10–10.
Get in the Game
Sorry, I mouth to Roxie,
who shakes her head
and inbounds
to our teammate, Khalil,
a real short kid
with cheetah speed
and huge eyeballs
who everyone calls Wink.
He zooms
down the court,
zips between two defenders,
goes in for a lay-up
and it looks like
it’s going in,
but wait,
outta nowhere,
Red, who apparently
can jump
as high
as a gazelle,
leaps
into the air
and blocks the shot
so hard
the ball goes
into the bleachers.
The crowd
of twenty or so kids
and adults,
including Granddaddy,
jumps to their feet
and goes wild
like they’re watching
the NBA
playoffs.
We get the ball back
and Roxie calls
a huddle.
Huddle
Both of you take
your guy
to a corner,
she says
to both of us.
That’ll give me
an ISO
on my guy
and—
ISO? What’s an ISO? I ask.
Isolate, Cheetah Boy says, his eyes wide open, which is ironic, ’cause his nickname is Wink. He hasn’t blinked once. She’s gonna isolate him and cross him up. Easy bucket!
That’s all you gotta do, Charlie, Roxie says. Just take him to the left corner and I’ll do the rest.
Okay, I say, wiping the gobs of sweat from my forehead after only two and a half minutes of basketball.
Awry
Wink goes
to his corner
and their guy follows him,
just like Roxie said,
so I run to my corner, but—
Wait,
WAIT.
What’s going on?
After Roxie checks
the ball,
the guy defending me
doesn’t follow me
to the corner.
Instead,
he joins Red
and they double-team Roxie
so she can’t go anywhere
and they’re about to steal
the ball from her
and I’m wondering
how she’s gonna
get out of
this straitjacket
and it’s real quiet
in the gym
and you can almost smell
the intensity
and she’s about
to get clobbered
just like in issue #11
when the Impossible Man—
and before I can finish
that thought,
my first cousin Roxie,
who knows I CAN’T PLAY basketball
who knows I DON’T LIKE basketball (anymore)
throws the ball
to ME.
Oh, I wish she hadn’t done that . . .
Amen
The gym
roars like
a hyped-up choir
in church
after a sermon—you know,
like when the pianist jumps up
and everybody
is on their feet
clapping,
EXCEPT
here
at the Club
Roxie and Wink
are the choir,
the bleachers are the pews,
and apparently
I’m the pastor,
’cause everybody’s cheering
like I just saved
THE WORLD!
Hallelujah
That was, like, really awesome, Charlie! I thought you couldn’t shoot, Roxie says.
It was just lucky.
I know, but you got skills. Your release was in the pocket.
. . .
You wanna go to the court when we get home?
Yeah, maybe.
You want game, Charlie Bell, then you need a teacher.
I don’t really want game.
Sure you do, she says, punching me in the arm and strutting out the Club toward Granddaddy’s car, like we just won the championship.
On the way home
Granddaddy fills up
the gas tank
then stops
by Krispy Kreme
for celebration
doughnuts
and chocolate milk,
which is a great treat
until he starts
filling up
the car
with his gas.
Roxie tries
to laugh
but she can’t
because
we’re both
pinching our noses
and holding
our breath.
Practice
Before dinner
I shoot free throws
with Roxie
at the park
till the streetlights
come on,
and I miss
Mom’s nightly call.
She says to call her after your shower.
Okay, Grandma.
I told her about your game-winning shot, she says, and she just smiled through the phone.
The boy makes one shot and all of a sudden he’s Michael Jeffrey Jordan.
Percy, maybe one day he will be. Congratulate your grandson.
Yeah yeah yeah, I congratulated him when I took ’im to Krispy Kreme.
Those doughnuts and chocolate milk were so good, Roxie says, and I nod in agreement.
Percy, you drank milk? Grandma asks as he walks out into the backyard. Now, you know you shouldn’t be having dairy—
Oh, I’m fine, Alice. Iron Man can handle a little milk every now and then.
Charlie, honey, you and Roxie come help me open my bedroom windows. It’s going to be a long night.
Phone Message
Grandma tells
Roxie to call
her daddy
if she’s going to
stay for dinner,
and when she does
she says,
Grandma, there’s a message on the answering machine.
Who’s it from, Roxie?
I didn’t listen to it yet.
Well, I can’t get in there right now, Grandma says from the kitchen, where she’s cooking, so go on and play it and tell me who it is. It’s probably my sister. I keep telling her I don’t check that thing.
It’s not your sister. It’s a girl.
What was that, Roxie?
It’s a girl calling for Charlie, she says, giggling, before I run into Grandma’s room, push her out, shut the door, and press play on the answering machine.
Phone Message From CJ
Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Bell, you don’t know me, but my name is Crystal Jean Stanley and I am a friend of your grandson Charlie. First of all, I am sorry for your loss. My mother and father let me call, as I haven’t spoken to Charlie in a while and they know he’s my best friend. I just wanted to say hello to him and tell him that Skinny and I miss him and that we haven’t been skating because Skinny’s either playing basketball or he’s at Flipper McGhees, where he got a job sweeping the floor, but mostly he sneaks and plays pinball, because he says he has a special token that he can use to play any and every game in there. Well, please tell Charlie I wrote to him, and to please answer my letter before July tenth, as I will be leaving for junior inventors camp on the eleventh. Have a nice day!
Mockery
Charlie got a girlfriend
Charlie got a girlfriend
Charlie got a girlfriend, Roxie teases
all through dinner
and Scrabble
and I’m the only one
who doesn’t think
it’s funny
’cause even
Grandma grins
each time
she tells her
to stop
picking on me.
When we walk into
the Boys and Girls Club
the next day
the lunch lady
gives me
a plate of
hot cinnamon bites
and an extra-large cup
of sweet tea,
then claps
when I walk away.
The boy makes one shot and all of a sudden he’s Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Granddaddy says, laughing and shaking his head before grabbing one of my bites and stuffing it in his mouth.
You gonna play with us today, Charlie? Roxie asks, taking another one of my bites.
I don’t know.
Then find out, Granddaddy says.
He’s afraid, Roxie chimes in, giggling and pushing me.
I AM NOT!
Huh?
Those are Granddaddy’s instructions for better living, Charlie, she whispers, and winks. He’s got tons of ’em.
You don’t need to explain me or my rules, Roxie. I’ll say this once, so both of y’all better pay attention and learn something: Wanna be a gem in the gym? Be golden in life. Wanna be a baller? BE A STAR DAY AND NIGHT, he screams. Got it?
Yes, Granddaddy, we got it, we both mumble,
walking away,
more than a little embarrassed.
Coach Roxie
I decide
to play
around
with Roxie
and her friends
in the gym.
This is not play, Charlie, it’s for R-E-A-L, she says,
showing me
how to pump fake,
box out,
and finger-roll.
Then we shoot
lay-ups, which
are easy
until she tells me
to use
my left hand,
which is not.
Do it twelve times, Charlie, she says. My dad says do anything twelve times and you’ll get used to it.
After an hour
of passing
and shooting drills,
Coach Roxie
finally takes a break
to go swimming, so I
shoot free throws
and left-handed lay-ups
till it doesn’t feel weird,
then I head to
the arcade,
where I spend
half my time
over the next few days
trying to beat
a player
named JR Ewing
who beat
my Pac-Man high score
by like
fifty-five hundred points.
Scorched
Granddad, can you put the air on, please? Roxie asks.
Yeah, it’s burning up back here, I say, lifting my shirt to wipe my sweat.
Roll your window down if you’re hot, he says.
If?
Boy, y’all not gonna waste my gas.
You’re depriving us. We could faint, Roxie complains.
I didn’t faint, and I didn’t have AC for the first forty-seven years of my life. We only had one fan when I was your age.
Wait, they had fans in the dinosaur days? I say.
That was a good one, Charlie, Roxie says, cracking up.
Here, let me play some jazz for you. That’ll cool y’all off, he says, laughing.
Good Night
Grandma gives me
an ice-cold glass
of grape soda
and tells me
that Granddaddy’s knees
are aching
so there won’t be
any more walking
for a while,
which, I guess,
is music
to my ears.
Friday
After finally
getting my Pac-Man high score back,
I play Roxie
one-on-one
and she beats me
by eight points,
which kinda makes me
feel not so bad,
because a few days ago
she beat me
twelve to nothing.
Saturday
Roxie comes over
to help
us clean
out the attic
and have lunch
before she goes
to shoot hoops
in the park.
You ready to go play? she asks when we’re done.
Nah, I think I’m gonna hang around here for a while.
You just wanna keep your head in those comic books all day. You need to stop looking at all those cartoons and read something, Granddaddy says, from his favorite chair, where I thought he was sleeping.
It is reading, I answer.
His father used to do the same thing, don’t you remember?
No he didn’t, Alice.
Well, then what’s this I found in the attic? she says, holding up a stack of old comic books.
My Dad’s Comic Books
The Black Panther, chief
of the West African country of
Wakanda, summons
the Fantastic Four
for a hunt,
which they accept
a vacation,
but when they arrive
in one of Wakanda’s
super-duper
pimped-out airships,
they get zapped
and trapped
by a vast and staggering
complex of unfathomable
electronic marvels
and discover
that they are the ones
being hunted by—WHOA—
THE BLACK PANTHER.
At 2:45 a.m.
I finish
a pack
of Now and Laters,
a can
of grape soda, and
every last one
of my dad’s comic books,
and even though
I don’t believe
in ghosts,
I kinda feel
close to him,
like he’s here,
which freaks me out
enough
to pull the covers
over my head
and finally
go to sleep.
Three hours later
I get up
to use
the bathroom
and notice
the light on
in the kitchen
and wonder
if I forgot
to turn it off
after I snuck
the grape soda
last night.
There’s music
coming from
the living room.
Granddaddy’s gonna
be pissed, I think,
with all this electricity
being wasted.
When I peek
into the living room
I see
my grandparents,
sitting
on the plastic-covered couch
holding hands
staring into darkness
and listening
to the same jazz song
he plays
every morning.
Grandma, is everything okay?
Conversation with Grandma
Everything’s fine, honey. Come on, let’s go back to bed, she says, getting up and hugging me out of the living room.
But what were y’all doing?
I
was just keeping your grandfather company.
Why?
Because I’m his wife, Charlie.
Is he okay?
Thinking is good for the soul.
His soul? Like meditation? He does this every morning?
Most mornings. It’s how he copes, how he moves forward.
Move forward from what?
Come here, son, sit down with me for a minute, she says,
rubbing my back and
sitting on the edge
of my bed, and
all of a sudden
I feel
closer than ever
to crying.
Why
He misses him too.
Who?
Your father.
Then why didn’t he come to the funeral?
A parent should never have to bury their child. NEVER! It’s just the hardest thing to bear.
. . .
We all deal with loss differently. I guess he wanted to remember your father the last time he saw him, she says, wiping the tears from her eyes.
You okay, Grandma? I ask, fighting back the tears.
He goes in there every morning and listens to that song because it reminds him of your father. It was his favorite song.
How come my father never played it for me?
You and your father probably had your own songs, right?
. . .
You know it’s okay to cry too. Though Lord knows, I’ve done enough for all of us, she says.
But why did he have to die?
There’s a master plan, and I’m not the master. We just have to trust in the plan.
But it’s not fair. I think about it every day. I think about the ambulance coming. I hear the siren in my dreams. I think about the doctor lying and saying everything was gonna be okay. I remember he was okay. He was sitting up in his hospital bed, and then I remember seeing his mouth drooling and the way his eyes started twitching, and I remember not being able to do anything to save him, and I hate doctors.