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Chapters (55)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. Acknowledgments
  6. Cast of Characters
  7. Part One
  8. One
  9. Two
  10. Three
  11. Four
  12. Five
  13. Six
  14. Seven
  15. Eight
  16. Nine
  17. Ten
  18. Eleven
  19. Twelve
  20. Thirteen
  21. Fourteen
  22. Fifteen
  23. Sixteen
  24. Seventeen
  25. Eighteen
  26. Nineteen
  27. Part Two
  28. Twenty
  29. Twenty-one
  30. Twenty-two
  31. Twenty-three
  32. Twenty-four
  33. Twenty-five
  34. Twenty-six
  35. Twenty-seven
  36. Twenty-eight
  37. Twenty-nine
  38. Thirty
  39. Thirty-one
  40. Thirty-two
  41. Thirty-three
  42. Thirty-four
  43. Thirty-five
  44. Thirty-six
  45. Thirty-seven
  46. Thirty-eight
  47. Thirty-nine
  48. Forty
  49. Forty-one
  50. Forty-two
  51. Forty-three
  52. Forty-four
  53. Forty-five
  54. Forty-six
  55. A note on the Author

He felt bad and started defending me against my own harsh judgment. He was more friendly for a while. He tolerated me. He went record shopping with me, smiling slyly when the manager asked for my autograph. We ended up with a fifty percent discount, and Aslan, for all his money fears, could not have been more thrilled. Piling record on top of record, he selected a beginner’s introduction to the music of John Coltrane and Thelonious Monk. No words. Notes all over the place. I tried desperately to find the rhythm because I thought that if I could I would be able to find him.

We were walking down Rivington when two men doing research for Ford cars asked us if they could pay us ten dollars to ask us some questions. The researcher was a nervous young man. He took a breath as though trying not to mess up his big break, and then asked, “What do you think of when I say ‘Chevy’?”

I tilted my head and smiled reassuringly, wondering if the young man was bugged out because it was me, or because of Aslan’s eyes.

“Chevy? I’d say ‘All American’.”

The young man cleared his throat again.

“And what do you think of when I say ‘BMW?’”

Aslan blinked his see-through eyes at the blue sky. “Bob Marley and the Wailers.”

The young man gave us the money. Aslan, of course, would not touch it.

“You hold it for me.” And I had such hope in my heart that he asked me to hold it so that I could owe him something which meant we would see each other again, which was almost the same thing as being in a relationship.

He so did not want to have a relationship with me. He glowed with the aura of “Just doing my duty by a troubled youth,” although he was a month younger than me. Anytime I tried to touch him, even brushing his elbow to make a point, he pulled away. He pulled far, far away like the seats at a Rolling Stones show that are so far back, the curve of the earth obscures your view of Keith Richards. At first he answered my questions in half-sentences, halfhearted, half-heard. After a week of me dropping by unannounced, he would answer the door with his hand in front of his face. Talk to the hand ‘cause the ears won’t listen. It could have been a Jerry Springer gesture. But it wasn’t Jerry, it was Jedi.