Rebound

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Rebound Page 9

by Kwame Alexander


  I know, honey. In this life, rain’s gonna fall, but the sun will shine again, she says, holding

  me tighter,

  squeezing the tears

  out of me

  till they come

  crashing through

  like giant waves

  and the sadness

  and the sorrow

  overflows

  and I can’t fight it

  anymore

  and I don’t even want to

  and my eyes flood

  and my heart plunges

  and I miss my father

  so much.

  Sometimes, I wish

  I were a superhero

  so I could fight back

  against all the

  doom

  and the gloom

  that’s trying

  to destroy

  me.

  I wish I could torch

  all the trouble

  in our world

  like Johnny Storm.

  I wish I could

  thrash

  the heartache

  like Ben Grimm.

  I wish I could

  make the sorrow

  that’s in my life

  invisible

  like Sue Storm.

  And I wish

  I could stretch

  my arms

  like Reed Richards

  all the way

  to heaven

  and hug my father

  one more time.

  Just. One. More. Time.

  But for now

  I’d settle

  for talking

  to my mother

  and wishing

  I could stop

  seeing his face

  and hearing

  him laugh, and

  waking up sometimes

  thinking he’s still here.

  Yeah, for now

  I’d settle for

  sleeping

  through the night

  and dreaming

  my way back

  to a little piece of

  normal.

  Later

  The smell

  of fried chicken

  and mashed potatoes,

  the blinding light

  of the midday sun

  bursting

  through

  the pea-green curtains,

  and the dribbling sound

  of a basketball

  wake me up

  from my long nap.

  Roxie, what are you doing

  in my room?

  Let’s ball, she says, throwing the ball at me.

  Practice

  Today she shoots

  fadeaways

  and I practice

  rebounding

  the ones she misses,

  which aren’t many.

  Then I practice shooting

  jump shots

  from the corner

  and she rebounds

  the ones I miss,

  which are plenty.

  Surprise

  When we get back

  from the park

  I’m so sweaty

  even my sweat

  is sweating.

  While I’m in the shower,

  Granddaddy bangs

  on the door

  and tells me,

  Stop wasting

  all the water

  on your bony limbs,

  which I thought

  was the whole purpose

  of taking a shower,

  but whatever.

  Your Uncle LeRoy is out here waiting in that hot car.

  Get a move on, son!

  Roxie got all As

  on her report card

  so her dad’s taking her

  to see a basketball game

  and she’s invited me,

  to see

  THE HARLEM GLOBETROTTERS,

  the absolute best

  and funniest basketball team

  on earth.

  I remember reading

  a pretty funny

  Globetrotters comic

  and watching

  a video

  that Skinny got

  after he went

  to see them

  last year.

  After two weeks

  at my grandparents’

  I’m actually

  about to have

  fun.

  Say Cheese

  Uncle LeRoy

  is my father’s

  older brother,

  but he’s shorter

  and doesn’t really look

  like him,

  except when he laughs,

  which he does, loudly,

  when Grandma

  takes out

  her Polaroid camera

  and makes us pose

  and while we’re

  all hugged up

  on each other

  Granddaddy lets out

  the loudest fart

  in the history

  of farts.

  SAY cheese, don’t CUT it, Granddaddy! I say.

  Nosebleed

  It doesn’t matter

  to Roxie—who’s got

  the aisle seat—that

  seats 401, 402,

  and 403, our seats,

  are a couple

  of rows

  from the very top

  of the arena.

  But it does to me,

  because

  the family

  in front of us

  keeps standing

  and yelling

  every time

  a Globetrotter

  dunks the ball

  or does something

  really cool,

  which is pretty much

  every play.

  So, yeah, I can hardly see anything.

  If watching

  Roxie play ball

  is like watching

  a magician

  at a birthday party

  pull a quarter

  from behind your ear,

  then watching

  the Harlem Globetrotters

  is like watching

  Harry Houdini

  cut a woman in half

  or reappear

  from being submerged

  in a ten-gallon tank

  of water

  with a straitjacket on.

  THESE GUYS ARE AMAZING!

  Halftime

  Just when the emcee

  comes to the middle

  of the floor

  and is about to announce

  who will get a chance

  to play C.U.R.L.Y.

  (a.k.a. H.O.R.S.E.)

  and possibly win

  an autographed

  Harlem Globetrotters ball,

  his pants

  get pulled down

  and a basket

  of confetti gets

  dumped on his head

  by Curly,

  which sends

  the whole arena

  into raucous laughter.

  When the announcer reads

  Section four hundred,

  Roxie is out

  of her seat,

  freaking out,

  talking nonstop:

  What if it’s me, Dad? WHAT IF IT’S ME!

  When he says,

  Row W,

  she starts squealing

  like Michael Jackson

  just kissed her

  on the cheek.

  Uncle LeRoy

  even stands up.

  The people in front of us

  turn around,

  frowning.

  When he says,

  Seat number . . .

  402,

  a collective gasp

  fills the arena

  and I can almost see

  the air leave

  Roxie’s body

  when she shrieks.

  Sweet Georgia Brown

  Well,
look at that, Uncle LeRoy says. You won, Charlie. Get on down there and give ’em the Bell business.

  Really, it’s me? I won? I don’t know, maybe Roxie can go inst—

  Yeah, Dad, maybe I can go, Roxie repeats, all excited at the possibility.

  Now, Roxie, this is Charlie’s first game. You’ve been to see the Globetrotters plenty of times.

  Yeah, but I’ve never gotten to go down on the floor like that. It’s not fair.

  It’s okay, Uncle LeRoy, I—

  Roxie, if you want to stay at this game, you need to change your attitude. Now tell your cousin good luck.

  Good luck, she mumbles, as I stand up, making my way down the aisle to the sound of the Globetrotters’ theme music, which sounds like one of Granddaddy’s jazz songs.

  Go win one for the Bells, Charlie, he says, then stands up clapping, as does everyone around us.

  Everyone except Roxie.

  What are the chances?

  I get up,

  quietly,

  inch past

  her bitterness,

  and make

  my way

  down to center court

  for a chance

  to win!

  C.U.R.L.Y.

  After he makes fun

  of my haircut,

  squirts me

  with a fake water gun,

  and throws confetti

  on me,

  Curly shoots

  a pretty easy finger roll.

  I do the same. It goes in. Whew.

  He shoots

  a free throw

  with one hand.

  I shoot a free throw.

  With two hands.

  It almost goes in.

  He shakes his head, but the crowd still applauds me.

  Loudly. Whew!

  Curly dribbles

  the ball

  from one hand

  to the other,

  then between

  his legs and

  behind-the-back-passes

  to me.

  I dribble the ball

  then bounce-pass it

  to him.

  He frowns.

  He walks up

  to a lady

  on the sidelines,

  kneels like

  he’s proposing marriage

  or something,

  and kisses her

  on both hands.

  The crowd goes wild.

  I. Freak. Out.

  But then I get an idea.

  I walk over

  to Curly

  and kiss him.

  On his bald head.

  He nods, then

  takes the ball,

  dribbles

  to the half-court line,

  starts rubbing

  his stomach

  in a circular motion

  like he’s hungry,

  rubs his head,

  smiles,

  takes off

  for the hoop,

  throws the ball

  against the backboard,

  leaps into the air,

  catches it,

  and slam-dunks

  it so fierce

  the ball bounces

  back up in the air

  and almost goes

  in the net.

  There are a few boos,

  but mostly everyone

  is captivated

  by the dunk.

  I shrug,

  start walking away.

  But when the crowd starts cheering,

  I turn around

  and see Curly

  walking toward me.

  He high-fives me, then

  hands me

  an autographed

  HARLEM GLOBETROTTERS BASKETBALL.

  After all the halftime excitement

  I’m actually on my feet

  most of the second half,

  eating popcorn,

  hoopin’ and hollering,

  but Roxie’s

  still quiet,

  still sad,

  and I feel bad,

  but not bad enough

  to give her

  my new Curly Neal—signed

  red, white, and blue

  basketball,

  so instead

  I give her

  my last lemon-lime

  Now and Later,

  which doesn’t

  make her smile

  but she takes it

  anyway.

  On the train ride home

  we thumb through

  The Official Harlem Globetrotters

  Souvenir Book,

  reading the bios

  of each of the players

  and looking

  at the larger-than-life

  photographs.

  We almost miss

  our stop

  ’cause we’re so into it

  and Uncle LeRoy

  dozes off.

  Dad, I think this is our stop, Roxie says, nudging him.

  We all jump up

  and rush

  off the train,

  the door closing

  right behind us.

  We take

  the escalator

  up, and just

  as we reach

  the top,

  I hear someone call

  my name

  from the escalator

  on the other side.

  YO, CHARLIE BELL!

  Going down

  the escalator,

  waving at me

  with a single

  white glove on,

  and telling me

  to wait

  for him

  to come back up

  is my best friend.

  Skinny in DC

  What are you doing here, Skinny?

  I told you I was coming to Washington, DC, Charlie Bell.

  WHAT’S UP, PUNK? his cousin Ivan yells up to me from the bottom of the escalator.

  I nod at him.

  What’s up, Charlie?

  Everything’s good, Skinny. We just went to see the Globetrotters.

  They were fresh, right?

  To the max.

  Is that your granddad over there waiting for you?

  Naw. That’s my uncle.

  Who’s the cutie you’re with? CJ’s gonna be jealooouussss!

  Ugh, that’s my cousin, Skinny.

  LET’S BOUNCE, SKINNY, Ivan yells.

  I gotta go, Charlie, but we should hang out. There’s a skating rink near where I’m staying. You wanna roll?

  Now? I can’t.

  No, not now, like another day.

  How long are you here?

  I think we’re leaving the day after the Fourth of July.

  Cool.

  You’ll never believe where I got a job.

  At the arcade?

  How’d you know?

  I just guessed.

  No, you didn’t. CJ told you, didn’t she?

  Yeah. How is she?

  Your lovey-dovey is fine.

  She’s not my lovey-dovey.

  Your tenderoni.

  Stop being stupid.

  C’mon, Charlie, you know I know.

  Know what?

  So you don’t mind that I kissed her?

  What! You WHAT—

  Gotcha, he says, laughing loud. I’m just messing with you.

  She’s not THE LADY IN MY LIFE. Get it? That’s from Michael Jackson’s alb—

  Yeah, I get it, Skinny.

  Hey, Charlie, you miss home?

  Yeah, kinda.

  You should come to the Boys and Girls Club. I’m there every day.

  Where is it?

  Downtown.

  Bet!

  Bet.

  Hey, Charlie.

  Yeah?

  You know why I’m wearing this glove?

  Yeah, Skinny, I know. Because you’re bad.

  Because I’M BAD, he sings on his way back down the escalator.

  Su
rprise

  When I get home

  sitting on my bed

  next to my folded clothes

  that I thank

  Grandma for folding

  is a paisley envelope

  addressed

  to Charlie Bell

  from Crystal Stanley.

  Dear Charlie

  How are you?

  I hope you ’re SPLENDID!

  I saw your mom

  and she says

  she hopes you’re finding

  your smile

  again.

  I hope so too.

  I’m going

  to Myra Hall’s birthday party,

  which I know you think

  is kinda strange

  ’cause she’s always teasing

  me, but it’s at

  the skating rink

  and you know

  I’m not passing that up.

  I finished reading

  100 books

  a few days ago,

  so now I’m reading

  National Geographic magazines

  in the library,

  ’cause you can’t

  check them out,

  and they’re costly.

  I’ve been walking

  Harriet every morning

  and we’re the best of friends now,

  though you’re still

  my best friend, Charlie.

  Turn over (Not good news)

  Dear Charlie (cont’d)

 

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