For Adam it had been easy.  He was the only guy around, so of course Eve would go for him.  It didn’t matter if food was stuck in his teeth, he stumbled over his words, or had toilet paper dangling from the hem of his pants.  No one else could be more charming, or clever, or handsome.  Eve’s only alternative was solitude.     

“There she goes,” Charlie said.  “By her lonesome.”
           
Nevertheless, Tony suspected that Adam’s palms still sweated and his hours spent preparing for the moment seemed inconsequential.  Regardless of the odds, women tended to have that effect.
           
“I see her.”
           
“So go talk to her.”
           
“About what?” Tony asked, quite reasonably in his opinion.
           
“Just ask her out.  How hard can that be?”
           
That serpent in the Garden of Eden had probably used this same line of logic.    
           
“Very hard, since I don’t even know the girl.”
           
“Then get to know her,” Charlie almost shouted.  He paused to control the volume of his voice.  “Introduce yourself.  See how it goes from there.  And if you can’t then shut up about her, cause words are cheap.”
           
Charlie was right, of course.  If he wanted to get to know Janet, there was nothing else to it but to step to the plate and take a healthy swing for the fences.  Yet Tony felt his hesitation was warranted, for Janet Mitchell was not exactly the typical girl around the way.  Among her many wondrous traits was the ability to grow a little more beautiful with each passing day.  Even indoors, her hair seemed to reflect all light the sun had to offer.  Her eyes were twin oceans inviting him to dive in, her lips the petals of a rose in bloom. 
           
If only his desire was matched by his nerve.  If only his confidence about so many other matters could be summoned when it came to being around Janet.  Another girl took the seat next to her in study hall that Tony would have taken, if only.      
           
“Well, she’s not alone anymore,” he said.
           
“No, but you are.  Alone and pathetic.  I don’t see what the big deal is.  Worst case scenario she’ll blow you off and you’ll become so depressed that you’ll kill yourself.  That’s not so bad, is it?”
           
Charlie had a knack for putting matters into proper perspective.  What would be the worst outcome?  Janet would reject him and he’d feel bad for awhile.  Damn bad, but he’d get over it.  There were plenty of girls out there.  Pretty soon he wouldn’t even remember her name.  Well maybe not pretty soon, but eventually. 
           
Tony had inherited the khaki colored skin and inviting eyes of his mother, along with the strong jaw and wavy hair of his father. He had grown accustomed to a fair share of attention from female admirers, and was not usually the shy sort around girls. Except for some maddening reason when it came to the one he wanted most.        
           
His previous girlfriends had all been either black or Hispanic.  An opportunity to sample further had not presented itself.  Little thought was given to this until the day he looked up from his seat in the cafeteria and beheld a vision.  From that moment on, Janet was never far from his thoughts.  Like the cough of a lifetime smoker, her image would fade only for as long as it took to build up strength again. 
           
He went about discreetly finding out anything about her that there was to know, except for one crucial fact.  Would she be interested in him?  Tony suspected that had she not been white, he would have discovered the answer by now.  This aspect of the situation took on more weight each day she remained a stranger.  He knew that regardless of her skin tone, she would either give him a chance or not.  Yet much to his chagrin he continued to regard it, and was thus frozen in inaction.
           
Was Janet destined to remain nothing more than a fantasy?  Could the reality of mortal flesh live up to his fevered dreams?  He would never know until he was able to lay his hands on her milky skin.
           
Then it happened.  The event transpired in mere seconds, but worlds had been shaken to their foundation in less time.  What Tony expected least while wanting most is precisely what took place.  Janet turned back towards him and smiled.  When her friend also snuck a peek, Tony concluded that he was the subject of their conversation.  He glanced at Charlie, whose grin confirmed that he had witnessed the silent exchange.     
           
“Go for yours, Casanova.” 
           
Tony did not respond, in fact showed not a trace of the euphoria swelling within him.  He could not count how often he had vowed to overcome his phobia regarding Janet.  Every missed opportunity gnawed at him with the persistence of a dog lunging at a pot roast left unguarded on a counter top.  But this no longer mattered, for he knew with a certainty never before experienced that the next time would be the only one to matter.  The bell went off signaling everyone to head to their next class.
           
“You going to the game today?” asked Charlie.
           
“Nah.”
           
“Why not?”
           
“I have to look for a job.”
           
“You’re set on getting that apartment, ain’t you?”
           
“My dad went on strike yesterday,” Tony explained.  “I’m just trying to help out.”
           
“Well good luck.  And don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on Janet for you.”
           
“Who’s going to keep an eye on you?”
           
“I’m sure she will,” Charlie answered, right before darting down the hall, narrowly avoiding Tony’s playful kick.

***

It was already past eight o’clock, nothing left to do but go home.  Tony’s only reward for his day’s travels was a pair of weary feet.  Job openings were more scarce in this neighborhood than sushi bars, frustration more plentiful than fried chicken shacks.  As he spoke to each shopkeeper, he could feel his father’s expectant presence lurking in shadowy corners. 
           
As Tony matured and began reaching his own conclusions about the world and the mechanisms that made it go round, the rift between he and his father grew steadily wider.  The two of them were simply unable to look at the same thing without seeing it in different ways.  But now an opportunity to reverse the momentum of their relationship had presented itself.  His willingness to help the family out financially in troubled times would earn him respect at long last.
           
His father had previously been on strike seven years earlier.  Every morning he ventured out to march on the picket line, and each evening returned drunk.  Once home he would explode at the slightest provocation.  Static on the television, lack of beer in the refrigerator, the Mets losing another ball game.  No longer helpless to do anything but watch and cry, Tony would pitch in and lighten his father’s burdens this time around.
           
Activity taking place about thirty yards ahead sidetracked his thoughts.  The nearest streetlight was broken, so details were sketchy, but it appeared to be a fight.  Drawing closer he made out four guys, each around fourteen or fifteen years old, maniacally beating up on a single one of their peers. 
           
Tony wondered if he was about to see his first live homicide, and briefly considered taking action on the victim’s behalf.  But that would just make two casualties.  The thing to do was turn around and take the long way home.  This was none of his business. Nevertheless he was drawn helplessly to the violence, common sense overwhelmed by natural instinct which caused the shedding of blood to be the basis of a variety of spectator sports.
           
A police siren wailed from a distance too close for comfort.  “It’s Five-O.  Let’s get the fuck out of here.”  
           
Even if the speaker’s face had not been clearly made out in the lamp light, his voice was easily recognized.  
           
After the assailants ran off, Tony walked over to the boy they left behind.  Blood trickled from his nostrils and mouth.  He initially appeared to be unconscious, but then opened his eyes and spoke.
           
“You see my glasses anywhere?”  He sat up and let loose a spray of scarlet.
           
A pair of glasses lay on the ground nearby, twisted out of shape and one lens shattered.  Tony handed it over, which produced a look of great irritation instead of gratitude that it was his eyewear rather than his skull to have been damaged beyond repair.
           
“Shit.  My mom is going to flip out.”  He effortlessly rose to his feet despite the beating just taken, then spat another puddle of blood onto the pavement.  “Thanks, man.”
           
As he walked away, the letters RD shaved into the fade on the left side of his head were spotted.  A downward glance at his Timberland construction boots confirmed Tony’s assumption.  He was a member of the Raw Dawgs, a neighborhood gang comprised of Puerto Rican kids.  They were usually seen in Corollas without bumpers, the flag of their motherland on every antenna.  Much of their time was spent working on these vehicles.  The rest was spent looking for and finding trouble.
           
The Raw Dawgs were the chief rivals of the Kaos Krew, the gang his brother belonged to.  The main source of friction between them was the right to be the sole supplier for the numerous junkies who inhabited their miniscule sector of the Bronx.  
           
It was a group of Kaos Krew members who had just fled the scene, and C.J.’s voice that had been recognized.  Tony feared that one of these days his brother was going to be on the flip side of the violence he could not resist. 
           
Staring at the blood stains on the sidewalk for a minute, solemnly aware that the difference between life and death could be measured by the size of such a stain, Tony wondered as he often did what he could do to make C.J. see the inevitability of his downfall.  Then the sirens cried louder and he decided to ponder this question on the go.

***

Tony arrived home to the sight of his father in the tattered recliner that he alone ever sat in, a can of beer in one hand and remote control in the other, eyes fixated on the television set.  The sound of canned laughter reverberated throughout the apartment.  Paper thin carpeting which matched the colorless hue of the walls and ceiling created a claustrophobic ambiance that lack of size could not quite bring about on its own.  The mix and match utilitarian furnishings borrowed more heavily from the rainbow’s spectrum. 
           
With everything the world had to offer, Tony marveled at how the golden nectar of barley and a box filled with moving pictures managed to placate his father.  Why didn’t he need more, or at least comprehend why others might?    
           
Tony was about to open the door to his room when a stern, commanding voice held him in place.
           
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”  Lionel held off on his lecture long enough to take a sip of beer. 
           
“When I was your age I was helping support my family.  I didn’t have the luxury of daydreaming about nonsense, and despite what you might think, neither do you.”
           
Tony forced himself not to grin as he informed his father than he had just been out looking for a job.
           
“Is that right?  About time you got your head out of the clouds.  You need to start bringing some money in here.  Your years of leeching are over.  You’re grown now, at least in the eyes of employers, and they’re the ones who matter.  They’re the ones who can keep you fed, not them books you’re always buried in or those colleges you keep talking about.”
           
It came as no surprise to Tony that a pat on the back would not be forthcoming, just another dose of cynicism and criticism. 
           
“I’m looking for something temporary,” he said.  “My head is in the same place it’s always been.”
           
“I guess then you’ve figured out how to pay for college.”
           
“Like I’ve said a hundred times, I should be eligible for financial aid, plus I might win a scholarship.  If it isn’t meant to be, I’ll deal.  But I’m not going to give up without even trying.”
           
The chuckling that followed must have dried Lionel’s throat, for as soon as the sound left, cold beer filled the void.  This silenced him for but a moment.
           
“Just keep in mind where that money would be coming from.  White people aren’t in the habit of simply giving money away, especially to us.  What they do is make investments.  They take a few dollars from their back pocket, and then that’s right where they have you.” 
           
“Is that right?”  Tony could have finished each of his father’s sentences.  He could not recall the last opinion expressed by him that was surprising or new.
           
“Debt is a powerful thing.  You better think long and hard about who you’re willing to owe, cause the white man’s pocket is mighty snug.  Get tucked back there, you may never make your way out.  And while you’re daydreaming about tomorrow, don’t forget that there are bills to be paid and bellies to be fed today.  Any luck with your job search?”
           
“No, not yet.  I filled out a few applications.  We’ll see what happens.”
           
“Keep in mind that it’s called work for a reason.  Getting a free ride tends to spoil a person.  Well that ride has stopped.”             
           
Tony took a seat on the sofa.  His father was just getting warmed up, so he might as well make himself comfortable.
           
“I remember what I had to endure when I was your age to make a few bucks.  Everything short of picking cotton.  I even shined shoes for a little while.  You didn’t know that, did you?  I shined their damn shoes.” 
           
Lionel closed his eyes, transporting himself back to a time and place he wished he could forget, but knew he never would. 
           
“You’ll do pretty much anything when you’re young, and just got married, and have a kid on the way.  You’ll do whatever white folks will pay you for, even if they don’t think you’re worthy to eat where they eat or piss where they piss.  If you’re lucky, you won’t have to go through half of what I did.  But I don’t hold much stock in luck.”
           
Tony tuned out the personal history lesson by reflex, much like someone who lived near an elevated track would eventually cease to notice the periodic rumbling of passing trains. 
           
“Times have changed, Dad.  You can piss wherever you want to nowadays.” 
           
Tony was fed up with the lectures and berating.  He had been told once too often that he did not talk right, or walk right, or breathe right.  All because he was preparing to do what his father didn’t have it in him to imagine, or to tolerate.
           
“You think a couple of new laws and some tokens in high places makes everything fine and dandy?” Lionel asked.  “You don’t actually believe that changes what they think of us, do you?  Getting good grades in school don’t mean you know shit about life, boy.  I could have five PHD’s, but that wouldn’t change nothing.  I could click my heels and think good thoughts all day long, but they’ll still see me as a nigger.  You’re my son, so how do you think they see you?” 
           
Lionel brought the can to his lips, found the taste of aluminum unaccompanied by beer, so went to get another.  Tony got up and headed to his room.  If his father refused to see a better way to live, that was his choice.  But Tony was his own man, and saw the world with his own eyes.

***

In the shadows cast by Bronx public housing, a young couple gazed at each other with the passion only first love brings.  Longing spread over the girl like rays of sunlight over a field of lilies, charged through the boy like a bull past a matador’s teasing cape.  The girl’s smile overtook her entire face, her cheeks dimpling into little caverns, her wide eyes shimmering like fireflies over a lake.  The boy’s chest puffed out with pride at having landed the fairest maiden, though it also felt inevitable, for he knew himself to be the most charming prince in their particular kingdom.  The two of them kissed, tenderly at first, growing stronger as lust assumed command.  After a few minutes the girl reluctantly pulled back.
           
“I better go in,” she said.  “My dad’s going to throw a fit.”
           
“All right.  But let me give you something first.”  The boy, who was a little closer to pretty than handsome, had a glint in his lightly colored almond shaped eyes that suggested an inflated sense of self.    He was the only child of a single mom and the only grandson of her mother, and as soon as schoolgirls his age began noticing boys, he was usually first on their short list.  His popularity only grew as he smoothly navigated adolescence and became expert at how best to wield it.  
           
After reaching behind his neck to undo a gold chain with name pendant on it, he placed the jewelry on his girlfriend while simultaneously drawing her to him, his tongue and hands bolder now that he had placed his brand upon her, roaming with abandon.  His purposeful momentum directed them to a poorly lit corner.          
           
The sound of boisterous laughter from a group walking by startled the girl, bringing ardor to a halt.  Her suitor tried to resume once they were alone again, but he was gently held away.
           
“I really do have to go.”
           
“Okay.  He knew it would take little effort on his part to convince her to stay out longer so he could reap a little more reward from his gesture of commitment.  But there was no need to rush anything.  He had this situation well in hand and knew that the opportunity to take full advantage of it would come soon enough.  “I’ll see you tomorrow, baby.”
           
Only after he was out of sight did Tanya Johnson enter the building her family resided in.  Hell would be caught for coming home so late, but this realization scarcely penetrated her euphoria.        
           
Walking on tip-toe with breath held, Tanya inched the front door open and peered in.  Her father was slumped in his easy chair, snoring away as a local newscaster chatted from the television that often acted as a sedative on him.  She stepped in and closed the door gently, hopeful that she could get to her room undetected. But it was impossible to avoid the creaky floorboards that constituted a natural alarm system for the apartment.
           
“What time is it, young lady?” Lionel asked as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and pulled himself back to consciousness.
           
“I know, I’m sorry.  I lost track of the time.”
           
“You’ve been doing that quite a bit lately.  Sit down.  I want to talk to you.”
           
Tanya did as she was told.  A punishment of some sort was inevitable.  She could only hope that its severity would be reasonable.
           
“Were you out with this Eric fellow again?”
           
“Yes, Daddy,” answered Tanya in her most innocent sounding voice.
           
“You’ve been seeing a lot of him.”
           
“I guess so.”  
           
Tanya fidgeted uneasily.  She had been staying out late with Eric practically every night, always mindful of her curfew, but repeatedly failing to meet it.  She was fortunate that her father tended to be easier on her than her brothers, but this luck seemed about ready to run out.
           
“You’re too young to be running around like you’ve been doing.  You’re going to earn a reputation you won’t be able to erase.  I don’t want you going out in the evening for awhile until you’ve proven you can act responsibly.”
           
Usually a definitive period of time was given whenever she or one of her brothers was grounded.  The vague duration of her stated punishment was therefore troubling, and also indicative of the fact that her father’s position would be inflexible from here on out. 
           
“That isn’t fair?”
           
“Maybe, maybe not.  Either way, it’s what I’ve decided and that’s all there is to it.”
           
“I promise I’ll never break curfew again,” Tanya said, knowing that her usual ploys were not likely to be of use.  “Please give me one more chance.” 
           
“You’ve already used up that promise.”
           
“I’m not doing anything wrong, Daddy.”  A change of tactics would be her only chance, although it was a bleak one at best.  “I’m sixteen now.  All my friends are dating.  I’m not your baby girl anymore.  Why can’t you accept that?” 
           
“You want reasons, I’ll give you two.  One is because you’re still living under my roof.  So when you come home one day with a bellyache which turns out to be a lot more than that, I’m the one who’ll have to feed it.  And there’s enough hungry mouths around here as is.”       
           
Lionel stood up and walked behind Tanya.  He rubbed her shoulders as he often did as a sign of affection, but his tone remained firm. 
           
“Reason number two is that I’m the father and you’re the daughter, so what I say goes.”
           
Tanya realized that there was no point to arguing further.  Her father’s mind as usual, was unchangeable.  But so was the fact that she was in love.  She could be kept at home, but no one could keep her and Eric apart.