American Messiah
Since bout last month I ain’t got no home; not that I am homeless—I ain’t—just got no home. I ain’t talkin bout that home-is-where-your-family-is, home-is-where-you’re-loved goddam crap, but an actual, solid home. I live, or more like, I sleep at the Millenial Park, between Columbus and Lake Shore. Chicago, Illinois, that’s where I’m from; born and bred; and I ain’t never gonna leave. I love this goddam city: it gave me Fiona, my beautiful wife, and four baby girls. And I—oh no my wife’s not here, they’re not here. They went to her mother’s house, back to the farm. She told me to go, to follow, but I ain’t never gonna go to Indiana, of all the goddam states. She said she’d wait, she did; said she’d wait ‘till I got my job back, or got a new one, I told her, I said baby, you ain’t gonna have to wait no much longer; I’ma be the boss one day, you just wait and see, baby, just wait and see. She said she’d come back when I proved her. You see, I lost my job: new boss, didn’t like my style, too old-school he said, he said he needed quicker people, and I said ain’t nothin quicker than a forty-year-old man with no job, no education and seven mouths to feed (her parents live with me you see), but he ain’t listen, and so I left. What? No, no, they didn’t fire me, you misunderstood; I know what I said, and I ain’t said that; you misunderstood, I left, I quit. I’m a man with some integrity left, you know? You know, the problem ain’t him, he ain’t got nothin on me, but people like him, and every-fuckin-one who claps every time people like him open their goddam mouths. It ain’t only the government, it’s ‘bout bigger things, it’s ‘bout the empty people, ‘bout how empty they all are nowadays. It wasn’t like that in my time. Ain’t makin them like me anymore, they don’t, you see? I was the best employee they got, just ‘cus I didn’t have no paper to prove my worth ain’t mean nothin.
They don’t have nothin on me. I left with my dignity. And truth be told I’m happy like this, I ain’t no homeless guy, just a guy with no home for now. I’ll get off these streets any day now, any day I tell you. You’ll see me givin you coffee next week on your favorite Starbucks, or orderin the games section on some goddam Target. Then in a couple’f months I’ll be goddam runnin the place, I tell you—you don’t believe me, do you? I tell you, any day now, any day, you’ll see me, I’ll be your boss one day, I tell you. Ain’t you come tell me, in your black and white suit, that you’re better than me. No, now don’t you tell me you ain’t said nothin; I know people like you, I used to work for ‘em, don’t you tell me nothin. I know many things you ain’t never gonna dream on knowin. What a goddam joke, people tryin to pretend they ain’t what I already know they are! I know all sorts of people, and yours are the worst, and I ain’t never wrong with these things, I know it when I know it. Now don’t you come and tell me I don’t.
Now, now, I didn’t mean that, I’m sorry, I just get so goddam mad when people lie. I didn’t mean to get violent with you I goddam swear, I ain’t never hit no one. I’m as peaceful as a fish, and not those grey big sharks, but as a small one: I’m quiet and peaceful. Fiona always made these mad mad stories where she invented things I did, people I screamed at and hit and everythin, she even said once that that’s why I got no job, ‘cus of my anger, but she’s just like that sometimes: real mean. She knows I hate it when she says real mean things to me, that’s why she says them. To try and make me do things. But I never fall, and I know they’re only stories, like the ones she tells my little girls to make them behave. That’s why if you talk to her, don’t believe a word she says. She tells stories sometimes; she says I’m angry but I ain’t, I ain’t what she says I am. Momma raised me right, you see?
The only man I’ve ever hit was Quentin Fitzpatrick, and just ‘cus he was goddam mean and he tried to get into my sister’s pants. I never met him but once, that day, and I beat the crap outta him. Ain’t no one gonna joke with my sister. Oh yes! I have a sister: good ol’ Fanny, sweet as sugar and pretty as hell. She told me to stay at her house, to stay for a while, but I told her she ain’t got to worry ‘bout no damn thing. She has a crowded house already, a man, three teenagers and a couple of baby twins. Cutest things ever born, I goddam swear. I’ve always wished I had pulled my shit together, and gotten a couple of little babies. But I never quite did, and that’s okay. I was always busy with work, you see? I was a manager at an hotel.
I heard from Fanny just last week. She wrote to me. We keep in touch, we were always close, since babies. She’s always been my baby sister, and ain’t nothin gonna change that. I have a letter from her, actually. Wanna see it? Here, have a look. Yes, I know it’s yellowin. I just got it last week. It’s not old, I swear. Only got it last week. No, what are you sayin? I know it says that it’s from nineteen-eighty-nine, she must’ve used an old envelope, ‘cus she sent this last week only. You think I’m crazy, right? You callin me crazy? Ain’t you tellin me that, I know when I got this letter. Were you there? Stop speakin nonsense, I know what year it is. Watch your goddam fuckin mouth. Stop it. Are you a brute? I told you I just got it last week. I’ve got some friends, you know? You ain’t gonna know what hit you if you don’t stop botherin the crap outta me. Stop sayin you didn’t say anythin, I know what you said. You callin me a liar then? You callin me a goddam liar? Fuck you. You, with your white and black and white suits!
Oh, I get it… who are you? Who sent you? Did someone send you? Did they tell you I know somethin, ‘cus I don’t; I ain’t know nothin.
You need somethin? It’s gettin late, I need to go. No, no, don’t touch me, don’t goddam touch me, I need to go home, my wife is waitin for me, it’s gettin late, and I’ve got to go home. Please don’t follow me. I already told you, I ain’t know nothin, I ain’t know what they told you, but they’re nothin but liars, like that fuckin ol’ Steve O’Molly. He was a fuckin liar; beat the crap outta him, I tell you. Him and all his friends.
I’ve got to go, it’s my son’s thirteenth birthday, you see? And I can’t be late: he’s my only son, my wife couldn’t get pregnant after that. Good ol’ Quentin, he’s turnin thirteen today, we’re goin to let him sleep late, watch some—what do you mean they’re not here? Oh, I said no such thing, why would they be in Indiana? My wife’s parents didn’t even make it to the States. She’s been here alone, my beautiful Susan, since she was eleven. She lived in a park very much like this back in Miami. That’s where I met her, my beautiful bride: at a park much like this one. She convinced me to come here, really; she’s convinced me of many many things over these long, awful years, and comin to Chicago was one of them. I used to live in Miami with her. But we came; I came ‘cus I love her, I goddam do, don’t let anyone say I don’t, ‘cus I do. She lets me see how great I am, and she lets me like me more. That’s what happens in love, I reckon: the person makes you feel as if you’re goddam salvation.
Look, look! There she comes. I’m so happy, and she looks so pretty. You see, today’s our weddin day. Oh, well you know that, of course. That’s why you’re dressed like that, all suited up and everythin… Right? Are you a friend of hers, my Susan? Are you here for our weddin? It might rain. She told me in the morning. I really hope it doesn’t. No one wants rain on their goddam weddin day… But that’s okay, I don’t see no goddam cloud. You’re with Fiona right—I mean Susan… I mean, I mean… Oh, hey, I think I’ve seen you around? Do I know you? You look a lot like some boss I had when I was younger. But well, I gotta go, it’s my son’s birthday. Have you seen him? He was… I think he was just here. Will you tell him I’m still lookin for him? We haven’t talked in so long. I do miss him some of these days, don’t never say I ain’t. He must be with Fanny. She’s my wife, I tell you… Oh, no, no, she’s my sister, good ol’ Fanny. Haven’t talked to her in ages, we had a big fight. She said to her husband I took adv—well, that I did things to her, but I did no thing, I tell you. I as good as any American, I tell you, I goddam do: good as any American. Did you hear me? Are lo listenin? Why are you starin? Who are you? Are you lost? Are you lookin for somethin? Do you have a dollar? Some food? Some change to spare for this godforsaken old man?