by Dexx Peay
“So, what’s the cover story for this Saturday morning, son?” Dad asked.
“Something about 30-year mortgages down? I don’t know what it means, but it sounds boring.”
“Won’t be so boring when you buy your first house,” Dad said, taking a sip of his smoldering coffee.
“I won’t have to worry about that until I am old like you.” I said, pouring a glass of orange juice.
“You just called me old?” Dad exposed his fang-like teeth then snarled.
We laughed and split the paper. I took the sports and entertainment sections. Dad took the business and local news. We both split the comics. Ironically, Dad does have a comical side that tends to come out rarely.
“How about we get out for a game of ball once your brother wakes up, just shoot around and work up a sweat before your big day,” Dad suggested.
“Umm … Dad, yeah, I don’t want to embarrass you.”
It was more like I didn’t want to be embarrassed again. I put the paper down. He put his coffee down. I knew once Dad said “to shoot around” what he really meant was a full on, him versus me, basketball game. I hardly ever beat my dad in ball.
Or never.
He was a six-foot-two beast who weighed a little over two hundred pounds. He was known as Jackson “Swiss Shot” Perry when he attended Poughkeepsie Senior High. Not to mention, he went on to play D1 basketball. I’m sure Dad could have went pro if he just pushed a little harder. Maybe that’s why he practically forced the game on me.
I picked the paper back up and covered my face with it. Dad swiped his bear claw down the center of the paper and forced me to go upstairs to change.
“I’ll be outside waiting. Son,” he barked.
Outside past the patio was the basketball court. The goal being on the opposite end of the back door, while the luscious green trimmed bushes marked the out of bounds area along the sides. Dad was outside standing under the goal, gripping the ball with his monster hands. I walked to the side and stretched.
“First one to ten,” he said.
“Thought we just came out here to shoot around?”
“One quick game won’t kill you. Or will it, old man?”
“Oh OK, nice. Trying to provoke me, real mature, father.” I stood up from stretching and walked under the goal.
He began to dribble, the ball weaving between his legs like magic. The repeated sound of the rubber hitting the pavement over and over again quickly put me in game mode. Dad got serious, his eyes a nasty grin. He was ready to play. He took one step back, shot and scored.
“Dad one, Dylan none,” he said.
He took the ball out and began again—dribbling, but this time he rushed towards the goal. I was already sweating from the beaming sun that rose by the minutes. My blood pumped faster than normal. I guarded him in a defensive position—feet spread apart, hands out to the sides, eyes glued to the ball. I knew he was going to go for the lay-up, so I quickly snatched my hand in for a steal. I grabbed the ball, turned around, and landed a fade-away shot.
“Score,” I boosted.
“So you decided to finally play I see,” he snapped back.
We went on for the next half hour playing a very intense game of father-son basketball. Or in Dad’s words, “shooting around.”
“You fouled me,” Dad whined.
“I’ll be right back.” I dribbled and headed for the door. “I’m gonna grab you a Band-Aid and a lollipop you big baby.”
“I get my foul shot,” he continued to whine.
I stood to the right underneath the goal while Dad stood at the free-throw line.
“Two shots.” Dad nodded to confirm.
He looked at the pavement. He dribbled and then focused his eyes on the goal. He dribbled three more times, bent his knees and gently landed the prettiest shot I had ever seen in basketball.
The perfect witness to why—
“They didn’t call me Swiss Shot for nothing.” He looked at me like he always did when we played against one another, like I could never beat him. He took pleasure in the fact. I grabbed the ball and bounced it back to him.
He repeated the same steps he took for his first shot again, but this time, the ball circled the rim. We both stared as it circled, frozen in place, frozen in time. We both had a lot riding on the game. Dad wanted to remind me that he would always be the better player and that quitting was one of the worst mistakes to make. I, on the other hand, just wanted to prove to Dad that we don’t always have to be in competition with each other.
It felt like we had been standing there for minutes waiting for the ball to make a decision when in reality, it had only been seconds. I got my hands ready to catch the ball just in case. The ball circled the rim once more then fell but not in Dad’s favor. I reacted and caught it right as it fell in my direction then faked like I was going to shoot. Dad practically jumped over me going for a block. I dribbled back to the three-point line, shot, and scored.
“I believe that puts me at eight and you at seven,” I said, sticking my tongue out at him.
The intensity of the game went into overdrive after that. Dad didn’t like to be beaten at anything. He even put himself in competition with Mom when it came to household chores. Once I witnessed them racing to see who could fold laundry faster.
Too bad I could never get him to do mine.
He managed to tie the score at nine, his ball. He removed his shirt and showed off his vein-bulging biceps and a pointless tribal tattoo that ran up his right arm and crossed over to his chest and ended at the nipple. He took the ball out and immediately went in for the long shot so he could win the game. He shot from the halfway mark without even giving me a chance to realize what was going on. I turned around to watch the ball only to see it bounce off the backboard.
I ran in, jumped, and caught the ball before it could hit the ground. I dribbled back to the same spot where Dad took his shot, but he was rushing me right as I turned around. I eased the ball in and out between my legs, spinning around him like a dancer. I turned around to face the goal again. We now stood face-to-face with the ball in my position. Our clothes were drenched in sweat, and Dad gasped for air.
So did I.
We were both exhausted and smelled of masculinity.
“This is it, son, hit or miss,” he gasped, looking for breath.
I had nothing but doubt in my mind that if I took the shot, it would end in his favor. No time for second-guessing, I told myself. I took the shot. The ball created the perfect arch as it flew from my hands into the net.
“Swiss Shot Dylan.” I jumped up and down as the ball landed perfectly into the basket.
“Pure luck.” Dad said, starting his tantrum. He threw his hands into the air and for a minute, I thought he was about to cry.
“Don’t be a hater all your life, father.” I cupped my hands around my ears, lunging from side to side. “Hear that, Dad? That’s the crowd and they’re going wild.”
His ego was bruised knowing that I beat him, but I was thinking, finally.
“Don’t worry, Dad, you win some and you lose some.” I patted his back gently.
“Good game, son. Pure luck, but good game.”
As we both entered back into the house, I turned around right before I got to the door, froze, dribbled just once and shot the ball one more time. It was a perfect shot. Yeah, luck, I whispered to myself.
“Jessica called while you and your father were taking your frustrations out on one another. She said she would be here around eleven,” Mom said, poking around the newspaper scraps.
“It wasn’t frustration, just a friendly game of father-son basketball,” I joked. “Right, Dad? Or were we just shooting around?”
Dad grimaced and took a seat on the stool in the kitchen. I headed upstairs.
I took off my wet clothes and jumped in the shower. I threw on some clothes and started to drift off until I heard Mom.
“Dylan!” she screamed from downstairs. “Jessica is here.”
&n
bsp; I got up and tripped over my own legs as I rushed downstairs. “Hey, Jess.” Our eyes connected and a few inappropriate thoughts ran through my head as I nodded towards her.
Jessica was sitting on the edge of the couch. Dad was standing there, still shirtless, and Mom greeted me at the bottom of the stairs fidgeting her fingers. I walked over and greeted her with an intimate embrace and a kiss on the check. My parents shot us that did you not see us standing here look.
“Umm, can I get you something to drink, Jessica?” Mom walked over, breaking up our lovey-dovey moment.
“No thank you, Mrs. Perry,” Jessica replied politely.
“So what color is your dress for the dance tonight?”
“We decided to go with Dylan’s favorite color—”
“Orange,” Mom interjected, “nice choice.”
I stood up and grabbed Jessica’s hand, and made my way upstairs to avoid all this awkwardness with the four of us. It was just weird when they were around each other.
“Leave the door open, Dylan,” Mom screamed.
Really Mom? I thought. I couldn’t believe she just said that. Embarrassing.
“Is your brother home? I should go speak to him,” Jessica said. She walked over to his door and knocked.
“Come in,” Dalton said. She opened the door and we walked into him on his bed with a controller in his hands. “Hey, Jessica. I haven’t seen you in forever. How you been? Want to play some video games? You can play if you want to.”
“Whoa, buddy, slow down with all the questions,” I laughed.
He was excited to see her. Probably the only person I was close to who could stand to be in the same room with her for more than five minutes without wanting to choke her. I laughed to myself at the thought.
“What’s funny?” She turned to me.
“Nothing.”
“I just wanted to come in and say hi, Dalton. Me and Dill won’t be here too much longer,” she said.
“Aww, OK I guess,” Dalton sighed, putting his controller down.
As we walked into my room, I jumped backward onto the bed making sure I could see her when I landed. Jessica stood at the door.
“Close it,” I said. I knew she wouldn’t pay attention to my mom’s authority. She’s that kind of girl who did what she wanted and when she wanted. Closing the door, she spun around in the middle of my room, expanding her hands, her long brown hair followed. She spun until she crashed gracefully onto the red shag carpet.
“I love your room, Dill Pickle,” she said, looking up and around. “It reminds me of a page out of a magazine.”
“It took some time, but I had to put the Dill spin on it. My parents have no idea how much I actually enjoy being grounded here,” I laughed.
If Extreme Home Makeover had an inspiration room, it could definitely be mine. It showed my creative side. There were various magazine articles ranging from basketball to music that were blown and converted into wallpaper, which covered the two largest walls. My bed snuggled in the corner and draped with a black and orange comforter, along with quilts my grandmother made for me. Next to the bed was the desk. I customized it just to suit my needs, and it made a cool hangout spot.
I couldn’t help but admire Jessica. She was simply beautiful. Gazing off into her beauty, I immediately began to have flashbacks—reminiscing on all the times we had together, the good and bad. When we were kids, I would’ve never imagined us dating. It just kind of happened. We’ve known each other for so long, sort of seemed like the natural thing to do.
“Come. Let me show you something,” I said.
“What is it, Dill pickle?”
I sat her on my lap at my desk as I pulled up photos on the computer. Dad scans every photo he finds and puts them on my computer. I had pictures pre-date time and even some from elementary school.
“OMG, I had pigtails.” She pulled her hair up and made two messy pigtails on both sides of her head, imitating the picture on the screen.
“Check this outfit my mom put me in that day,” I said. We both laughed so hard we almost fell off the chair.
“I can’t believe how much we have all grown up.” She faced back to the screen. “I will never rock pigtails again.”
“Crazy, right?” I glanced down at the corner of the screen. “Oh snap, time to go, Jess.”
We sprinted out the door, waving to my parents and headed to Marcus’ house. I hoped things would run smoothly for all of us today. I wanted everyone to have a relaxing day, free of stress and bickering. It would be fun to see the interaction between Monica and Jessica since they have never really been around one another.
“Hey, Marc, hey Monica.” I greeted them both as they got into the back seat. “How you guys feeling today?”
“Great. Hi, Jess.” They both said.
“Aren’t you guys just excited for today?” asked Jessica.
“Yes! I can’t wait.” Monica jittered like she had a caffeine rush and hugged Marcus.
We pulled up to Café Bocca and walked in to be welcomed by the hostess. “Table for four please,” Jessica said.
The girls had never been to Café Bocca but it was a favorite of my family and the Petersons. We’d been coming here since we were kids and even knew the owner, Erik. He came out to greet us and we introduced him to Monica and Jessica. We ordered for the girls and enjoyed a drama-free lunch.
Next, we headed over to Walkway Over the Hudson. Everyone was feeling on top of the world as we cruised around our amazing city. It felt like a scene out of a romance movie, where the friends are driving down the long road with the music blasting, sun beaming down on their skin, women in the backseat, hair blowing in the wind, singing to all the tunes.
Poughkeepsie was beautiful.
The cool breeze felt refreshing as it entered in and cooled us down on the warm sunny day. The city was filled with a diverse group of people walking around enjoying the Saturday afternoon. Soon as we got to the park, we immediately ran down the bridge laughing, enjoying the scenery of the multicolored trees, the river beneath our feet. Spring was my favorite time of the year.
The walkway was filled with the most entertaining people around the city. There’s one guy who always made balloon animals and another guy who drew caricatures. We took in everything the city had to offer. From the downtown area where all the people were friendly, to the dark house on the corner of Old Mill Road with the creepy old man. This place was where we all called home. We took a minute to stop and post up on one of the railings, soaking up the afternoon.
“This is just beautiful,” Monica said.
“It’s so relaxing,” Marcus said, gazing out into nature. “I could sit out here for hours and hours and just think.”
“About what?” Jessica asked.
“Life,” Marcus replied with a solemn look on his face.
There were times I wished I could get inside his head and explore his thoughts and help ease his mind. “Hey, guys, let’s get a smoothie from the concession stand.” I suggested.
“You and your smoothies,” Jessica teased. We all went over and got a smoothie from the food truck and walked up and down the bridge for the next hour to enjoy more of the festivities at the park.
We arrived at Marcus’ house to drop him and Monica off.
“Monica, if you like, you can come to my house and get ready for tonight?” Jessica said then jumped back into the conversation when she realized Monica wasn’t answering. “That way we can save the guys a trip.”
Monica looked at Marcus and then myself. Her face was expressionless. Neither one of us knew what to say. Nobody expected Jessica to ask that.
“I, guess—I guess I can,” she said.
“Awesome. Dylan will text you my address. Just meet me there in about an hour. Ciao.” Jessica waved as they walked off.
We pulled up to my house and I turned to look at Jessica. “That was nice of you. Thank you for being nice to Marc.”
“I did it for you,” she said so cavalierly. “I told you I want th
is day to be perfect for you, so if that means being nice to Macchiato for a day to see you happy, then I will.” She exhaled like she had been dying all day from being around him.
“Why don’t you like him Jessica?”
“Are you serious? He’s a freak. He’s like trash around campus.”
I grimaced. “Watch your mouth, Jess, that’s my best friend you’re talking about.”
“And that’s your problem, Dylan. You could have been much more popular if you didn’t always have him lingering around everywhere you go.” She said it as if I’ve been allowing myself to be held back because of my friendship with Marcus. It annoyed me, but also made me recognized who I had been dating all these years. It was a conflict that would never be resolved.
“Come,” I said. We reached towards each other to share a hug.
“Eight. Be at my house,” Jessica said.
We both got out of the car. She got into hers and drove off. I walked into the house.
“How was your day, Dylan?” Mom asked not even giving me enough time to get both feet through the door.
“Surprisingly, it went better than I imagined.” I walked into the living room and stretched over the couch, yawning. I rested my head against her.
“I know you’re not tired,” Mom said as she ran her hand through my hair.
“I’ve had a long day, Mom. Just need a little nap before the dance.”
I woke up about an hour before I had to be at Marcus’ house. I showered, freshened my breath, pulled out my tux and began to get dressed. As I was piecing my suit on, I was interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I said.
My parents walked inside as I buttoned my vest in the mirror. Mom walked over and stood between the mirror and me and helped me with my bowtie. Dad walked over next and put on my cufflinks one at a time. Once he was done, I reached over and grabbed my jacket to finish it all.
Marcus and I would always talk about mirrors as kids. It was a weird fascination of ours. I told him you could always trust a mirror because it’ll never lie. It always told you the truth whenever you needed it, always revealing the true you. I looked in the mirror and didn’t see my parents sitting on the edge of my bed — my mom holding her hands over her mouth like she wanted to cry while Dad cuddled her. Nor did I see the stack of shoe boxes in the corner, or the black and orange tuxedo I was wearing. It wasn’t because I had hair covering my face, but because the mirror was showing me the truth. I saw myself naked — all of me stripped of the possessions. I saw Dylan Perry for who and what he really is — just a simple teenager from Poughkeepsie on a journey to find true happiness.