by S. Walden
“Why you listenin’ to something so sad?”
“I like it. It helps me think about things,” she replied.
“What things you need to be thinkin’ about with a song like this? Nothin’ good, I imagine.”
Emma ignored him.
“And anyway,” he went on, “you been runnin’ yo’ mouth ever since we got in this car. You ain’t even listenin’ to it.”
“Good God,” she said, and turned the stereo off. “Happy?”
She pulled into the familiar spot in front of his house and put the car in park.
“You can come in if you want,” Anton said, opening his door. His tone was casual, but his heart was pleading.
“Okay. I can only stay for a bit, though. I have ballet tonight,” she said, and walked with him into the house.
He was going to kiss her today, he resolved. He remembered her conversation with Morgan and decided that he didn’t care. If she rejected him, then he would simply never look at her or talk to her again. They could work on their respective parts of the term paper separately, and he’d let her find a way to blend it all together. He’d mail her his section; she could do the rest.
He watched her walk about his room, fingering items on his dresser and desk. He liked her touching his things. She seemed interested in what she saw, and that made him hopeful.
“So that why you always standin’ up straight all the time,” he said.
“What?”
“You said you had ballet tonight. That why you have such good posture,” he replied.
“Oh. Yeah, I suppose.”
“Do you like it?” he asked, sitting on his bed. He wanted to invite her to join him, but the words stuck in his throat. It was so easy yesterday, he thought, when he picked her up and tossed her on the duvet cover to tickle her feet.
“Yeah, I do,” she said thoughtfully. “It’s the only thing my mother and I share.”
Emma did not know why she voiced that. Her impersonal relationship with her mother was certainly none of his business. And why should he care? But she felt like she could tell him and he would not look at her like she was some poor little rich girl whose parents ignored her but gave her expensive things. That wasn’t the case anyway. She was very close to her father.
Anton wasn’t sure how he should reply. Did she mean to say that out loud, he wondered?
“You wanna sit down?” he asked.
She looked around the room, noticing a large pile of clutter on his desk chair, and made her way to his bed. She sat down tentatively and as far away from him as she could.
“Not everybody got good relationships with they parents,” he said at last.
“I guess not,” she replied. “It’s weird though, because it’s not like this out-and-out hostility between us. And I’m only talking about my mom here. My dad and I have a very good relationship. But my mom. She just expects so much. I have to be perfect all the time, and it’s exhausting.”
He listened.
“She put me in ballet. I was going to do it whether I liked it or not. So I learned to like it. And now I genuinely do. But just being forced. And I raised hell about the piano. My piano teacher told my mom that she was wasting her money. I never practiced. I didn’t care. So I got out of that one.”
Anton nodded.
It was pouring out of her and she couldn’t stop it. Once the gates opened, she felt like she could talk for hours, get everything out of her heart and onto him. Let him deal with it, carry the weight of it, because she was too tired.
“It’s just so stupid and typical, I guess. Being wealthy and unhappy. I mean, I shouldn’t say I’m unhappy. I’m not unhappy. Just lonely, I guess. I just wish I had a sister or brother,” Emma said.
She sat quietly thinking how her mood could change so suddenly. She was fine in the car earlier, happy even. Anton was thinking the same thing and decided he knew what she needed.
“Come on,” he said, and grabbed her hand.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” he said, and led her out of his house to a building on the opposite side of his complex.
They climbed the stairs to another apartment, and Anton knocked on the door. A large woman answered. Her hair was wrapped in a mustard yellow scarf, and she wore a house dress.
“Anton, baby!” she cried and wrapped him in a tight hug.
“Hey Mrs. Williams,” Anton replied.
“Where you been? These babies be drivin’ me crazy!” she said releasing him.
“I just been busy with school. I’m workin’ on this big school assignment. This my partner, Emma,” he said, and moved aside to introduce her.
Mrs. Williams smiled at Emma and invited them inside. No sooner had Anton walked into the living room then three small children dashed towards him wrapping their arms around his legs. They squealed his name over and over, jumping up and down all the while clinging to his knees and thighs.
He laughed and picked one up, tossing him in the air and flipping him upside down making him scream with delight.
“My turn!” shouted another, and Anton did the same with her.
“What about me?!” It was the voice of another little boy—he looked identical to the first one—and Anton threw him in the air as though he weighed as little as a bird.
Once they had all been tossed, he lined them up in a row, made them stand up straight, and bent down to address them like a drill sergeant.
“You listenin’ to yo’ mama?” he asked.
They nodded.
“You bein’ good at school?”
They nodded.
“You ain’t gettin’ into no fights with other kids over toys or nothin’ are you?”
They started to nod, but then shook their heads vigorously. Emma smiled.
“Good, because I brought a friend over to play today. And if I heard you was actin’ out, then she wasn’t gonna play.”
Anton looked up at Emma and waved her over.
“This my friend, Emma,” he said. “Now show her yo’ manners.”
“Hi Emma,” said the little girl, and walked over to give her a hug.
Emma squatted and let the child wrap her skinny arms around her neck. She smelled like the outside, that wonderful child smell of dirt and grass and hours of nothing but fun.
The boys said hello, but they were shy and uncertain. They hung back, feeling safer being closer to Anton.
“Emma, this is Aesha, TaShawn, and LaMarcus,” Anton said. “I’m sure you can tell these boys are twins.”
Mrs. Williams walked over to LaMarcus and wiped at a smudge on his face.
“It’s nice to meet all of you,” Emma said sweetly.
“Anton, baby, how long you think you be here?” Mrs. Williams asked. “I got to clean that bathroom and take a load of laundry downstairs.”
“It’s fine, Mrs. Williams. Go on and do what you need. We watch ‘em,” Anton replied, tickling TaShawn who fought ferociously to escape his grip.
“Thank you, honey,” she said, the relief evident in her tone. She grabbed a laundry basket spilling over with clothes and disappeared out the door.
“Okay, so what are we playin’?” Anton asked. He was answered by the names of dozens of different games.
“Hold up!” he said. “Where our manners? We got us a guest here. Why don’t we let her pick?”
The children hesitated for only a moment before agreeing. They looked at Emma and waited. She felt instantly nervous. She didn’t know the make-believe games children played. She couldn’t remember when she stopped playing them, but she thought that she was very young.
Anton walked over to stand near her.
“They really into Hide and Seek right now,” he whispered in her ear.
She gave him a look of gratitude.
“I think I have the perfect game,” she said excitedly. Their faces lit up, eyes sparkling, and they grinned wide with anticipation. “How about we play Hide and Seek?”
The children squealed and d
arted around the room, searching for their hiding spots before they had even decided on a seeker. Apparently Emma would be the seeker.
She stood in the corner of the living room and began counting aloud. All the while she counted she heard the gleeful screams of the children as they raced around the apartment searching for the perfect hiding spot. It was just like children to give themselves away without knowing, she thought. When did she start to know? What age was she when the knowledge came in to snuff out the magic?
“Here I come!” she yelled after counting to thirty. She turned around and spotted two of them immediately. They were grinning and nudging each other to be quiet, hiding under a table in the opposite corner of the room.
She pretended not to see them.
“Where, oh where could they be?” she said aloud, and they giggled more.
She crept around the living room and then disappeared down the hallway. She sensed them behind her. They were following her to see what she would do. They wanted her to catch them, she thought, and she wondered if she should scoop them up like Anton did and hug them close when she caught them.
She peered inside a bedroom and spotted the other. He was hiding under the bed. She raced towards him and fell to her knees by the edge of the bed. He squirmed to get out from the other side, but she grabbed his hand.
“Gotcha!” she yelled, and he squealed.
She wasted no time wheeling around to face the others who were close behind her. They screamed and started running for another room, but she was too quick. She caught their arms and pulled them to her sides.
“You’re on my side now,” she said addressing all three. “So let’s work together to find Anton.”
They agreed and discussed which directions they should take to find him. They split up and sneaked around the apartment. Her back was to the closet door when it opened, and she let out a stifled cry when she felt a large arm snake around her waist and a hand go to her mouth. He pulled her into the closet, closing the door. He held her still feeling her stomach rising and falling beneath his arm.
He could do it, he thought. Right now. Before the children came to find her. They must have heard her muffled cry. He could kiss her now if he wanted. She couldn’t fight him. She was too small. He squeezed her tightly against him feeling her hands tugging on his arm. It wouldn’t budge, so she tried tugging at the hand that covered her mouth. He could do it. He could move his hand and press his lips to hers in a mere second.
But his courage failed. He put his lips instead to her ear and felt her tremble.
“Don’t say a word,” he whispered.
He felt her smile beneath his hand.
“I got yo’ princess!” he shouted. “What you gonna do?”
It was a challenge, and no sooner had he yelled it then the closet door flew open and six determined eyes stared him down. The game had changed that fast, she thought.
“Give us our princess!” screamed Aesha.
She ran towards Anton and the boys followed. They rained blows on his legs and back, their little fists flying and legs kicking in all earnestness. Anton pretended to be wounded, releasing Emma to them and falling to the floor. Aesha took Emma’s hand and led her to the other side of the room.
“Hurry, Princess Emma!” she cried, and pointed to a spot on the floor where Emma would be safe. “Stay here,” she ordered, and Emma obeyed.
The boys continued their attack on Anton, jumping on him and peppering him with soft blows from their fists. He winked at Emma before feigning a slow, tortuous death. His head rolled from side to side, and he let his tongue hang out of the corner of his mouth.
The children jumped up and down yelling in triumph, and Emma was shocked when the boys ran to her and gave her a hug. Just as quickly, they released her and ran back to Anton.
“Get up, Anton!” they shouted. “Let’s play again!”
And they did. They played all afternoon, and Emma completely forgot about her ballet lesson.
CHAPTER 7
FRIDAY, APRIL 23
She placed her hands on the ball, fingers turned inward, and chucked it as hard as she could towards the basket.
“Oh my God, you’re killin’ me,” Anton said watching the ball ricochet off the rim of the basket. He was quick enough to retrieve it before it rolled down the hill.
“What? Do I look like I know how to shoot a basketball?” Emma asked.
“Hell no,” he answered. “But I’m gonna show you.”
It was Friday afternoon, and they were at the park. Anton had rejected his friends’ request to hang out in favor of spending time with Emma. He explained that he had to work on his project, and they made fun of him for being a goody-goody. He took the playful insults in stride, focusing instead on the butterfly feelings in his stomach at the thought of being with her all afternoon.
“I think I’d rather just get to work on our paper,” Emma said.
“We are,” Anton replied. “Basketball is a part of my culture, see? So now I’m gonna teach you ‘bout it.”
Emma looked uncertain. “I think a couple of white guys invented the game, actually.”
“So? Who the best at it now?” he argued.
“I don’t know. I don’t watch basketball,” she answered.
Anton looked deeply offended.
“Are you for real? Wait, so you gonna tell me white guys invented the game, but you don’t even watch it? First, how you know white guys invented the game if you don’t know nothin’ ‘bout basketball?”
“I don’t know. I guess I heard it somewhere.”
“You don’t watch any? No college tournaments, March Madness, nothin’?”
“I know. It’s sinful,” Emma said patiently.
“Girl, it is,” Anton replied. “First I’m’ll teach you the game. Then I’m’ll take you to church to let you repent of yo’ sins for not lovin’ the game.”
“I’m a white girl,” she explained.
“Absolutely no excuse,” Anton said.
“Jeez,” Emma replied, rolling her eyes. “And by the way, I don’t do church.”
At this statement, Anton clutched at his chest feigning a massive heart attack.
“No church!” he said. “Girl, I don’t even know what to make of yo’ culture yet. But I can’t be dealin’ with that right now. I gotta just take it one step at a time with you. So I’m’ll try to ignore the fact that you a heathen, and I’m’ll focus on teaching you this game. We take care of Jesus later.”
Emma just stared at him.
“Come ‘ere,” he said.
Sighing loudly, she walked over to him as slowly as she could.
“Yeah, drag yo’ feet about it,” he mumbled.
She placed one hand on her hip and the other out to him for the ball.
“No see, it ain’t even gonna be like that. Don’t come over here with yo’ attitude. You got to respect the ball. Respect the game. Now change that look on yo’ face.”
“You’re bossy,” Emma said.
“I’m bein’ bossy cause this some serious stuff we doin’,” Anton explained.
Emma did not understand how she was going to respect a basketball, but she felt it necessary to try. The look on his face told her that she needed to try.
“Okay then,” she said, standing straight and removing her hand from her hip. “How do I do this?”
Anton’s face brightened at the question, and he walked over to her and gave her the ball.
“Okay, first you gotta know how to hold the ball,” he said. As he spoke, he placed her left hand toward the bottom of the ball and her right hand in the middle then paused.
“Hold up. You a lefty,” he said.
She nodded.
“We gotta switch it up.” And with that he moved her left hand to the center of the ball with her right hand on the side underneath.
Anton stood behind her and placed his own hands over hers. She tensed slightly at the closeness of his body, his arms around her holding her hands on the ball.
“Me too,” she said, though she didn’t think it was because of the way she was holding the basketball.
“Girl, how you know what feel weird to you? You ain’t never shot a basketball right in yo’ life.”
“Okay, whatever,” Emma said. “Just tell me what to do.”
“No, I’m’ll show you,” he said.
“Fine.”
“Okay, so a good shot is all about good form. You gotta have the form. Without it, you nothin’. You got to have the hands right, the arms right, the feet right. It all gotta be just right. So now, you gonna stand with your feet square shoulder-width apart.”
Anton tapped the insides of her feet with his indicating that she needed to spread them farther apart. He watched as she positioned herself with her feet slightly turned out.
“Girl, square up them feet. Don’t be turnin’ them out like that. That look retarded,” he said.
Emma repositioned her feet making sure to point her toes forward until Anton gave a grunt of satisfaction.
“Okay, we come back to the legs in a minute. So your left hand is gonna push the basketball. Your right hand is there for stability. You know, like to help you guide it. You gonna push, not chuck it like you did earlier. And you gonna use yo’ legs to push. That’s really important. That’s how you get the range. See, a good shot come up through the legs to the hands. Not just from the hands. So go on now, bend yo’ legs. Let’s just practice going up and down.”
Emma felt silly, bending up and down, up and down, with Anton behind her doing the same.
“Good. Now let’s practice some arm action. We gonna do it all together at the same time,” he said.
“You know, I’m a dancer,” Emma said. She couldn’t see his face, but she imagined he looked confused.
“I know that,” he replied.
“What I mean is I’ve been a ballet dancer for eleven years now. I have a teacher who sits at the front of the studio and tells us what he wants us to do. He never demonstrates a thing, but we can still do it. I’m pretty quick with picking things up by just hearing them. You could just tell me what to do.”
“Well, this ain’t ballet now is it, little Miss Hoighty-Toighty Twinkle Toes?”