Tags

  Contents

  Players

  Excerpt from Darius & Twig

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Back Ads

  About the Publisher

  PLAYERS

  “Big Eddie” Jones, 17 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . “smoke”

  Willie Jimenez, 16 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . “2-soon/121”

  D’Mario Thompson, 16. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .“datruf”

  Frank Watkins, 17 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .“J-Boy”

  We are in the present time. The play opens on a dingy urban hallway in some dingy urban city. There is a door at stage right. To the left of the hallway, next to stairs that go up at a steep angle, we see BIG EDDIE, a young African American male, writing his tag on the wall. From somewhere a radio is playing, and we hear an ANNOUNCER talking about the wonders of the “oldies.”

  The light flickers occasionally, giving the set an eerie feeling. The radio gets randomly louder, then softer. BIG EDDIE works hard at his tag, which is the letters spelling out smoke sitting on a bed of flames. Throughout the play, the teenagers work on their tags.

  The door at stage right opens and WILLIE appears. He looks around and is momentarily startled by BIG EDDIE.

  WILLIE

  Yo, what’s happening?

  BIG EDDIE

  Same old same old. Ain’t nobody much in this building.

  WILLIE

  Do it count?

  BIG EDDIE

  Yeah, we still tagging, man. We still tagging. You got more paint?

  WILLIE

  Enough. (He starts putting his tag on the wall. His tag reads 2-soon/121.)

  BIG EDDIE

  Where did you say you lived? East Side, right? Over near Marcus Garvey Park?

  WILLIE

  Yeah. This your first wall tonight?

  BIG EDDIE

  First wall. Hey, man, you scared?

  WILLIE

  No, I ain’t scared. You know some dudes just give up, but I ain’t stopping, man. I got to hold on. How about you?

  BIG EDDIE

  When that old dude told me you could still be in the world as long as people kept you in their minds, I knew what I had to do. They see these tags and they remember. I felt stronger when they had the candles and a picture of me in the park. But the Sanitation Department took all that stuff away.

  WILLIE

  That’s where you went down?

  BIG EDDIE

  Yeah. I thought I had a get over, man. Some Puerto Ricans said they wanted to cop some heavy weed. Five pounds of Jamaican. I told this dude to meet me in the park and he said okay. When he showed with the money, I tried to take him off, and he flashed a badge on me.

  WILLIE

  A cop.

  BIG EDDIE

  Yeah. I had my piece out and was about to hit the dude when his partner shot me.

  WILLIE

  Damn!

  BIG EDDIE

  I knew I was gone. I could feel my heart, like, fluttering.

  Then there was people all around. I could make some of them out. Then it was over.

  WILLIE

  It’s a funny feeling when you know you . . . you know.

  BIG EDDIE

  Man, I wasn’t accepting it—you know, like I was looking the other way until they started putting flowers and some of my personal stuff around in the hallway. They put out shit for you, too?

  WILLIE

  Yeah. Somebody made a sign—Rest in Peace. That’s a trip, right?

  BIG EDDIE

  How you like my tag?

  WILLIE (goes over and inspects BIG EDDIE’s tag)

  It’s okay, but you should get some color in it. You got a fire but it don’t have any colors. If it’s just black and white, people think about cleaning it off faster.

  BIG EDDIE

  Yeah, yeah. What you mean, “that’s a trip”?

  WILLIE (returning to his own section of the wall)

  What?

  BIG EDDIE

  You said they put out “Rest in Peace” and then you said it was a trip. Why you say that?

  WILLIE

  We resting? We ain’t resting. Them old dudes said that as long as people remember us, we can still deal. We got our tags on the wall and people can see we were real, and they’re thinking about us. But we ain’t resting because we got to stay ahead of people cleaning the walls.

  BIG EDDIE

  I’m running from wall to wall to get my tag up. I’m getting tired. That’s what happens to the old dudes. They get tired. They give up.

  WILLIE

  I ain’t giving up. I’ll tag for fucking ever.

  The door opens again and D’MARIO enters. He steps inside, then stops and looks at the others without speaking. For a moment they are frozen in place.

  BIG EDDIE

  He’s dead. He can see us, so he’s dead. Yo, this hallway ain’t big enough for everybody! Go someplace else.

  D’MARIO

  No place is big enough for everybody.

  BIG EDDIE

  So why don’t you find another wall?

  D’MARIO

  You hear they cleaned up Malcolm X Boulevard from 120th Street all the way up to 135th?

  WILLIE

  Some guy is doing a documentary on Harlem. That same dude who did a thing on baseball. After they finish the shooting, they’ll stop cleaning.

  BIG EDDIE

  They got a chemical now—you just spray it on and wait for a minute and then wipe it right off.

  WILLIE

  If he got an interesting tag, maybe they’ll leave it up. People like art. What’s your tag?

  D’MARIO

  Datruf.

  WILLIE

  Yeah, yeah, I seen your tag. It’s nice, man.

  The door opens again and FRANK “J-BOY” enters. The recognition scene is repeated and they all see that they are deceased.

  WILLIE

  This place is getting to be like some kind of ghetto. How many tags going to go on one wall?

  J-BOY

  I ain’t leaving. You got no power over me, sucker.

  D’MARIO

  Fool’s dead and still talking smack! And tagging with a spray can. That’s old. You can’t tag with no spray can.

  J-BOY

  I can. I’m the best.

  WILLIE

  Yeah, everybody’s the best, but we all went down.

  D’MARIO

  How you go down?

  WILLIE

  On a humble! I went into this bodega to get some cigarettes and the owner—this old fucking dude—is eyeing me like I’m fixing to steal something. So just out of spite, I put my gun in his face. He panicked and started saying something in Spanish and English about “just take the money.” But he grabs hold of my nine and he’s afraid to let it go.

  D’MARIO

  ’Fraid you going to do him!

  WILLIE

  Yeah, and all I want to do is get some cigarettes, let the fool know I could have robbed him, and walk out the damned door! But now I’m struggling with this old man and he’s holding on to my gun and crying and begging and carrying on. I ain’t letting the gun go and he ain’t letting the gun go. Then two sisters come in and see what’s going on and duck right back out. I think they might be calling the cops or something, so I let go of the gun with one hand to punch the old man, and it goes off and hits me in the neck.

  D’MARIO

  You killed yourself!

  WILLIE

  No! The old man had his finger on the trigger! The shot broke something in my neck and I didn’t feel nothing. I knew I was on the ground and . . . (WILLIE is breathing heavily as he remembers the moment.) I thought I was just hurt
bad.

  When the ambulance guys got there and looked me over, right away they started making nice-nice to the dude who shot me, trying to make him feel better. Then they put me in a bag and started . . . (WILLIE can’t continue.)

  WILLIE (to D’MARIO)

  How you go?

  D’MARIO

  Why we got to go through all this? Ain’t no use to it.

  WILLIE

  What else you got to do? You giving a lecture down at the college? You talking at the U.N.? Maybe you going to be on television!

  D’MARIO

  I was with my cousin Pedro and his little sister on his stoop. We were just chilling. We were talking about this and that, you know, light stuff. Then a car pulls up. Two guys get out of the car, and one of them asks where Hamilton Heights is. Pedro stands up and is going to give the guy directions when I see he’s flashing signs. One guy pulls down his cap and he’s covering his face, so I knew some shit was about to go down! Then Blam! Blam! Blam!

  Pedro ducks into the building pulling his sister, and I’m right behind him. A bullet hits the wall next to my head, but I’m halfway up the first flight of stairs, so I think I’m cool. We get up the stairs, and I know they ain’t about to follow us into the building, so I’m breathing light. I think I got a stitch in my side from running so hard, but when I look down, I see I’m bleeding.

  All kinds of crazy thoughts are going through my mind. You know what I’m thinking? I’ve been shot but I’m still walking, dig? I’m like Fifty Cent and Tupac and all those guys who been through the battles. I wasn’t even going to say nothing to Pedro until later.

  Some people are out in the hall ’cause they heard us running up the stairs, and a little boy points at me and tells his mama I’ve been shot. Then I look down again and my whole side is covered with blood. I sit on the stairs and they call 911 and the cops come and an ambulance.

  After that, all I remember is laying on a table and some doctor telling me to count backward from ten to one. I come to and I’m all by myself and there are guys like y’all standing around sucking on hurt and looking miserable.

  WILLIE

  They shot you for nothing?

  D’MARIO

  I tried to figure it out. About a week before, me and Pedro was in this hall right here.

  BIG EDDIE

  Where we are now?

  D’MARIO

  This white boy said he had some Mexican blow to sell. I thought he might have been a cop, but he sounded like he was from the South or something, so we thought he might have been legit. We was looking at the blow when another dude came rushing through the door. I thought he was a cop and I can’t do no more bids, so I lit the mother up. It turned out that the white boy was legit, and the guy I shot lived in this building. So I figured the drive-by was some revenge.

  J-BOY

  In this building?

  D’MARIO

  Yeah. Yeah. So I read the whole set wrong, and then I got killed behind it!

  J-BOY (staggers against the wall)

  Oh, man! Oh, man. This is so fucked up!

  BIG EDDIE

  Hey, man, shit happens, Bro! This is what our lives were always like. We out looking to make a name for ourselves and staying in the sunlight. We doing the same thing now.

  J-BOY

  No, man, it ain’t like that.

  BIG EDDIE

  He’s right. Being alive ain’t tagging. Being alive is walking the damned streets, and making love, and listening to some music. This is just hanging on to what you know is already gone. This ain’t nothing like no life.

  WILLIE

  Yeah, but this nigger getting all sick over it and shit don’t help, either. We just got caught up in it, that’s all.

  J-BOY (reaches for D’MARIO but goes through him)

  You killed me, motherfucker! You killed me! You killed me!

  D’MARIO

  What you talking about? What you talking about?

  J-BOY

  I came through the door that night! I had to pee and was rushing to get upstairs when I seen a white boy with his back to me. He moved aside and all I saw was the flash from the damned gun! It was you! You killed me!

  D’MARIO

  Whoa, man, your boys got me!

  J-BOY

  I didn’t have no boys. I don’t know who got your ass! Maybe some Baby Gs making their bones—I don’t know! I know you killed my ass. You killed me!

  WILLIE

  This hallway is spooked, man. I’m going to go tag someplace else.

  BIG EDDIE

  Yeah, I gotta get some air. Gotta get some air.

  D’MARIO

  Man, I didn’t know what was going on. It was an accident!

  J-BOY (tries to grab D’MARIO again but again reaches through him)

  I hate you! You shit-bitch motherfucker! (He reaches for D’MARIO again, but then stops as he realizes it’s hopeless. He repeats himself, but in a much subdued voice.) You shit-bitch motherfucker!

  BIG EDDIE

  I’m outta here! (He starts slowly away.)

  WILLIE (also leaving)

  Word.

  D’MARIO

  You can’t do nothing to me now. I can’t do nothing to you. It’s too late. The shit is over. We can’t turn it back.

  (BIG EDDIE, WILLIE, and D’MARIO leave. J-BOY sits and buries his head in his hands. We hear the sound of sobbing through the theater’s loudspeakers. J-BOY’s shoulders begin to shake as the sobbing fills the entire theater. It continues as J-BOY gets up and goes to the wall. Carefully he begins removing the tags of BIG EDDIE, WILLIE, and D’MARIO. He touches his own tag with his fingertips and then slowly wipes it away.

  Check out an excerpt from Darius & Twig:

  chapter one

  High above the city, above the black tar rooftops, the dark brick chimneys spewing angry wisps of burnt fuel, there is a black speck making circles against the gray patchwork of Harlem sky. From the park below it looks like a small bird. No, it doesn’t look like a small bird, but what else could it be?

  At the end of a bench, a young man holds up a running shoe.

  “It doesn’t weigh anything.”

  “That’s the thing,” Twig said. “There’s going to be nothing keeping me back except gravity. When I hit the track in these babies, I’m going to be flying!”

  “The heel is flat. Why doesn’t it have a heel?” I asked.

  “Because this shoe doesn’t want my heels touching the ground,” Twig said, smiling. “This shoe doesn’t play. This is eighty-five dollars’ worth of kick-ass running, my man.”

  “You paid eighty-five dollars for these shoes?”

  “Coach Day got them for me because I’m on the team.”

  “Looks good, I guess,” I said, handing the track shoe back to Twig.

  “Hey, Darius, my grandmother said you should come by this weekend,” Twig said. “I told her that you were really Dominican but didn’t want to admit it.”

  “Why did you tell her that?” I asked. “I’m not Dominican.”

  “Right, but she thinks she’s a detective,” Twig said. “When you come over, she’s going to break out into some Spanish in her Dominican accent and see how you answer. She thinks you’re going to come back in Spanish, and then she’s got you!”

  “Why do you do stuff like that?”

  “Because it’s fun,” Twig said.

  “It’s stupid,” I said.

  “A little,” Twig said, smiling. “But it’s fun, too. You saw Mr. Ramey today? You said you were going to talk to him about a scholarship.”

  “I saw him,” I said.

  “Didn’t go too good?” The corners of Twig’s mouth tightened.

  “I ran into the numbers,” I said. “He asked me what my grade-point average was, as if he didn’t already have it. I told him it was about three point two, and he just shrugged and said it was closer to three even.”

  “You show him the letter from Miss Carroll?”

  “Yeah, she already spoke to h
im about me,” I said. “The thing I couldn’t get around was that she was saying I’m smart—”

  “You are, man!”

  “Okay, but what he’s saying is that when you send a transcript to a college, they want to see the numbers written down that say you’re smart. Two point five isn’t going to make anybody jump up and down unless you’re six nine or can run a ten-second hundred yards wearing football cleats.”

  “Man, you got too much on the ball not to get a scholarship to some school,” Twig said. “You tell him about the letter you got from that magazine?”

  “How if I revise my story they might publish it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I showed it to him so he could see it was real,” I said. “He got right to the bottom line. He said that right now I wasn’t scholarship material. If the Delta Review actually published the story, I should come back to him and he’d call a few colleges. I don’t think he thought I had a chance. The Delta Review is a college quarterly, Twig. It’s got a lot of prestige, and everybody who’s a serious writer is shooting for it.”

  “He’s a cold dude, Darius,” Twig said.

  “No, man, it’s a cold-ass world. When you open the refrigerator and you get cold coming out, you should expect it.”

  “That’s all he had to say?”

  “No, he said that maybe I should drop out and do my junior year over again. He said he wasn’t recommending it but that I should maybe think about it.”

  “You going to do that?”

  “No. I could run into the same thing I ran into this year and then just not finish high school,” I said. “This way at least I’m on the track to graduating.”

  “You tell him why your grades were messed up?”

  “I started to get at it, but he didn’t want to hear it,” I said. “He wasn’t bitchy about it or anything like that, but he laid it out straight. He said that what I needed, a full scholarship in a school away from Harlem, just wasn’t going to happen.”

  “So what you going to do?”

  “Hope I can fix up the story so that they’ll publish it,” I said.

  “You can do it, bro,” Twig said. “I know you can do it!”

  “He called up Miss Carroll when I was sitting there,” I said. “He asked her point friggin’ blank if I had a chance to get published. She said I had a chance, but the way she said it—”

  “He had her on speakerphone?”

  “Yes. The way she said it was like . . . she didn’t much believe in it,” I said. “She told him that they probably had hundreds of submissions and mine had to be one of the better ones if they were even considering it. She was pushing for me, but she was being realistic.”