Eventually, Father would spend 20 years working on the Nixon tapes case. I cant raise the children by myself, said Mother, her eyes fixed on Father. He barely looked up from the TV. Lets get some help. Maybe my mother could move in, he suggested. Mother raised an eyebrow. Thats not going to happen. We were at our home on Tennyson Street in Chevy Chase D.C. The house was basic; two floors with a basement and a front and back yard. It looked like every other home on the block except for the white wash paint on the bricks out front. Mother did it herself, but never stripped off the old paint so now it was peeling. Our front lawn was covered with flecks of white paint. Sister was 4. I was 5. For the moment I was happy. I didnt want anything to change. I liked

having Mother around. But Mother didnt like working only part time.

My parents raised Sister and me on Dr. Spock, television, and Coca-Cola. They worked even on the weekends. Sister and I spent more time together than our parents did. Children, here is your new nanny, Patsy, said Mother one day. A young black woman was standing next to her. Patsy had full round lips, a round head, round breasts, and a small round belly hovering over her round hips. She was circles stacked on top of circles. Thinking back on it later, I realized she was attractive. Sister stood behind me, peering over my shoulder at the new nanny. Patsy kneeled down to our height and smiled, Its nice to meet you, she said in a Caribbean accent. She held her hand out and I shook it. Im off to work, said Mother and she was out the door. When youre hungry, let me know, Patsy said as she stood up. Im going to do some cleaning. She looked around the room. Maybe you two could show me where the vacuum is? She made the beds and brought the laundry down to the basement. She didnt tell us to do anything. After the first week, Sister and I were used to being with her. One day she was making the Parents bed when I walked in the room and sat on the floor. Where do you live? I asked. She jumped a little and turned to me, grabbing at her chest. Baby, you scared me Where am I from? Trinidad. And here I live in the Southeast, she said, picking up the dirty sheets and heading towards the closed door, Gentlemen open the door for ladies. Could you get the door for me, Baby? I ran over and opened it, trailing behind her to the basement. She put the sheets in the washing machine, flipped the switch to on, then glanced around the room, picked up the bottle of detergent and shook it. Empty. She started sucking her teeth. Whats that youre doing? I said. Whats what, Baby? That noise youre making with your mouth? Its something us tropical people do when we are mad, she said and then I tried to suck my teeth

too. Im hungry, I said. Baby, you need to learn the polite way to ask for things. Like May I please have something to eat? and when someone does something for you, you need to say Thank you. And if I say Thank you you need to say Youre welcome. When you treat people with respect, you get respect back. She led me upstairs and made me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, cut down the middle, with a glass of orange juice on the side. Thank you, I said. Youre welcome. I sat at the counter top that ran along the wall. The wall was covered with ugly prints of faded nautical themed clip art. Bubbles had formed from years of humid summers. Sunlight cascaded through the branches of the neighbors trees and our small window which formed a patch work of shadows along the floor and sink. Patsy peeled me an orange. I slipped the triangles in my mouth while Patsy ate the peel. Why you eating that? I said. There are more vitamins in the peel, Patsy said with a grin. I walked into the living room. Sister sat on the floor. plastic scissors and asked me to cut off her hair. Its too long. I want it to be like yours, she said. Sister had a collection of dolls forced on her by our parents. She had never seemed interested in them until she cut off all their hair. You do it. I dropped the scissors. It looked more like work than fun. I cant see in the back. She picked up the scissors and placed them in my hand, then turned away from me. I wondered what it would have been like to be a barber. Snipping at the hair, it fell onto my feet. I kicked it off, then cut until no more large clusters were left. Then, I had a funny feeling like maybe I shouldnt be doing this so I stopped. Her hair was uneven and dramatically shorter than mine. Then Patsy looked in the room. She handed me a pair of dull, child safe

Oh boy, what have you done! she said, sucking through her teeth. Sister looked at herself in the mirror. Thanks Brother. She couldnt see the patch in the back that reached down to her scalp.

Mothers car pulled up front. Patsy had been sitting in the living room with us, but she looked outside every time she heard a car. By the time the car door shut, Patsy was already out front. Sister and I watched from the window. Patsy was saying something and pointed back at the house then at her own head. Mother tilted her head and glanced at us looking at her. They both came in and walked into the room where we were. What a beautiful haircut you have, said Mother and smiled, but that night she shaved off the rest, making it even, except the part in the back. Father got home late and started fighting with Mother again. Sister and I were already in our beds. All you have to do is come home and spend some time with me, I heard Mother say. Every fight started out in a whisper, but over hours would grow into an all-consuming yelling match. Hateful words tumbled up the stairs, down the hall, and finally found their way underneath my door, passing through the pillow pressed against my head. I could only hear the bass notes, but they still kept me from sleep. I tried drifting off, but woke to the noise of their bedroom door closing. The fighting had stopped. The house was quiet and lonely. The floors creaked and I was scared. I stopped asking my parents if I could sleep on their floor weeks ago when the fighting first started. I stepped softly, hoping not to alert the monsters, axe murderers, and Republicans that lurked downstairs when everyone was asleep. I tapped on Sisters open door. Brother, what do you want? She sounded tired and annoyed. Can I sleep on your floor? Sleep on your own floor. Please. Fine. Just be quiet. She sounded older than she was, like a grumpy old man. The floor was hard on my belly. Wrapping myself like a burrito in my comforter provided some

cushioning. If axe-wielding Republicans burst into her room, I would save her. I didnt care what happened to me. I didnt want to be left as the only one alive. I didnt want to watch the rest of my family die, even though I didnt really know what it meant to die. I thought that when you died it was like being sent to your room for a time out, but when the time was done you could come back out. Death wasnt real. Maybe the fighting was making me nervous. Mother and Father werent playful any more. They spent most of their time brooding in different corners of the house. Our family was changing and I didnt like change. It made me feel bad and I wanted to protect Sister. I fell asleep, waking with mornings first light. Climbing into my own bed, I hoped Sister would forget I slept in her room. She might complain but she still looked out for me. Later, when they discovered I was dyslexic, she would be the first to stick up for me. Even when we fought, we still loved each other. When our parents fought it didnt seem like they loved each other. They didnt say they were sorry when it was over and they didnt forget why they were mad.

1976 - The RAMONES Judy is a Punk Jackie is a punk, Judy is a runt They both went down to Berlin, joined the ice capades And oh, I dont know why oh, I dont know why Perhaps theyll die, oh yeah perhaps theyll die, oh yeah

That fall, at elementary school, the first grade classes were divided into breaks for snacks and naps. I watched the other kids as they did their schoolwork, then looked down at my own. I didnt understand what to do; I never did. It seemed so easy for them, just like how it was easy for Sister. This is not fair, I thought. Why cant I do this? Was there something I missed that could help me? Just match the words with the pictures, said the teacher, noticing I hadnt done anything. When youre finished, you can go out and play, she said with a smile, and walked off to check on other students. The image on the page was simple black line art. I looked hard at the paper; if I could, I would

have set it ablaze. What was the right answer? I knew the image was a dog it looked like a dog I had seen. But the letters arranged to mean dog meant nothing to me. I tapped my pencil, closed my eyes and cleared my mind. Letters floated in a jumble like a tangled fishing net and I couldnt untangle it. I could hear foot steps as kids quietly exited the room. I pulled a D from the tangle, but then I heard muffled laughter carried in from the playground. I opened my eyes and noticed I was alone. The rest of the class had moved outside and I could hear them playing. The teacher gazed at me curiously. I just wanted to play. Do your best, she said. Time was running out. I thought, if she just wants me to connect the image to a word I could do that. I methodically connected any picture with a word and ran out the door. The system worked and the next day I was one of the first to make it outside to play. I was back in control; the other kids were the slow ones. How come they didnt do the same thing? It was so easy, I was smarter than everyone, and the anxiety was held at bay. In the second week, my teacher stood beside me as I waited for Mother to pick me up. Did I do something wrong? No dear, I just need to talk with your mother, she said. Everything is fine, There was a light rain and it felt nice on my face. Just beyond the school, the sounds of rush hour traffic whooshed down Wisconsin Avenue. I wanted to be in that traffic heading home. Mother turned the corner and pulled up in front of us. I have some concerns about your son, the teacher said, using that serious voice that I had learned to watch out for. I think he may have a learning disability. I just read an article about it so Im no expert, but you should consider getting your son tested. The teacher didnt realize it but she had just set the course of my life and everything good or bad would stem from an article she happened to read.

You can find the paper back at these local book stores. ****** St Marks Books 31 Third Avenue New York, New York 10003 Tel: 212-260-7853 ******* McNally Jackson Books 52 Prince Street (between Lafayette & Mulberry) New York City, NY 10012 Tel: 212.274.1160

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