The white boy sitting beside Jojo at the bus-stop was flipping a silver lighter over and over in one hand. Staring at it intently, like he was studying it or something. Jojo didn't think it was anything special. The silver was probably fake anyway."Yo, man," said Jojo. "Need a light."
White Boy blinked at him for a minute, then finally noticed the cig in between Jojo's fingers. White Boy obliged and lit the stick.
Jojo nodded his thanks and puffed. White Boy wasn't so bad -- probably the same age as Jojo himself. Dressed a bit uppity for this neighborhood, but then again, maybe he came from Fifth Street a couple of blocks up. Black coat, red hoodie, jeans. Like he was trying to look like that Ben Affleck dude from Dogma. Jojo glanced down at his own stained hoodie and too-worn jeans, and frowned.
He took another drag before holding the cig out to White Boy. Was the least he could do in thanks for the light.
"Wanna toke?" he asked.
"No thanks," White Boy said absently, still staring at the lighter in his hand. "I don't smoke."
Jojo snorted loudly. "Man, whatcha doin' with a lighter if you don't smoke?"
White Boy shrugged, frowning. "Somebody gave it to me."
"Gave it to you?" Jojo knew street talk when he heard it. "You stole it."
"No." White Boy looked genuinely startled. "He. . . gave it to me along with some advice."
Jojo took the lighter from White Boy's hand without waiting for an invitation. On one side of the surface was written in big letters: IN GOD WE TRUST. On the other side there was a carved picture of a chain-smoking priest standing in front of a lung cancer poster.
Jojo thought it was the funniest thing ever.
"Tried to getcha to quit, eh?" he smirked, flicking the tiny spiked wheel on the lighter repeatedly so that he could watch the sparks. "Or maybe he's sayin' 'To hell with it, let's suck some joints'?"
White Boy appeared to contemplate his answer. "He wanted me to go back. We were in a convenience store and this lighter was the only thing he could find to reiterate his point."
Jojo watched the flame dance solemnly above his fingers. He took a long smoky drag. "Wanted you to go back, huh? He family?"
"You. . . could say that. We used to live and work together. Then I got sent away by the Father."
"Ah, man, that's rough." Jojo hissed out carbon monoxide in between his front teeth. "Dads suck like that. Motherfuckers. Either kick their kids out or run away themselves."
White Boy turned his head and looked at Jojo. "Which one's your dad?"
"Second one. Asshole. Not you, him," Jojo clarified. He shook his head in disgust. "Now my ma's gotta feed all of my sisters on that shitty paycheck from that shitty job she's workin'."
"Just your sisters? How about you?"
"I can take care of myself. Don't need Ma to make my breakfast. Not like stupid Tamara who fucks every guy on the block." Jojo glowered as he thought about his sister, then shot White Boy a warning look that was only half-feigned. "You go near her and I'll kill you."
White Boy nodded solemnly. "Fair enough. But I already have somebody."
"Well. Okay. That's good. Just keepin' it real. You playin' her?"
White Boy frowned. "Playing? No, it's not really a game. . ."
Jojo laughed and thumped White Boy on the back. "Now I know you're serious." Puff, drag, toke. He glanced at the lighter. "So you goin' back like your friend asked?"
White Boy shook his head. "No. At first, when I was. . . sent away. . ."
"Man, stop talkin' like that. You got kicked out. Thrown out. Fucked off and over and back."
White Boy ignored him. "At first I thought, I'd go back the minute He said I could. But He didn't. And now. . . I've been walking around so long, I just don't care about Him anymore."
Self-righteous anger. Jojo recognized himself all too well. He wouldn't take his old man back either, not even if the bastard crawled on his hands and knees with a blown-off shoulder.
Jojo hissed in more nicotine. "You pissed off, huh."
"I have a right to be." White Boy's voice was hard now, his eyes narrowed and his lips pressed tight together. Didn't look as if he didn't care, but Jojo said nothing. "He wouldn't listen to me. He just wouldn't listen."
"Comes with age, man. The older they are, the more stubborn they become. Set in their ways, y' know."
White Boy stared at Jojo, then suddenly chuckled as if he found that funny. "The older they are. . ." He shook his head, laughing softly. "You may be right."
"Shit, man, I know I'm right." Pleased, Jojo took another couple of puffs. He glanced at White Boy in his unstained clothes, of Fifth Avenue origin or maybe from Hightowers up north. White skin, very cropped brown hair. Not like Jojo's own kinky black locks or dark skin.
Jojo handed the lighter back to White Boy and smiled. "Maybe we ain't so different after all."
White Boy looked at him, puzzled.
"You know. You and me." Jojo gestured with the hand holding the cig. "Some things're just universal, y' know?"
White Boy continued to look at Jojo, studying him, then slowly met his smile. "Yeah. I know."
Jojo five'd White Boy before leaning back and taking another drag of smoke. They watched the sun set amidst the city smog before the bus finally came.
You can hide 'neath your covers
And study your pain
Make crosses from your lovers
Throw roses in the rain
Waste your summer praying in vain
For a savior to rise from these streets
-- "Thunder Road", Bruce Springsteen
