Abby Webb, English + Visual and Dramatic Art, Class of 2022
Brief Summary: Using the short story “Wayside” from Bryan Washington’s Lot, this paper discusses how queer masculinitues can grow to oppose traditional masculinities. Webb takes a particular focus on how masculinities interact with one another in illicit spaces, using the example of drug dealers depicted in “Wayside.”
Throughout his collection of short stories Lot, Bryan Washington weaves tales of black and brown queer men living in various parts of Houston into a quilt of queer experiences, giving voice to woefully underrepresented demographics. While several stand-alone sections pertain to characters mentioned only within them, there’s a consistent thread of glimpses into the life of one central narrator, which string together to form a queer coming-of-age story. One of these vignettes, “Wayside,” follows the narrator’s brother Javi’s exploits into drug dealing after their deadbeat father abandons their family. Just like in his other appearances in Lot, in this chapter Javi embodies a hypersexual, hyper aggressive, and homophobic brand of masculinity that treasures being “the man of the house,” reesultingly becoming both exacerbated and jeopardized by his dad’s disappearing act. In stark contrast, Javi’s dealing partner Rick participates in a queer type of masculinity–an openly caring, vulnerable, and nurturing one ungoverned by insecurity over “manliness.” Washington posits Rick as a far better brother figure to the narrator because of his queer masculinity. While Javi lashes out at his brother over his suspected homosexuality, Rick shows the narrator kindness, generosity, and acceptance. However, Rick’s queer masculinity also makes him a walking target in the hypermasculine world of drug dealing. By killing off Rick, Washington spotlights his vulnerability as a queer man in an illicit environment. Even though queer masculinity is the solution to the problem of toxic masculinity, the latter still reigns in most corners of our culture and actively seeks to stamp out the former.
After their “junkie father” fails his duty to provide for and protect his family, Javi takes it upon himself to become the man of the house, resorting to drug dealing and a strict adherence to a traditional form of masculinity. When Ma catches Javi dealing drugs at the restaurant’s cash register and admonishes him, Javi argues “that it was all for a higher cause–we’d start a little savings, enough to fix the place up. Maybe coat some paint on the walls, buy her a couple of dresses…” (Washington, 64). The narrator often references his family’s financial struggles and their plight only worsens when his dad leaves. In Javi’s eyes, the head of the household has up and gone, so somebody needs to take his place so the family doesn’t fall further into poverty. Javi starts slinging drugs not selfishly, but because he believes he’s inherited the title of breadwinner, of provider. His mother counters this claim by insisting the responsibility falls on her: “If you need money, said Ma, you ask me. Right, said Javi, and you’ll just grab it from the bank. We’ll stay open a little longer. We’ll figure it out.” (Washington, 64). Ma outright refuses Javi’s offer to uphold traditional masculine ideals because she doesn’t want her son mixed up in dangerous, illegal activity, and because she’s a fully capable adult. But Javi firmly believes it’s his responsibility and that she can’t do it alone. On its own, there’s no fault with a masculinity that prides provision for kin. But Javi’s lack of a good male role model leads to a toxic over-reliance on traditional values that only become more reinforced as he delves into the violent world of drug dealing.
Likely stemming from the countless times his mother calls his father “no-good” and “worthless,” Javi attaches his self-worth to his ability to fulfill the role of provider and consequently finds himself plagued by insecurity. He relies on a toxic pride to defend his warped perception of manhood–when Rick offers to help the family out financially, Javi takes it as an insult and a threat to his dignity and pride:
“[Rick] told Javi it didn’t matter–he’d spot us some cash on his own…But Javi told him to chill. He said Rick wasn’t family. That’s what it is to be a man, said Javi. Entiendes? You do what the fuck you have to for your own. And Rick just put his hand on my shoulder, shaking his head like, Whatever” (64).
Because Rick cares about their family–”He was cool with Ma”–and has no problem with lending a hand–”he carried himself like all of kindness in a bottle”–he sees no issue with offering them money. But because Javi has conflated his masculinity and worth with the ability to provide for his family on his own, this handout appears to be a slight. His insecurity causes him to lash out and reject help that would aid in him achieving his primary goal: the financial perseverance of his family. Rick doesn’t seem to agree with Javi’s definition of a man, but he drops the subject to preserve his friend’s pride and because he knows Javi has no respect for Rick’s brand of queer masculinity. .
While Javi externalizes a hyper aggressive attitude and a proud machismo, Rick embodies a compassionate masculinity that allows him to connect with the narrator in a way Javi never attempts. The narrator compares a tall tale woven by Javi to the reliable, genuine friend he personally knows Rick to be:
“Javi told me how, once, someone’d gotten too familiar, and Rick broke the dude’s jaw with his own ten fingers. Except it’s one of those stories I can never believe. Rick scored me shakes off the dollar menu. Brought me tamales wrapped by his tias. He taught me how to whistle, cut my splinters out with his switchblade, and he never got on me about being a dumbass” (65).
Javi’s desire to appear macho bleeds into the way he presents his business partner. But this attempt to impress his brother fails, since the narrator knows Rick in a much more intimate capacity, as a caring and close companion, a teacher who doesn’t demean him, and someone he can depend upon. The narrator likes Rick and clearly values their relationship; by contrast, the narrator never reminisces on wholesome slices of companionship with Javi. It’s as if Rick has, by way of guidance and kindness, usurped the title of “big brother” in the narrator’s mind.
That’s not to say Javi disregards what he views as his brotherly duties–Javi’s masculine pride leads to his endorsement of his little brother’s entry into the supposedly manly world of drug dealing. After “one of Javi’s deals went wrong and some boys knocked him up with a bat,” he becomes incapacitated for a month:
“And Rick said not to worry, he told Javi he’d ask around for a sub, but my brother called that unacceptable. He told Rick it wasn’t his place…So you’d really rather run your brother out of a house on some pride shit?…I don’t actually remember how I suggested i should deal–just the silence between them when I brought it up… Rick called it fucked that we were considering it at all. If he wants to drop his huevitos, I say we let him, said Javi. He’s been mooching long enough. It’s about fucking time.” (66, Washington)
Again, Javi takes offense at what he sees as a threat to his ability to provide and therefore to his manhood and worth. When the narrator suggests he take his place, Javi rationalizes it as a male family member finally stepping up and claiming his manhood and the attached responsibility. Because Rick doesn’t share Javi’s views on the importance of traditional masculinity, he expresses open concern and opposition to the idea of endangering someone they’re supposed to look out for. But again, he ends up deferring to Javi’s dominance.
Once the narrator has a successful day on the job, Javi declares that he’s finally the owner of “a fucking man’s huevos” (meaning “balls”) (Washington, 67). In a way, Javi’s consideration of his brother’s personal masculinity stems from concern. Javi feels the need to ensure his little brother’s manhood and since Javi’s been able to express his own masculinity as a dealer, he sees it as a viable and logical option. He’s proud of the narrator for fulfilling his masculine ideal and the narrator relishes finally getting his brother’s approval. On the other hand, Rick warns the narrator from staying in the dealing business: “He said I was better than this. I should be better than this” (Washington, 68). While Javi assumes his brother will do well as a dealer because he needs to “man up,” Rick recognizes the narrator’s true queer masculinity and wants to protect him from a life he personally knows to be especially dangerous for queer men. Earlier the narrator mentions how he “was always on the verge of getting out of the drug thing” (Washington, 64). It’s not a life that appeals to him, but he feels forced into it by lack of opportunity. Because Rick understands the narrator on an intimate level and can speak from personal experience, unblinded by narrow notions of manhood, he acts the caretaker far better than Javi.
Javi’s suspicion of his brother’s sexuality and his homophobia borne from his own insecure masculinity poisons their relationship and pushes the narrator closer to Rick. After Rick offends Javi’s tenuous grasp on his personal masculinity by offering some cash, “Javi called him a pato. A know-nothing f****t” (Washington, 65). To further defend his wounded pride, Javi emasculates Rick and invalidates his version of masculinity with a slur, attempting to verbally steal what Javi thinks to be the most important attribute of a man. Javi exemplifies yet another tenet of toxic masculinity: rampant homophobia as a defense mechanism. When the narrator stands up for his friend, Javi is forced to contend with his apparent suspicions about his brother’s sexuality:
“I told Javi to take it back. I told him to shut his mouth. My brother got all wide-eyed like he was about to beat my ass. But he didn’t. He just said I didn’t know anything at all. Pero yo sé un maricón cuando lo veo, he said. Yo sé. And you will too, he said. Just watch” (Washington, 65).
Characterized as hesitant to stand up to his older brother, the narrator feels compelled to defend the worth and dignity of his friend, and perhaps to defend his own queer masculinity by proxy. When the narrator opposes Javi’s homophobic display of dominance in defense, Javi feels affronted by another queer masculinity. By declaring that he “knows a f****t when he sees one,” he sends an implied threat to the secrecy of the narrator’s sexuality and a warning not to follow that path. He hasn’t yet acted upon his suspicions about his younger brother, probably out of denial, but Javi’s blatant homophobia further spoils their relationship and aligns the narrator with Rick.
Tragically, the narrator loses his surrogate brother to a horrific murder at the end of “Wayside,” highlighting the hard truth that even as queerness becomes accepted in mainstream society, blatant homophobia still reigns in illicit spaces:
“A couple months later Rick was blown up on the court. Shots all over his face and his arms and his back…I heard he’d been making the last of his rounds…When we made it to the body [at the funeral], my brother snatched my hand. He made me touch Rick’s face. He told me this was what happened to f**s” (69).
The vague explanation for Rick’s death resembles a deal gone wrong, but the excessive violence used points to a more insidious motive. Earlier in “Wayside,” Javi certifiably has a deal go wrong, and he gets beaten to a pulp by a bat–but a living pulp. Rick’s death–the shots covering his entire body–seems like extreme overkill in comparison. There’s no confirmation in the text, but one could infer that Rick was the victim of a hate crime. Whether Javi knows anything about the act or perhaps even had something to do with organizing it–he did tell the narrator to “just watch” him recognize a “f****t” –he takes the opportunity to traumatize his brother into suppressing his sexuality by threatening him at the funeral. While no drug dealer leads an especially safe life, Rick’s experience highlights the danger of possessing an identity adhering to anything queerer than traditional masculinity. Javi embodies the stereotypical low-level drug dealer: some young man who’s trying to advance his station is compelled to prove his manliness to anyone and everyone, even his brother, often violently. In other words, he fits in the drug scene pretty well. But Rick doesn’t buy into the insecurely prideful straight masculinity; he doesn’t adhere to the same social rules, which gets him into trouble with the toxic straight members of the drug world. Rick’s death comes “a couple months” after Javi catches him sharing a moment of intimacy with the narrator. The narrator remarks: “Something important had happened. Something had changed” (Washington, 68). Whether he meant between him and Rick or between Rick and his brother, the moment carries a significance that transfers directly into the next sequence, at the funeral. Even if Javi had nothing to do with Rick’s death, he believes queer men have no place in his world.
Washington’s contrast between Rick and Javi suggests that queer masculinity makes for better brothers, but also endangers queer men in environments ruled by traditional and often toxic mores of manhood. He raises an intriguing question: How do queer identities intersect with crime? It’s not often you hear about gay drug dealers. While the literature base on queer crimonology (under the umbrella of queer theory) continues to grow, there remains a lack of public awareness on this issue. As a society, we need to consider how queerness presents in illegal settings and how it compares and interacts with heteronormative standards. While fictional, Rick represents the heartbreaking reality that even as mainstream society trends more toward accepting queerness, blatant homophobia still populates illicit and marginalized communities.
Works Cited
Washington, Bryan. “Wayside,” Lot. Riverhead Books, 2019.
