Win.
Then stay in the game. Focus. I know it’s been a rough year for you. That’s the worst kind of thing, to lose a father. And a son. I wake up each morning hoping I make it through another day without breaking down, to help me help Alice make it without giving up.
I just wanted some sneakers, and my dad was gonna get them, and Mom wouldn’t buy me any, and Skinny’s other cousin was gonna—
SNEAKERS? You’re out here chasing trouble for some sneakers? Son, you better wise up! How you think your daddy would feel about what you done? he asks me, and just lets the question sit, lets it sit long enough for me to completely break down.
I don’t mind you sitting over there crying, but you gotta say something. Now’s the time.
I don’t know what to say. I just, I mean, I feel, I thought everything was okay, and then it wasn’t, and then I came here, and it got better, and now I’m empty again, and I’m sorry, Granddaddy.
Don’t be sorry, be smart. Wasn’t for Smitty, you could be headed to juvie. Or worse, they’d try you as an adult, and your whole life is uphill from there.
. . .
What’s going to happen to Skinny?
What’s gonna happen to you, boy? You gotta focus on righting YOUR life, ’cause you got a right to life. We’re all suffering, and it’s okay to feel what we feel, but we still here. We still here, Chuck.
Rebound
We lean
against the hood
of his car
watch
a few planes
land, a
few more
take off.
He puts
his arms
around
me, pulls my
sobbing head
close to him.
You know, Chuck,
he says.
You’re not always gonna swish.
. . .
You gonna miss some.
Heck, you gonna miss a lot.
That’s the way the real world works.
But you gotta grab the ball and
keep shooting. You understand?
Yessir.
I tell you what, though,
you’ll make a lot more
than you miss if
you’re not always going for
the flash
and flair.
Try using
the backboard, son.
You got me.
You got your grandmother.
You got Roxie.
You got your mother.
You got all of us,
remember that!
Okay.
Now let’s get on home,
’cause your momma
and Alice
probably worried
to death.
I’m sorry, Granddaddy.
Yeah me too, son. Me too.
Homecoming
When I walk through
the front door
it’s like
being back
at the funeral.
I can’t talk.
I’m afraid.
My heartbeat
is deafening,
I don’t feel any-
thing but the tears
and the arms
of my
mom.
After I hug Grandma
Mom says,
Come here, Charlie,
so, I do,
and she’s crying,
and she asks if I’m okay,
and I’m not,
and I am,
and she asks
what was I thinking,
and I tell her I wasn’t,
then Grandma
starts hugging me again
and says,
We are all going to figure this out together, ’cause we’re a family and nothing matters more than family,
and then we all walk
into the kitchen
and she puts
a plate of leftovers
in front of me.
I saved this drumstick
and burger for you, Charlie, she says, and
the four of us
sit at the table
and they start talking
about all the antics
of the cookout
and no one mentions again
what I did,
almost as if they think
going through it
was enough punishment
and consequence
for me.
And when I finish,
my mom tells me
to pack.
Conversation with Mom
Why?
We’re leaving tomorrow.
Why? I don’t want to leave, Mom. I was finally starting to have a good time.
I have to work Monday. But maybe we can come back and visit at the end of the summer.
But I don’t understand.
Grandparents shouldn’t have to deal with all this kid and teenager drama. Grandparents are made for good food and jazz and fun. You should have seen your grandmother when she found out you were at the police station. She almost fainted.
Things were going pretty good until today, though. I don’t want to leave. I’ll be good, Mom, I promise.
I’m sorry, baby, but we have to leave.
Just when I’m starting to have a life again, you have to mess things up. It’s just mean, and it’s not fair.
Maybe your mean, unfair mother misses you.
. . .
Charlie, my heart’s been broken too, and I thought you being here would give me time to heal. Boy, was I wrong. It was worse. I need you, son. I love you.
. . .
Everything’s going to be okay, she says, and gives me the hug I guess I’ve been needing, ’cause it does make me feel like, for once, everything is gonna be okay.
Can we stop by KFC?
Why don’t you get your stuff together and we’ll see about that, she says, laughing.
I need a bag for my comics.
Just put them in the same bag you brought them in.
I have a bunch more now. I found Dad’s comics.
These were your father’s? she says, picking them up off the bed.
Yes.
Did your grandmother say you could take these?
I’ll ask.
. . .
. . .
I miss him so much.
I know, Mom, I say, and then I give her the hug I think she really needs.
So much. Thank you, Charlie. Thank you for this.
We’re on the same team, Mom!
I know, honey.
. . .
What’s this? she asks, picking up the notebook that CJ gave me.
Oh, it’s nothing, I snap, snatching it back from her.
Charlie, is that a diary?
No, it’s not a diary, it’s a notebook. It’s private, I say, packing it at the bottom of my suitcase.
Okay, she says, smiling, and turns to walk out the room.
Mom?
Yes, honey?
Is Skinny going to be okay?
Your grandfather says he’s on his way home too.
Cool.
Now hurry up, then go on in there and give your grandmother another kiss and tell her you love her. Your grandfather, too. He may be Iron Man, but he was as scared as she was.
. . .
Come on, pack up your clothes.
Mom, I was wondering?
Yes?
Would it be okay, if you, uh, stopped calling me Charlie?
Charlie, what are you talking about?
I go by Chuck now.
You what?
I just prefer it.
Whatever, Charl—Chuck!
6:00 a.m.
I wake up
to walk
to the lake
and listen
to Granddaddy
go on and on
about random things
one last time
; but he’s not
in the living room
this morning
and his music
isn’t playing
either
so I go
to the kitchen
to get a cookie
and I look
out the window
and see him
and my grandmother
in the backyard
picking peaches
off the ground.
Peaches and Hope
What are y’all doing back here? I ask, walking out the back door.
We’re milking cows—what does it look like we’re doing?
Your grandfather and I are getting peaches, Grandma says.
Off the ground? Are they good?
They’re immature, Chuck. Weak. Scabs and stinkbugs sucking the life out of ’em, he says, like he’s not really talking about the peaches. But there’s a few good ones here. There’s hope.
There’s always hope, Grandma adds, winking at me.
My back’s killing me, and my knee’s acting up. C’mon over here and help us out.
Percy, the boy is about to leave. Let him be.
Good ol’-fashioned work ain’t never hurt nobody, Alice. Look, son, he says to me, aim high, reach for the sky, take your piece of this world, and make it into something sweet.
Yessir, I say, understanding what he’s really saying. Do y’all mind if I take my dad’s comics?
Sure, Charlie. He would’ve wanted you to have them, Grandma says.
And go see your cousin before you leave. She woke me up last night trying to talk to you.
What’d she say?
I’m not your secretary, boy. Go over there and find out.
Bet
After breakfast
I go to Roxie’s
to say goodbye.
I try to shake
her hand
but she hugs me
instead
then says,
I’m glad you’re all right. That was stupid, though.
Yeah, I know.
Did you get in trouble?
Not yet.
They probably think being in jail was enough of a punishment.
It was.
Thanks for playing this summer.
Thanks for playing with me.
And teaching you?
You didn’t teach me.
I did so.
You just kinda helped. I got natural talent.
That’s a lie.
Let’s go play one more game, then, and see.
Don’t waste my time.
Bet you I’ll beat you.
Bet me what?
I don’t know, ten dollars.
You don’t even have ten dollars!
I do, I say, pulling out my wad of crumpled bills.
Nah, I want the ball.
What ball?
The Globetrotters ball.
I’m not giving you that.
’Cause you’re scared, and you know this girl’s gonna shoot your lights out.
I’m not scared.
Then let’s go ball.
Bet.
One-on-One
I miss
my first jumper.
She grabs
the rebound, shoots
a bank shot
right in my face.
In your face, Chuck!
I try my double cross again
but this time slower,
and it works
just enough
for me to glide
by her
and lay up
an easy bucket.
Whoa, Roxie! You might need some makeup, ’cause what Chuck Bell did to you
was just UGLY! I say, bopping my head.
She laughs (a little)
and we go back
and forth
like this
till the score is
eleven to nine,
and she wins
and I lose
but it’s the closest
I’ve ever come
to beating her,
to feeling like
maybe
I’m finding
normal
again.
Keep your ball, Chuck! But gimme that ten dollars, she says, laughing and punching me in the arm.
Goodbyes
Grandma hands me
a whole peach pie.
Alice, that’s my pie, Granddaddy screams from the porch.
She shushes him.
Mom starts
our car.
Thank you, Grandma, for letting me stay here this summer. I’m sorry about what happened.
You just be a good boy, listen to your mother, and come see me from time to time, okay, Charlie?
Yes, ma’am.
Now go on up there and say goodbye to your grandfather.
Yes, ma’am.
Conversation with Granddadddy
Do me a favor and listen to jazz, Chuck. It’s the glue that holds us together when we’re falling apart.
I don’t know, Granddaddy. Mom doesn’t like me being exposed to a lot of sax and violins, I answer, and he laughs so loud, he almost falls out of his chair.
You take care of yourself, son.
I will. I guess I’ll see ya, Granddaddy.
I, uh, love you, Grand—
Yeah me too, Chuck. Me too. Now take this, he says, handing me a record. And don’t give your momma too much trouble. You’re lucky to have her.
What’s this?
What’s it look like?
A record.
Then that’s what it is.
This is for me?
I gave it to you, didn’t I? Stop asking silly questions.
Who is Horace Silver? I ask, looking at the record. Oh, wait, this is the song you play all the time, right?
. . .
Why are you giving it to me?
Why do you think?
I don’t know.
I used to play it for your daddy when he was little. I want you to have it now. Promise me you’ll play it.
Yeah.
“Yeah” is for your friends.
Yessir. Thank you for the album, Granddaddy. Which song is it?
The greatest jazz song ever, Chuck. “Filthy McNasty”!
June 14, 2018
JB’s been trying
to break
this record
for years,
but fifty free throws
in a row
is impossible,
I keep telling him,
even for the best
basketball player
in the state,
even for the number one
Tarheel recruit,
even for the son
of Chuck Bell,
but this dude
won’t listen,
thinks today
is the day.
What a SUCKA!
Conversation
This is the one, Filthy, he hollers.
Yeah, I hear you talking, JB.
Who’s Da Man?
Not you, fool! I’m going back inside to help Mom clean up.
Hold up—don’t you want to witness history?
Nah, I’m good on the history.
But I’m doing this for us. This is probably the last time we’re gonna see each other in a while.
I’ll be in Colorado, not Cambodia.
I heard they don’t let freshmen leave the campus for a year, though.
It’s the Air Force Academy, not prison.
But we’ve never really been apart before.
You’re always so lugubrious, man. Gimme the ball!
. . .
As in: When we leave for college, Mom’s gonna be all lugubrious too.
Sad?
Naw, man, like REALLY, REALLY SAD.
. . .
Give me the ball!
Your playing days are over, Filthy. You’re washed up, a clam, a crab. No game, just lame
.
But I can still take you to the glass, fast, and on blast. Give it to me!
How much you wanna bet you miss it?
I’m still supersonic classy, downright in your face McNasty. Once you floss, you never lose the cross. And I’m still the boss.
I bet you don’t make it.
How much?
Fifty dollars says you miss.
I’m not betting fifty dollars.
Dad’s ring.
C’mon, son, you know I’m not giving that up. Why would you even say that?
You afraid you’re gonna miss. I knew it.
Naw, I’m just not stupid.
Okay, you miss it and I get to kiss your girlfriend.
Apparently you are stupid. And sexist. Geesh!
Twenty dollars, then.
Bet.
Air Ball
He turns around
tosses me the ball.
Don’t hurt yourself
Watch this, I say.
Rebound Page 13