Rebound

by Kwame Alexander

  It’s sneakers, but

  NOT Air Jordans.

  NOT even almost-like-Jordans.

  Inside the Foot Locker bag

  is a pair

  of corny red low-top

  PRO-Keds.

  What do you think, honey? I know they’re not the Michael Jordans you wanted, but they’re cute. Don’t you like them?

  she asks.

  Thank you, Mom. I, uh, do. I do, I lie, hoping

  that tomorrow

  the relatives are feeling

  generous

  so I can get

  some real sneakers.

  The Fourth

  In the backyard

  there’s family

  and disco music

  and dancing

  and burgers

  and BBQ

  and little cousins in diapers

  and potato salad

  and flies

  and old aunts playing dominos

  and loud talking

  and love

  and fried fish

  and more flies

  and drunk uncles handing out cash

  and grape soda

  and beer

  and chicken

  and me

  and Roxie

  and the promise

  of a hoop

  in our very near

  future.

  How hot is it out here?

  my Uncle Richard says,

  wiping his face

  with the bath towel

  draped around

  his tank-topped chest.

  It’s so hot, his boyfriend responds, I saw a coyote chasing a jackrabbit and they were both walking, which NO ONE laughs at.

  Granddaddy hollers, It’s so hot even the Devil took the day off, which EVERYBODY laughs at.

  Basketball Rule

  I ask Roxie, who’s dancing with a

  chicken wing in her mouth, if she’s

  okay, and she says, Losing

  is a part of the game.

  There’s always rain in

  spring. Champions

  dance through the

  storm. I’m

  good.

  Let’s Ball

  Roxie and I

  are just going

  to shoot basketball

  for a little while, I say

  to Mom,

  who wants me

  to stick around

  and spend time

  with my family.

  I promise, I’ll just

  be gone

  for a little while.

  Okay, she says, but be safe, Charlie, and don’t be out there too long. It’s ninety-nine degrees out here.

  It’s just a few hours, and we’ll take breaks so we don’t get overheated, I add, and she kisses me goodbye.

  The Plan

  When we’re blocks away

  from the house

  and the smell

  of hot sauce

  and fried fish

  is faint

  in the air,

  and we’ve played

  three games

  of one-on-one

  and she’s won them all,

  and we’re both swimming

  in a river

  of perspiration,

  I tell Roxie

  I need

  to do something.

  What?

  I just got to go do something.

  Do something like what?

  I just need to run an errand.

  Run an errand. Chuck, what are you even talking about?

  I’ll meet you back here in two or three hours, okay?

  No, it’s not okay. I’m not staying out here for three hours by myself

  You’ve stayed out here longer than that, Roxie.

  But not on the Fourth. I’m going back to the reunion.

  Just don’t tell anyone I’m not out here.

  I’m not lying for you, Chuck.

  I seem to remember I was minding my business, reading my comics, when someone pulled me away to play a game because their teammate got hurt, and if I remember correctly, she told me, I’ll owe you. Anything. C’mon, this is really important to me.

  . . .

  I just gotta go do something, okay?

  Fine.

  Thanks, Roxie.

  . . .

  One more thing: which train will take me to northeast DC?

  I get off the train

  and the heat

  punches me in the face.

  I walk two blocks,

  take a left,

  just like Roxie told me,

  and there, on the corner,

  two blocks away

  from Skate Castle,

  is a convenience store,

  a Chinese takeout,

  and Soul Brothers pizzeria,

  where Skinny is

  standing outside

  eating a slice

  while his terrible cousin

  Ivan

  holds up

  the corner

  lamppost

  with a bunch

  of older guys

  with skates

  hung over

  their shoulders,

  drinking from

  bottles

  hidden in

  brown paper bags.

  Waiting in Line

  Hey, Skinny.

  Yo, you came.

  Yep. I don’t have my skates, though.

  You got money, right?

  Forty-three dollars.

  WHOA! That’s fresh to death. Where’d you get the loot?

  My grandma and uncles.

  Your family is rich.

  Nah, not really.

  I’ma be rich when I grow up too.

  . . .

  Want a slice of pizza?

  I wanna skate. C’mon, let’s go to the rink. I gotta be back soon.

  We gotta wait in line. They haven’t opened the rink yet.

  Who’re those guys with Ivan?

  Some guys from around the way.

  Y’all want something to drink, punks? Ivan says to us, drinking from the bottle in his paper bag.

  We’re good, Skinny says.

  Skinny, your cousin Randy’s working, right? Can he really get me some sneakers for a discount?

  Yeah, he’s in there, Charlie. C’mon, let’s go, Skinny says, following Ivan, who walks away with his crew of guys.

  Fight

  It’s hot out here. How long we gotta wait in line, Skinny?

  Stop sweating, Charlie, he says, which is

  ironic, because

  he’s the only one sweating

  like a pig.

  I gotta be back home in like an hour and a half.

  The line is moving, see.

  Hold my bag, Ivan shouts, and you better not put it down.

  He tosses

  his backpack

  to Skinny,

  then runs

  toward the front

  of the line

  with his crew,

  who start chasing

  this other

  crew of guys

  like they’re about

  to throw down.

  Inside

  Skate Castle

  are security guards

  with guns,

  Which is weird,

  Skinny says,

  for a skating rink.

  I agree.

  The DJ plays

  “I Wanna Rock with You”

  and we stare

  in awe

  at the boys and girls

  skating.

  I mean, they got moves

  like water,

  rhythm

  like waves.

  Just as I’m talking

  with Skinny

  about how I miss CJ

  we see Ivan

  walk through

  the front door

  of the rink

  drenched

  in sweat

  with specks

>   of blood

  on his shirt

  and a sneaker

  in his hand.

  And just as he’s telling us

  about the beatdown

  they just dished out

  on somebody

  who was clownin’ them,

  and just as he’s bragging

  about how he

  slapped some boy

  so silly

  the kid ran away

  with just one shoe on,

  someone yells

  GUN!

  C’MON, CHARLIE, RUN!

  Skinny screams,

  jetting, and forgetting

  the backpack

  sitting on the floor

  next to us.

  I pick it up

  and run too.

  Fast.

  I make it

  out of the rink

  Just as I hear

  a shot

  and see Skinny

  and Ivan

  taking off

  back down

  the block.

  I follow

  behind them

  past the graffiti

  past the pizza shop

  and I’m about

  to catch up

  when the strap

  on Ivan’s cheap backpack

  breaks

  and falls

  and so do I.

  Déjà Vu

  There is one tragic sound that still jolts

  me, that terrorizes my heart

  and menaces me so bad

  that I can’t breathe. A sound

  that petrifies me

  and sends me in-

  to total

  freak-out

  mode . . .

  SIRENS

  close in, and

  I. Can’t. Move.

  STOP! POLICE!

  Skinny looks back

  like he’s gonna come back

  for me.

  He does.

  He sprints

  like he’s running

  for the gold.

  Or his life (and mine).

  I see Ivan looking back,

  motioning

  for me

  to get up,

  to bring the bag,

  but I can’t move.

  He puts a finger

  to his lips,

  mouths Shhhh,

  and then

  he runs. Away

  from us.

  Skinny tries

  to help me up,

  but it’s too late.

  The blue lights

  the white noise

  have closed in

  on me

  on us

  and I have no idea

  what’s going on

  and I can’t move.

  HANDS BEHIND YOUR BACK!

  LISTEN TO MY COMMAND!

  blue uniforms

  swallow me.

  Piercing sirens

  scorch

  my ears

  and I see

  real guns

  pointed directly

  at me

  and Skinny.

  The Crime

  In Ivan’s backpack

  is a brown bag

  with three sandwich bags

  filled with

  cannabis

  a.k.a. reefer

  a.k.a. pot

  a.k.a. we’re both getting

  handcuffed

  for possession

  of MARIJUANA.

  Arrested

  We sit in the back

  of the police car,

  scared stiff—hands

  cuffed behind

  our backs—siren

  still torturing me,

  as we speed

  through red lights

  into the unknown.

  You okay? Skinny whispers.

  You knew he had those drugs? I whisper back.

  Naw, I didn’t know.

  . . .

  . . .

  Why didn’t you keep running?

  Two amigos. That’s how we roll, he whispers.

  Hey, shut up back there, the cop says.

  Locked Up

  When we get

  to the police station,

  the policemen separate

  me and Skinny

  take us each up

  the stairs

  into separate

  rooms with

  nothing

  on the walls,

  a table

  in the middle,

  and two dirty metal chairs

  with grime and

  what looks like blood

  caked on them.

  Write your parents’ phone number down, he barks, handing me a pen and a notepad.

  Do you have to call them?

  Well, either that or I can lock you up for the weekend. The judge is gone for the night, kid, and he won’t be back until Monday morning, and since you had more than two ounces in your possession, technically we could arrest you as an adult, and—

  Okay, I say, scared straight, writing down my Granddaddy’s phone number before he has a chance to finish the sentence.

  You want some water?

  No.

  Fine with me. Stay put, he says, laughing, then

  walking out

  and slamming the door

  on what little piece

  of joy

  and fun

  I thought

  I’d found

  this summer.

  Things I Think About While I’m in Jail

  If I ever get out of here, I’m gonna do better

  I’m gonna go out and save the world

  Carry groceries for old ladies

  Rescue cats out of trees

  I’m gonna practice basketball every day

  Have the best crossover in the land

  I’m gonna go to school and never skip

  I’m gonna listen to all the coaches in my life

  I’m gonna love my family

  I’m gonna clean up my room

  Cut my Granddaddy’s grass with a smile

  I’m gonna write CJ back

  Listen to my mother

  I’m gonna go to the cemetery.

  I’m gonna visit my father.

  Tell him I’m sorry.

  If I ever get out of here, I’m gonna do better

  I promise

  I just repeat this over

  and over

  and close my eyes

  and imagine

  the Black Panther

  busting through the door

  to save me.

  The Black Panther

  does not walk through

  the door, but

  a man wearing a silver suit,

  big glasses,

  and a cowboy hat does.

  My Granddaddy’s friend, Mr. Smith,

  walks in

  with,

  uh-oh,

  Granddaddy.

  Consequence (Part Three)

  Thank you for calling me, Smitty.

  Granddaddy, I was—

  Shut. YOUR. MOUTH. Chuck. You hear me?

  I nod.

  Seems he and another boy were caught with the bag. We don’t think it belongs to them, but the boys aren’t talking.

  Might be good for him to spend a night in jail, Smitty.

  I can do that if you like, Percy, but you sure you want to upset Alice like that?

  Granddaddy, I’m sorry, I won’t—

  You still talking? I thought I said not to. And stop all that, he says, crying, which I’ve been doing since this all started. You made your bed, now sleep in it.

  Chief, here’s the paperwork, the policeman that arrested me says, coming into the room and handing a folder to Mr. Smith.

  Yep, I think we’re good here, Percy, you can take him. Chuck, I expect more out of you, son. We all do, Mr. Smith says to me. You and your friend shouldn’t get caught up in these streets.

  Yes, sir, I manage to say
, through tears and sniffles.

  Now get outta here!

  So I do.

  Fast.

  Freedom

  It takes

  my grandfather

  almost twenty minutes

  before he speaks

  a single word to me

  and then he doesn’t stop

  except to hear my

  yessirs every now

  and then.

  He exits

  the highway

  near the airport,

  then pulls into

  a viewing lot

  where people

  can watch

  planes take off

  and land.

  And we just sit there.

  What do you have to say for yourself?

  There’s a Hole In my Soul

  The drugs weren’t mine. I was just hanging with Skinny and his cousin Ivan. It was Ivan’s bag.

  I told you before and I’ll tell you again, Chuck. This is a team sport. You can surround yourself with people who don’t play by the rules, or you can surround yourself with those who do. But if you choose wrong, don’t start complaining when the coach takes you out the game. You hear me?

  Yessir.

  You put the wrong people on your team and you gonna lose every time, whether you meant to or not. You understand?

  Yes, sir.

  You want to lose or you want to win, Chuck?