A Blind Eye by David Jackson Ambrose

Author:David Jackson Ambrose [Ambrose, David Jackson]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: LGBTQIA+, Gay, racial inequities, pop culture, fairytales, urban legends, fables, disability, hoarding, homelessness, colorism, biracial, cultural appropriation, trans lives, coming-of-age, cross-dressing, disabilities, enemies/rivals to lovers, folklore, humorous, illness/disease, interracial, law enforcement, #ownvoices
Publisher: NineStar Press, LLC
Published: 2021-03-21T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Six

Meet Cute

“You all right? You look like you’re lost.”

Babe first noticed his eye. It was jarring in its singularity, wounded and occluded, only open partially and marked with a diagonal keloidal scar up to the brow. His face nudged long-dormant, pleasant feelings. His asymmetrical eyes—one large, clear and amber colored, the other wounded, shuttered—were like the window on an out-of-season vacation home, whispering memories of Saturday morning Johnny Quest cartoons. His clean-shaven head was smooth and unblemished. The slight point at the top was pleasing to Babe, nudging memories of Ultraman on Saturday morning TV. There was a spray of freckles along his sharp, angular cheekbones. His eyebrows were strong and light brown like the wisps of hair on his jaw, reminding him of the coloring of his maternal family line. He was not imposing in that he was thin, coming no further than Babe’s clavicle.

A few people were still milling about, laughing at jokes, setting up meeting times, or finding out about after-parties.

Babe smiled fleetingly. “Looking for my roommate. Shouldn’t have let him roam off. No telling if he’s okay or not.”

“I saw him standing with you inside the club. Kids like him, I’m sure he’s okay.”

Babe laughed. “Maybe. But now that I let him out of my sight, I got to troll these alleyways, and you know people will be thinking I’m trolling for another reason.”

Max laughed too. “I’ll walk with you.”

“Really?”

“I know what he looks like. Two sets of eyes are better than one. Ha. Make that one-and-a-half sets.”

Babe frowned. “A joke, huh. What’s your name?”

“Max.”

“Max? That’s unusual.”

He laughed. “What’s so unusual about it?”

“It’s not a Black name is all I’m saying.”

Babe began to walk up Sansom, out through the alley up toward the Wanamaker Building.

Max shadowed.

“I don’t know any Black Maxes.”

“You were expecting Leroy, I guess? How many Leroys you know?”

Babe chuckled, self-effacing. “Not many. None. Short for Maximilian?”

“No. Just Max. Largo.”

“Babe.” He reached out his hand.

Max took it, warm and damp. “Fitting.” They both laughed.

Babe blushed and asked, “Like from the Bond movie? The guy with the eye patch? So, you’re running around giving pseudonyms. What’s your real name?”

“Says the boy named Babe. At least you know the reference. These chicken heads running around out here don’t know nothing, that name doesn’t cause any sort of flicker. They have no sense of irony, nothing. If it don’t have nothing to do with Madonna, Lil’ Kim, vogueing, or dick, it’s not important to them. But that’s my name. I use it for business. It’s the name of my shop. Might not be my government, but it’s going to be, in time.”

“What’s wrong with Madonna? Or Lil’ Kim?”

Max countered, “What’s wrong with dick, for that matter?”

They both laughed. “All shade to vogueing? You one of them?”

“Me?” Babe asked. “Rolling around on those filthy-ass floors? When’s the last time you think they dragged a mop through that place? Jesus.”

As they came out onto Market Street, a woman in tattered clothing loomed, weaving before them with an outstretched hand.

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