Vonnie’s secret hook-ups with Hangar happened at night in Gowanus where the only witness to their love was an occasional crackhead, maybe a few stray cats. But now Vonnie was walking with Hangar in the light of day. As the new couple walked down Ocean Avenue, people hanging out in front of their buildings stopped and stared. Hangar, with that fixed gear bike trailing alongside him, didn’t seem to notice. Vonnie did.
They got to the front of Vonnie’s building where she still lived at home with her parents. Before he could lock up his fixie, she told Hangar to wait for her at the Cantina outside of Kings Theatre. He couldn’t miss it.
“Wait, . . . you’re not going to invite me up?” He unraveled his chain from underneath his leather Brooks seat and looped it through the fence.
“Now you wanna meet my moms?” She could feel the eyes of the older men politicking, posted up outside of Miriam’s beauty salon—the one she ran from her first-floor apartment because it had a street-level garden entrance. Soon they would stop talking completely and clean their teeth with their tongues, sucking as they would on bone marrow. Vonnie just wanted to run inside, give a head nod to whoever was sitting on the bay window and be without Hangar for a bit.
“Don’t make this weird. Just meet me there. Please.” She backed away from him and went inside. In truth, she didn’t want him to come up because the only boy that ever came up to her crowded apartment was her prom date, a Grenadian boy. If she came up with a six-foot tall white man, Manmie would officially flip her shit and later tell Daddy and Matante, “Vonnie, sans announce, bring a white man to my house.” She’d complain that Vonnie hadn’t even given her a chance to straighten up or change out of her house dress. Vonnie’s 7-year-old niece, Leila, would peek and giggle from behind the living room furniture before eventually asking if Hangar wanted to play checkers with her. It was just too much, too soon.
She made it upstairs and luckily no one was home. All that worrying for nothing but she was still glad she had not invited him up. She saw her apartment as a stranger would and noticed the two plastic barrels filled with clothes and supplies for Haiti parked in the entryway, the mismatched dining room chairs, the holes in the archway where they had partitioned a room for her Matante and her cousins when they had left her uncle that time. The apartment smelled like Mazola corn oil and Vonnie briefly wondered if she smelled like it too.
She bolted to her room and looked out the bedroom window to make sure that Hangar was gone. She was suddenly concerned for his safety. He wasn’t there, just the men and a few kids whizzing by on bikes. She sat on the radiator and took a breath. Everything is going to be fine. She assured herself.
Vonnie looked around her childhood bedroom that she now shared with Leila. Her niece was legally too old to share a room with her dad and so now when she spent the night she slept on a twin bed near Vonnie’s closet. Manmie always had space for someone to crash for a couple of months or years. Whether it was for someone in the immediate family like Vonnie’s brother, who was just moving back home to save up some money or someone in the extended family like Matante who just needed a break from her gambling husband, Manmie always had room. Daddy never objected to her kindness and seemed to love her more for it while Vonnie just grew to despise Manmie’s hospitality. Manman refused to take their money when they offered but seemed okay with asking Vonnie for extra when she came up short at the grocery store. She was smiling in their faces but sticking Vonnie with the bill. Manman would give Vonnie the new roommates and close her door to her decisions every night when she went to bed.
Just then, Vonnie remembered that her parents kept a bottle of rum and herbs in their bedroom behind the headboard. A shot of that and her anxiety would calm right down. Everything was going to be fine. She would move in with Hangar, Manman would of course have a fit, but Vonnie would already be in the U-Haul with her stuff by then. She’d wave goodbye from the passenger side while Hangar expertly maneuvered the van a few blocks over to their new spot. They would find a place just right for them and she’d feel like this freedom was why she went away to college for four years; this place in the world was why she had worked so hard in school. She changed into a mini skirt and an off-the-shoulder top, smeared on some lip gloss and reminded herself that they were about to see the Lauryn Hill. Everything was going to be fine because just as L.Boogie said, Everything is everything. What is meant to be will be.
Sure enough, Vonnie saw Hangar with a beer inside the Cantina. He spotted her and raised the tumbler in her direction to signal that he’d down it and come right out. She smiled. Damn, he was cute. He squeezed past a couple of moms and teens grabbing a quick bite after a day of shopping on Flatbush. There were a few other people, clearly coming to the concert who just couldn’t resist the combination Cantina and Pizza Hut. He came out and gave her a hug as if they hadn’t just seen each other. He made Vonnie crave him; an effervescent drip of desire ran from her temples down to her stomach. This was why she was with him. He smelled like sweet musk and Connecticut houses. He loved Janis Joplin and Lauryn Hill alike. He once sang the background vocals on “Turn Your Lights Down Low” and let her take both male and female lead as they vibed out in bed. He let that light flickering inside her shine bright.
She grabbed his hand and they crossed in the middle of the street. Vonnie could sense him hesitating because it wasn’t their light and a dollar van was coming down the middle of the two-way street. She tugged a bit to encourage him to just follow her, because she knew the van was going to make a stop at the corner of Tilden and Flatbush. They shared a small laugh and when they got to the curb, she released his hand so they each could walk easily through the masses of people. Vonnie weaved and worked her way to the end of the line. When she looked back, Hangar seemed to be struggling to keep up. The path she had made, quickly closed up behind her, forcing him to ask for permission to get through middle-aged couples, groups of friends, and people who seemed to be just dating like they were. They were mostly Black and Latino and for a few seconds Hangar looked the way he usually did when he was trying to get his students to grab their homework as they dashed past his body in the doorway. One brother turned back and looked at Vonnie when he saw that Hangar was with her. He looked down at her teal 54-11 Reebok Classics and back up at her head. Not even her fresh kicks could stop the look of disdain on his face. His girl didn’t even bother to turn around. She just crossed her arms and jostled her shoulders as a silent affront to Vonnie and Hangar’s love.
Vonnie became quickly aware of who would stand behind them. She breathed a sigh of relief when it was a group of chicks who looked like they were an ad for multiculturalism; an Asian girl, a Black one, two mixed race girls, and a curly-haired white girl. They were the type Vonnie would see at the Bowery Ballroom, home from elite colleges with dream catcher tatts, wet hair, and bold eyeliner.
Some pedestrians were leaving the Rainbow shop and trying to position themselves to see the center marquee with the name of the acts for this soon-to-be historic performance. Long used to walking by this defunct relic, they hadn’t anticipated such a crowd. They eventually realized with their strollers, shopping bags, and groceries that this side of the block was not for them anymore. It belonged to the concert goers now. So, they crossed Flatbush Avenue which gave them a better view of the marquee anyway. Live in Concert Lauryn Hill and Friends.
Hangar started spewing off facts about the Kings Theatre and Vonnie was rapt while still paying attention to the instructions from the theatre agents and guards. Since 1929, huh? She wondered what the streets looked like then. Dollar vans replaced by trolleys up and down the avenue. She saw Italian immigrant shoppers and Jewish girls dressed up, headed to the Sears Tower to browse for hats and baby booties. Little boys in white tee shirts and trousers running down the street to nowhere in particular.
Two shots rang out in the distance and startled Vonnie out of the 1930s and back to the present day. The multi-ethnic gaggle of girls bum-rushed them, moving in between Hangar and Vonnie, effectively skipping and separating them. Other dudes had gotten closer to their women but Vonnie’s man had managed to get separated from her. She looked over the gulf of people between them and found Hangar’s eyes. She pointed her lips forward to imply that they’d meet inside the vestibule. It was okay to go in, screw the rules about tickets, just get inside. He raised his shoulders, while still in a lowered position, trying to cower from the sound of the commotion, he was confused as to where the shots were coming from. Vonnie fought through some people to go get him, while thinking to herself this was not the quickest way to safety, it was not a straight line. Another shot rang out, seemingly getting closer. The crowd pushed further into the theatre. Just then, Vonnie reached for Hangar’s arm and tugged him toward her. He knocked into a broad-shouldered Black guy and she willed them to focus on the situation at hand and not on generations of conflict.
With Hangar closer to her, Vonnie felt free to move as she saw fit. She lingered on every step of the people in front of her, smelling their sweat, their trepidation, the smell of the freshly carpeted theatre. After about thirty seconds went by and no more shots were heard, the ushers inside were able to recoup and encourage everyone to come in.
“Come on ya’ll. We good,” said one tall guy dressed in the same double-breasted uniform as the ushers except his had gold tassels on the shoulders. He must have been a manager. “It wouldn’t be Flatbush without a few shots.” Some people let out a nervous laugh and shared a few knowing glances. Vonnie wondered if they had covered this sort of situation at his training.
“What the fuck was that?” Hangar said as they all breathed a bit easier and the crowd became less dense. Vonnie shrugged to both echo the same sentiment and to say she didn’t know. He looked at her and narrowed his eyes but she did not have an answer for him.
“I was standing on the same line witchu.” She gave him some words because he clearly needed them. He finally chuckled a bit and loosened his shoulders.
“So this is just normal here?” He said that last part closer to her ear. He didn’t want the people around him to hear his question.
“You mean in Brooklyn?” Vonnie cocked her head at him annoyed that he expected her to explain just normal inner-city shit. She needed him to feel how stupid he sounded thinking that shots only happened when he was asleep in his 5th floor walk-up in Gowanus. She thought to follow up with the commonplace sayings like, “Suns out, guns out,” or “It’s gonna be a hot summer,” the last one always a warning about the looming potential for violence. Vonnie wondered if maybe she had built up an armor against it while Hangar was just now realizing he needed one.
The opulence and grandeur of the space made all the ruckus from outside slip away. They were standing under gilded arched ceilings, surrounded by ornate wooden balconies showing the second and third floor landings. The mahogany staircases had lush burgundy runners. The ruched velvet curtains were embroidered in gold signaling entryways. The theatre staff instructed all to keep their tickets out and abandoned the call for IDs. At this point, they were just trying to get everyone in their correct sections and seats.
The stairs felt like suggestions as Vonnie floated up to the second-floor balcony and by the time they got to their seats, Vonnie felt a part of the space. This majestic place had been here all along. She’d passed it many times, the outside as rough as a tide beaten shell, only to reveal this perfectly preserved pearl inside.
The lights dimmed and the roar from the crowd moved through every particle of her body, Lauryn and the band choosing which parts of her limbs to pulse and animate. Hangar would look over at her and sing a line or two but mostly he’d look over and be in awe. Vonnie knew each of the musical acts that were considered the “friends” on the bill. There were local rappers, world music artists, and even one of the original guitarists for the band. Hangar saw it now. The part that Vonnie kept hidden from the job and her family, the part that she kept suppressing because maybe it wasn’t enough to make a living but damn it was a marvel.
Still high off of the show, Vonnie walked out of the theatre with Hangar pressed up behind her. He knew now to let her take the lead and they’d find their way out. Amidst the double takes of Vonnie and this white man attempting to be her shadow, she spotted a few other interracial couples. Each one gave her more courage to own the fact, that she did have strong feelings for this white boy and yes, she did bring him and his bicycle to the hood.
Outside of the theatre, there were police cars blocking off Tilden Avenue and a ripple going through the crowd. Somebody had been shot. You could tell who wasn’t from the area because they quickly scattered away from the incident. Even if they needed the 2/3 train which was in the direction of the shooting, they made last minute decisions to walk toward the opposite line and take the Q to Atlantic Avenue; they’d work their way back to Prospect Heights from there. Some crowded onto northbound dollar vans, the few bold outsiders following locals who knew that it cost more than a dollar to ride. Nearly empty vans going southbound, consolidated passengers, and made U-turns to collect a whole vans’ worth of people looking to mad dash out of the neighborhood.
Vonnie needed to see who was shot. She moved closer to see what was going on. She could hear murmurings and speculations from the others huddled near the police barricade. The boys from earlier had been caught. The gunfire earlier had come from the Sears parking lot just behind the Kings Theatre. There was someone bleeding.
“Hey,” Hangar grabbed her arm. Vonnie furrowed her brows and turned back to glare at him. “My bike is the other way.” He pointed, “On Regent Place.”
“Okay,” She countered, realizing she sounded like one of their students expressing indifference. She did not give a damn about his bike right now. She felt compelled to see what was going on.
Someone in the crowd yelled, “He ain’t even do nothin!” The buzz went through and she heard an older couple with salt and pepper locs say, “Them not even the same set a youth from earlier.” The cops had shot the wrong kid. Vonnie couldn’t prove it but she and everyone else knew it. This kid, he was just in the wrong place, at the wrong time.
The ambulance came howling down Flatbush Ave. and behind them more cop cars with their red and blue lights. The young officers, men and women, came out telling people to get going and that there was nothing to see here. As a few folks dispersed, Vonnie was able to get closer to the front and see three white cops and a black one forming a semi-circle around a boy, a human barricade. From the space between their bodies, she could see that the boy was in pain but still breathing. He looked to be about sixteen, holding on to his right shoulder. Blood soaked through his white tee and stained the wall of the Rainbow shop. Next door was an Iglesia Pentecostal de Jesús and most of the church goers crowded at the door but knew better than to step past the threshold.
He looked like her older brother did at that age, after Vonnie and her cousins had beat him up playfighting. He’d let them pummel him to the ground and against the back of the loveseat. He’d grip his shoulders and stomach and beg for mercy. Until finally, Manmie or Matante would yell at him for getting us girls all riled up before bed.
When Vonnie saw the EMTs approach him, she turned away from the scene. It was over and he was still alive. She said a small prayer that they didn’t take him to Kings County hospital. Please God, let him know enough to ask for Methodist.
Hangar and Vonnie were able to walk side by side in the opposite direction towards Regent Place. She stared at the crossing sign and walked when the white figure indicated she should. She didn’t look for Hangar’s hand. She just walked, feeling his body near hers. He suddenly stopped and she stopped then too. She was in front of a three-story building that looked familiar. That’s when it came to her. She’d been there before.
Daddy had taken her with him one Saturday afternoon to see a respected elder who was collecting money for a funeral. She was about Leila’s age, the period in which she was such a Daddy’s girl and insisted to go everywhere with him. Later, Manman had given Daddy a hard time for letting Vonnie tag along on such a morbid errand. The funeral was for a just come Haitan boy who was shot dead on the corner of east 21st and Regent Place in broad daylight. That’s why the street was dubbed Vietnam, anything could happen to anyone along that street. The old woman had offered Vonnie some butter cookies from a blue tin and kept telling Daddy to hold on tight to his baby girl. America was not for the weak. Vonnie lived just a few blocks over but had never come down this street since.
“What the fuck?” Hangar snapped her out of the past and Vonnie looked at him. He scratched his head and grew red. His wire lock had been clipped was splayed out across the curb and the gutter. She scanned the block and saw a woman enjoying the evening breeze on a folding chair outside of her multi-family house. Two guys with pot bellies and oversized shirts, were leaning up against the gate, casual viewers of Hangar’s mounting rage. Vonnie pursed her lips, pissed but also embarrassed. The onlookers likely knew who stole Hangar’s bike. She couldn’t expect them to tell, though. She sure as hell wouldn’t have said anything if she were them. How could Hangar have been so stupid as to park on Vietnam? Not even the people who lived in those buildings, like walking down that tight, densely-populated street. Plenty of people hanging around but nobody was ever a witness.
“You shouldn’t have parked it here.” The words sprang out of Vonnie’s mouth. She wanted to tell him to move on. They had embarrassed themselves enough. They could deal with this somewhere else, not in front of the people who likely stole it.
“Me? I did something wrong here?” Hangar was mad, like big mad. She had never seen him this angry. He was prone to silent stares when he got upset or frustrated sighs. Now there was an inflection and bass in his voice that both goaded and aroused her.
“You should have just left it at home.” Vonnie kept her voice steady and low. She didn’t want to draw any more attention their way. “Let’s just head towards the train and take the loss.”
“Take the loss? Are you kidding me?” Hangar was yelling now. The two men stopped leaning and stood up straight. Hangar followed her gaze to theirs. He looked back at Vonnie and shook his head vigorously, like he was startling himself back into this bizarre reality. His chestnut hair bounced into his eyes. “Vonnie.” He spoke in measured tones, attempting to calm himself down. He leaned in closer to her face. Perhaps if he were closer he'd realize that he didn’t need to shout. “A crime has been committed.” His nostrils were flaring a bit and she thought it might have been better if he just yelled. “We need to—I need to report it.” He turned away from her and ran his hands through his hair. He paced with his hands on his hips.
Vonnie was not sure what a police report was going to do for him. Did people have bicycles insured? She guessed a hipster like Hangar would.
Hangar kicked the remains of his wire lock and walked away but then doubled back to pick it up. He walked back in the direction of the theatre and police activity.
“The train is this way.” Vonnie said as she skipped forward to catch up with him. He stopped walking and looked at her. It was like she had incited more rage from him.
“Okay.” He said, echoing her flippant response from earlier. “I’m going to walk over to one of the officers and ask them for the nearest precinct.”
Vonnie did not want to go back over there and talk to any of them. The cops were not their friends, they weren’t like the friendly peace officers at their job. These officers were not helpful. They show up late, shoot first, and ask questions last. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” she said feeling her anger swelling in her belly.
“V, seriously?” He searched her eyes.
“Yeah, seriously!” Vonnie snapped. Couldn’t he see that this was the best decision for the both of them? She didn’t want people to see Hangar talking to the cops. He’d just look like a narc and she’d become one too by default. She could not let him do that to her.
“I can tell you where it is,” she improvised. He nodded and weakly pressed his lips together. He was oscillating between emotions. He was still angry but now looked like a kid that had just gotten his bike stolen by the neighborhood bully. “But, I think the one in Gowanus might be better because this one, clearly,” she gestured in the direction of the theatre, “has its hands full tonight.”
He sucked in a breath and huffed, “But it happened here.” She nodded and reached for his hand, hoping her physical touch could calm him.
“I know but it don’t matter. It’s all the same city, you know?” She lingered on that last word. She needed him to let this go. She wanted him to take her back to his neighborhood, to his shitty 5th floor walk-up. There in his bedroom, they could conjure the good parts of the day and add to them, Vonnie singing softly in his ear and Hangar caressing her back.
But that’s not what happened. Hangar let go of her hand and walked towards the officers. She watched him strike up a conversation with one of the cops who was holding on to his belt as if his holster weighed him down. Hangar signaled in her direction but she knew he was referencing the fixie and not her. She walked away from Vietnam and went down to where it was safer on Ocean Ave. Vonnie was sure Hangar could see her walking away and she was also sure that he would not follow her. There was no fixing this.
Contributor Notes
Jennifer Celestin is a Haitian-American writer and performer. An EMERGENYC performance fellow, she has performed and facilitated workshops in New York, Montreal and Haiti. Her writings have been included in the City Lore Anthology of Haitian Poetry, The Hawai'i Review, and Midnight & Indigo. She was a 2022 Kweli Fellow and 2023 Kimbilio Fellow. Jennifer received her B.A. from Wesleyan University, an M.A. from New York University, and her M.F.A. in Fiction at CUNY: Queens College. She is currently at work on a short story collection and young adult novel.
