My father built things. He was a carpenter mainly. He’d build things, take things apart, and build them again. But he was also an electrician, a house painter, a wallpaper hanger, a welder, a car mechanic, a plumber. All for money and for fixing up other people’s houses. He could fix anything. A regular jack-of-all-trades. I remember he used to make toys for us at Christmas because he couldn’t buy any. We was living in the Bronx then, and my father would load up his beat-up station wagon every morning and go off on the jobs people called him for. He owned his business. He was his own business. That’s what Moms said to write in the blank beside “father’s occupation” on school registration forms every September: “self-employed.” I didn’t even know what it meant, because my father never talked to us. He didn’t tell us about who we were. I mean, as a family. And since I didn’t know who I was aside from nothing or no one, I thought I could be anybody I damn well pleased.

“You ain’t never had a chance, have you?” Moms said once.

“What are you talking about? I’m anybody I’m strong enough to be.”

“And mean enough,” she said, shaking her head like she did when my father died. He worked all the time and kept his feelings locked inside him until his heart burst open. The fucking load he must have been carrying. Shit, I coulda carried some of that load.

“You ain’t never had a chance,” Moms said again.

“I make my own chances. I’m self-employed.”

Naw, Metro couldn’t have been anybody’s husband or father. You could tell by the way he walked and, if you listened close enough, by the way he talked. He had what you call opportunities. Maybe if you don’t ever have kids you can build things for yourself. Do things. He just made the mistake of wanting to do me.

“You can come up to visit sometime, you know. Now that you know where I live.”

“You mean me?”

“Sure. What’s your name?”

“Lonny.”

“I’m Metro.”

“You told me before. Remember?”

“Yes. I thought you didn’t remember. You didn’t say anything.

“I didn’t know what to say. Besides, where’d you get a name like that?”

“You’ll see.”

“Listen man, you trying to get wise or something?”

“Let’s be friends, Lonny.”

“I got to go now.”

“Some other time, then?”

“Sure, man, sure.”

“Call me Metro. I like that.”

“Sure.”