Ozzie Fitch

Week later? Two weeks? Don’t remember. New Kid walked into my room like tentative. Cagey. Nerves all tingling. “Hi.”

Cindy gave him the up-and-down and pointed at Binny. Sage was sitting there, eyes closed, smoke to the top. Leon wasn’t watching, the nut. Should have been, but didn’t. I brought the kid, least he could do would be to pay attention.

Kid walked up to Binny, held out a hand. Binny kept his eyes shut. Took a slow breath, like wise old frog. “You new in town?”

“Ain’t seen you before,” Ribber giggles. “You hiding from us?”

Head held high as I walk back, swinging free. Old Oz, what a wiz. Pluck a Skip from the ditch-water and watch them fly.

Catch Leon on the way. Walking like a boss, running like. Thinks he’s got somewhere to be, but doesn’t know Ozzie’s news. Going to flip, I think. Like over heels.

“Oz,” he shouts at me, like I haven’t seen him. The nut, he’s walking right at me. “Oz, come on!”

Old Ozzie never Dust.

Dust.

Dust is like…

Dusted. Settling. Drifting down, and when it touches, it’s dead.

We’re all dust in sunbeams, floating drifting caught on drafts. River currents carrying us along. Alive as long as we’re in the air.

One day, sitting on the steps, coming down from a sizzle when Cindy stands there, leaning on the rusty fence like nothing important.

I blink her eyes back into her head. Looking at me with no red-shot eyes. No teeth. All good. Sizzle just a hiss in the back. Nothing bad.

“Hey,” she says, like nothing important. Me, I nod, because Ozzie’s polite. Wearing the girl’s jacket, like they swap. Must be serious, I think. Cindy, she just looks, and says, “Gotta favor to ask.”

We come back from the show. Good show. Fall asleep. Darkness dreaming without. Within. No pleasure no pain. Empty void full of Ozzie.

Next morning. Hurts. Dry. Always a pain, the next morning.

Open eyes, see blurs, blink it back into shape.

Never know where you are at first. Everything settles on you in a different place. Still dressed from last night. No sheet. Mattress. Someone next to me. Darla, most like.

So damn thirsty, need a sip, nothing but tap water. Brown, let it run. Hiss like. Dizzy, but smooth. Just let it run, get all the dust out. Rust out. Dusty rusty.

Time for a show. Show a show a shoe dancing on concrete. JJ POP gone, we all stand up. Time to go show the show go to time.

Always a good show at the Square. Real dancing, real drums, like native. Jump up and down until your brain is free falling. Pass around the pills, the tabs, the sticks and the sauce, and sizzle til dawn. Forget your cares, and just make some noise. Everyone loves the Square. Safe club. Famous like. So many people know it, even the posers know it. Dangerous, that. Get a poser who thinks they know the chant. Gotta keep an eye out.

Kyle didn’t chant for Wellen. I got better. Doing well now. Kyle got mad. Left then.

Could have stayed. Could have waited til I knew the rocks, but gotta jump feet first. All hop like. Down the gutter goes, sluce. Swinging free. Could have been lost. Dangerous, like. No one know old Oz then, look over him like a heap o’ trash.

Didn’t have time. No rest. No sleep. Gotta find a rock. Gotta keep moving. You stay, you dust. Left Kyle’s circle that night.

Took weeks. I talked. I listened. I heard about Horse, who was a real rock. I heard about Linds, who was real nice, likable, soft and gentle. Not a real rock, but didn’t let no one stray. Like a sheepdog. Heard about all the rocks in Upper West, but Binny’s digs were only a street away from where I was, so I head over to the street corner where they say he hung out.

That was my circle. Binny, Darla, Leon, Ribber, Cindy, Me, and JJ. Circles are the families you make. We see the system for what it is, and the system hates us. Circles protect you. Strengthen you. They make you strong. If you don’t have a circle, you’re alonely. On your own. One voice shouting in the darkness, echoes of your own voice in the static.

Many voices together, all chanting the same. That’s real power. A hundred hands on the hammer. Without a circle, you horde. You keep. You don’t share. Dark magic. Being alonely is selfish, really. Some people deserve it, but most don’t. Without a circle, you’re not a part of the chant. Not like you could be.

The Chant. The Chant. The Chant.

Chant freed me. Chant showed me the real world. Chant sang to me. Chant carried me. Chant gave me everything. Chant brought me home. Chant gave me home. Chant was life. Chant was real. Chant was clear and crisp in a world of fuzzy moldy brown. Chant helped me talk. Chant gave me a direction, and that direction was every direction. Chant gave me the world. Chant opened doors. Chant closed windows. Chant tore down the curtains. Chant gave me me. Gave me them. Gave me. Gave.

Chant is everything.

Darla had a shit family in the subs. Hated them, trying to make her like things she didn’t like. Told her who and how to be, like everyone does. Forced her into college. Didn’t like the culture, she said. Full of people trying to change themselves, weren’t happy with who they were. Try on different kinds of people like different clothes. Made her feel bad. Stupid. Not good enough. Decided to leave.

Has a room of her own. Tiny. Good to stay, though. No flop nor couch for Old Oz, long as Darla’s his squeeze. She still has green, still has glitter. Took it from her mother’s box, she said. Sells it for cash when she needs it. Doesn’t always need it. My Darling Darla, she’s got fingers. Takes books from the library. She knows how to take back what’s been taken. Mall’s a good spot. We all spend a lot of time there, watching the dusted shamble by like zombies.