Joseph W. Montaperto, click
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Blogs by Joseph W. Montaperto
IT'S GOING DOWN! 5/16/2022 8:14:18 PM
So here I am - it’s really gonna go down…we’re actually gonna break into the art room…holy shit! Na-Na is there as advertised, standing in front of Roselle High, toothpick in mouth. He’s twirling his umbrella, and thrusting it forward in the night air, as if stabbing imaginary people, I presume.
“Yo, champ.”
“Hey, whassup, Na-Na?”
“Damn, my man be fierce, an’ shit, last night.”
I smile, trying to play cool, but now my curiosity is really aroused.
“What the f*** happened last night, man?”
He studies me for a few seconds, I guess trying to figure out if I’m kidding, or not. He shakes his head, chuckles, and clucks his tongue, then picks up this huge boom box and knapsack.
We head towards the parking lot, to the green fire exit door on the side. I look at Na-Na, wondering what his plans are, as he pulls out this tremendous set of keys from his coat pocket. Where he got them? Who knows? Feeling our way into the darkness of the hall, he flicks on his gold plated lighter. We bound stealthily up the stairwell, our footsteps echoing like Goliath into the empty midnight hour.
The spooky glow of the shadows cast by Na-Na’s flame, infuse me with a strange type of giddiness. I’m imagining I’m in one of those, Adventures of Johnny Quest cartoons I used to watch on Saturday mornings. Exploring some ancient, forbidden underground temple in Egypt, or some crazy place like that. Suddenly, I get this uncontrollable impulse to yell out in that Indian kid, Hajji’s, accent.
“Johnny, Johnny! Race! Dr. Quest - look - it is the sacred jewel of the mythical Monkey God, Babaganush!” One glance at Na-Na, though, and I resist that urge. Who was that kid Hajji anyway? And why was he always following around Dr. Quest, Johnny, and Race Banyon?
We march our way through the second floor corridor, till we finally reach the object of our illicit journey. Mr. Silverstein’s art classroom. Na-Na opens that door with another one from his magic set of keys, we switch on the lights - and it’s all right there in front of us, now. Gazing up at that wall above the closet in the back, the wonder of it all just stone hits me. This is to be the canvas that will fuel our revolutionary hunger. Whoa.
Inexplicably, in the next second, pangs of fear and anxiety with all the force of a typhoon crash through me. Obliterating the exhilaration that had filled me on the way up here. Now, the wall seems to me a towering monolith of epic impossibility.
This is gonna take, like, Michelangelo type of talent! Who am I to even attempt to immortalize Esperanza like this? She is so beautiful. I don’t know if Na-Na reads the panic, expressing itself in the sudden paleness of my face. Maybe he does. Maybe he doesn’t. He sets up his boom box on one of the tables.
“Yo, Strong, check it out, man. This be Hawaiian, man - this be the shit for creatin’.”
He torches up the monster spliff he’s got in his hand, takes in a couple of major hits, and passes it off to me. I grab it warily, remembering last night when I nearly hacked to death. Man, I’m already feeling super uncool right now, I don’t need to sink even further in esteem. I close my eyes and pull in a toke. Fuck it.
“My special blend a’ herbs and spices.” Na-Na says, the smoke still cascading out of his mouth.
To my great surprise, this stuff goes down easy. Nothing like last night. No burning my throat or chest this time. No, this is a distinct and different flavor and feeling. We just sit there in the night silence, me and Na-Na. Handing off to each other, puffing totally mellow. No laughing. No
coughing
