Bodega Dreams Read Online Free Page A

like, can you do me a solid? Like, you my
pana
, right? You know, like the day Mario DePuma jumped yo’ ass at school? Who was there to save you from that fucken Italian horse? I mean, I know you didn’t back down and shit but, like, he was fuckin’ you up pretty bad.”
    “Sapo, I’m in a rush. Are you gettin’ somewhere or just swimmin’ laps?”
    “Yo, I hear that. All right, you know that taped-up paper bag I left wi’choo lass night?”
    “Yeah, but if you picking that up you gonna have to wait, bro. Because I have to go to class and meet Blanca.”
    “Oh, I’m touched, Jane and Joe Night School. How sweet.”
    “Whatever, bro. Look, I have to get off.”
    “
Pero, bro, no corra
, I call to ask ya if, like, could you drop it off for me?”
    “What the fuck! Sapo, you think I was fucken born yesterday? Yo, I’m not going to do your dirty work, what the fuck. Me letting you keep that shit in my place is one thing, taking it around is another—”
    “Hold your
caballos
, bro, like I wouldn’t be askin’ ya unless I knew it was somethin’ easy and not out of your way.”
    “Yeah, well it’s way out of my way. I have to go to class, man, I’ll see you around.” I was ready to hang up.
    “Nah, wait! Bro, that’s the beauty of it. You’d be droppin’ those fucksright at Hunta. Yo, I swera-ma-mahthah. There’s a guy in the library. You know where the library at Hunta is, don’cha?”
    “Yeah, so?”
    “Well, just put the bag in a backpack and he’ll take it. It’s no big deal. You’ll lose the backpack but it’s a cheap fucken bag anyway. My bro, you even know the dude. Tweety, remember him? Tweety from Julia de Burgos? Later on everyone started calling him Sylvester b’cause when he talked he gave you the weather. Remember him?”
    “Ho, shit, that guy still alive?”
    “Alive and spitting. Yeah, so Chino, come on. Some rich white nigga on Sixty-eighth Street ordered all this shit for a party in one of those penthouses by Park.”
    “I don’t know, Sapo.” I was afraid. Not of the cops but of Blanca.
    “Yo, come on, man, one last favor for your
pana
, Sapo. You be just taking the sack to Tweety, bro. He’s the one who’s gonna be doing the real thing.”
    “So why don’t you take it to Tweety? Look, I’ll wait for you here to come pick—”
    “I’m in the Bronx, Chino! You think I would’ve called you if I coulda come by? Fuck, man, you go to school or what?”
    So, without telling Blanca, I did as Sapo had asked.
    •
    THE NEXT night Sapo knocked at my door and handed me fifty dollars, just for taking something to where I was already headed.
    “Compliments of Willie Bodega, my man. For your backpack.” Sapo slapped the crisp bill in my hand.
    And that’s when I heard the name Willie Bodega for the first time.
    “Willie wha’?” I thought it was a funny name.
    “Willie Bodega? You nevah heard of him? He’s like the big Taino in this neighborhood, you know? Although only a few have seen his face.”
    It’s important for me to remember that night, because once I heard that name it was never about Blanca or Sapo. As important as they were to me, it was always about Bodega. We were all insignificant, dwarfed by what his dream meant to Spanish Harlem. And in obtaining it, he took shortcuts and broke some laws, leaving crumbs along the way in hopes of one day turning around and finding his way back to dignity.

ROUND 3

Willie Bodega Don’t Sell Rocks.
Willie Bodega Sells Dreams.
    I T was a night like any other. Blanca was laboring at the computer writing a paper for one of her classes and I wasn’t. I was reading a book that had nothing to do with any of the classes I was taking. I knew that Blanca would soon get up from the computer and ask me why I wasn’t writing my paper. I was ready.
    “We only have one computer.”
    “I’m finished for tonight.”
    “So fast?” I thought I had it covered.
    “Fast? I been at this paper for over a week. When are you going to