Rebound
And do you mind
if I leave
the reunion early
and go shoot
a little hoop
just for a few hours
’cause I’m trying
to get better.
PLEAAAASSSSEEE!
And I love you.
Call me back.
Bye.
When Granddaddy hollers
Chuck, the phone’s for you,
and hurry up, ’cause
I’m expecting a call
from the hardware store
about a piece
I need for the shed, I start
getting up the courage
to beg Mom
for the sneakers
I really, really,
REALLY want,
only
it’s not
my mom.
Phone Call with CJ
Hello?
Charlie, is that you?
Yeah, who is this?
Is Chuck your nom de plume now?
Huh?
Your a.k.a.
I guess. My granddad calls me that.
I dig it.
CJ, what are you doing on the phone?
Let’s not waste time with rhetorical questions. What’s up, Charlie? I mean, Chuck?
Nothing, I guess.
Well, how’s the big city?
HOT!
How hot is it, Chuck?
It’s so hot, I saw a chicken lay an omelet!
You’re so funny, Chuck!
I’m serious. It’s burning up, and they never turn on the AC in this house.
According to the news, it’s gonna be the hottest summer in almost a hundred years.
I’m gonna beg my grandmother to turn on the air.
Good luck, Chuck. So, what kinds of things are you doing up there?
I took the train, and I saw the White House. From a distance. I saw where they make the money, and Skinny’s here, and I’m on a basketball team.
Wait a minute, first you change your name without telling me, and now you’re playing basketball. The world is upside down.
I saw the Globetrotters play. And I won a basketball.
Very cool.
And I’m playing in a big three-on-three tournament.
I thought you didn’t like basketball.
I didn’t USED TO like it that much.
Well, that sounds splendid to me. It’s good to hear you smile.
. . .
. . .
How’s Old Lady Wilson doing?
She’s got a cane now, to get around, and she’s still burning cookies.
Ha ha! What about Harriet? You still walking her?
Sure am. But I think her other eye is getting worse. Yesterday she wouldn’t fetch the Frisbee.
Oh.
Did you get my letter?
Yeah.
Did you like the surprise?
What surprise?
C’mon, Charlie, stop playing around.
I don’t know what you’re talking about.
How many letters did you get from me?
The one.
Oh. You didn’t get a package?
No.
Well, I guess it’s still in transit. The Post Office is so slow.
What is it?
It’s a surprise.
What kinda surprise?
It’s a surprise, silly. I can’t tell you.
Oh.
I kinda like it.
The surprise?
Your new name.
. . .
Well, I gotta go, we’re going camping for the Fourth and I gotta go pack, and then when we get back, I go to inventors camp.
Cool.
Well, it sounds like you’re finding your joy again.
. . .
Good luck to you.
Good luck for what?
The big tournament. Score a point for me.
Okay. Thanks.
SMOOCHES.
smooches.
Bye, Chuck Bell!
Memory
When I was little
Mom would read me
a book each night
then tuck me in
and kiss
both cheeks
and my forehead.
My dad
would be at work
so he’d call
from his night job
and say Sleep tight,
don’t let the bed bugs bite,
and then Mom
would say
Good night, honey. Smooches.
And Dad would blow
a kiss
through the phone
and all was good
in our world.
Tonight
I whisper
Smooches
to myself,
and almost
hear a kiss
in the air
(or maybe it’s the fan),
but either way
I feel
a little more normal,
like maybe he’s still here,
but not in a ghost
kind of way,
more like in a
as long as I remember him
he’s still right here
in my heart
kind of way.
The Big Game
The gym is packed
with like a hundred people.
The air is filled with
the smell of hot dogs
and popcorn
coming from the cafeteria,
where we all just ate lunch.
I lace up my sneakers, double-knotting
them so I don’t trip.
Roxie comes up to me
and I’m thinking
she wants to thank me
for playing on her team
but what she says,
with a real stern look,
is Don’t screw up, Chuck. Please, don’t you screw up!
Wink brings the ball
up the court
like he’s Carl Lewis
running the 100.
When he gets to
the half-court line,
he passes the ball
to me, so hard
my chest almost
caves in. I pass
the ball back, then
run to set a pick
just like Roxie showed me,
which lets Wink
take off
like a jet plane
all the way
to the hoop
for a left-handed lay-up.
YEAH!
Playing by Twos
We’re up 18–16
with the ball
and under two minutes left.
The guy
checking me
is talking trash
like I’m a garbage collector.
Why you dribbling so much?
Why your lips dribbling so much?
Whatchu gonna do with that rock, chump? he says, winking at me.
So I show him
what I’m gonna do
with that rock
when I dribble
to my right
and he follows,
then I cross
like I practiced
a million times
and it works
(IT WORKED)
and he tries
to follow, but he
slips
slides
and almost COLLIDES
with the hardwood
while
I go right
past him
to the hoop
for a lay-up,
and just to make sure
he knows my name
I go to slap
the backboard
(and miss)
but he’s not paying attention
(Whew!)
’cause yeah, he’s still
on the ground.
WHO’S. DA. CHUMP. NOW? I say.
&
nbsp; Roxie comes over
and high-fives me.
20–16.
But wait
the ref blows
the whistle
on me?
Unsportsmanlike conduct.
They get two
free throws
and miss one.
20–17.
Down by One
I miss a jump shot.
Wink’s shot gets blocked.
They hit two bank shots,
and now they’re about to
cash in,
21–20.
They dribble down
the court
with a minute left
on the clock.
My guy shoots the ball
and it goes
in,
rolls right
around
the rim,
but, wait—oh, snap!—
it comes out,
and I hear
my Granddaddy
screaming
from the bleachers
Grab them apples, Chuck,
so I do,
and jump high enough
to snatch the rebound
and this time
my fingers swipe
the net.
I pass to Wink,
who takes off,
then dishes Roxie,
who behind-the-back-passes
to me,
and now it’s time
for me
to get on stage
and put on a show.
Showcase
In the two and a half weeks
since I’ve been here,
I’ve missed
a thousand free throws,
clanked
a hundred brick shots,
been beat
by Roxie
eleven times,
and my game
is still dubious,
but I kinda like
playing now.
Maybe today’s the day
I really showcase
my moves
and illustrate my grooves.
YEAH!
But wait—
why are there
two guys
checking
ME?
The Last Shot
They DOUBLE-team me
I’m in DOUBLE trouble
Trying not to DOUBLE dribble
Gotta get out the DOUBLE trap
So I juke one
But number two follows
So I QUICKLY
DOUBLE cross (and it works)
And he f
a
l
l
s WHOOPS!
Hits the Splits,
I wanna shoot baaaaaaaaaaaad
But I. Don’t. Know.
If. I. Can. Make. It.
If I can shake this
F E A R
Plus it’s only
Seven seconds
On the clock
And if I miss it’s
C L E A R
This. Game. Is. Over.
But if I s.c.o.r.e.
We win
And I’m the HERO!
(Don’t screw it up, Charlie)
Roxie’s at the free-throw line
(I once saw her make like fifteen in a row)
I shoot her
The ball
And it goes over
Her head almost, but
She snatches it
Out the air
Plants her feet
On the line
TOP of the key
No one on her
She’s FREE
Ready to SHINE
Like she’s a STAR
Like she was made
For this shot
FOR THE LAST SHOT
And she was
And she is
And she shoots
And she
misses.
Game Over
When Roxie
goes to shake
their hands,
one of the boys
on the other team
starts taunting
us, then says
to her,
Maybe you should play on a girls’ team.
She raises
HER fist,
ready to punch,
but I grab it,
and get
in HIS face
when Granddaddy
comes outta nowhere
and pulls me
and Roxie away.
He tries
to hug her,
but she refuses,
and I can see her
trying
to hold back
the tears.
She slinks
away, like a
wounded puppy
who can’t find
her bone.
Resolve
In the car
on the way home
Granddaddy talks
our heads off,
telling Roxie
that she shoulda made
that shot,
’cause it was basically
a free throw
and there’s no excuse
for missing a shot
that’s free,
and I know he’s right,
but right now
it sounds wrong,
’cause now Roxie’s
crying more,
so I interrupt him:
Roxie, you are the best
baller I know, and it’s
just one miss, but
you’re gonna have
a whole lotta makes
in this life, ’cause you’re just
that good, and it’s okay
to be down
and upset
as long as
you’re not down
and out.
She stops crying a little,
and I see Granddad
in the rearview mirror,
smiling.
Truer words never been spoken, Chuck.
Own the sadness,
don’t let it own you.
That’s for both of you, he says, and
I kind of feel like
he’s not
just talking
about basketball.
When we drop her off
at her house
I holler
out the window,
It’s okay, Roxie. We will get them next year!
And I mean it.
We will get them, I think
to myself,
’cause now
being this close
to victory
makes me hate
defeat.
I want to be
the hero
in my story.
Surprise
I take a shower
then lie down
to read The Black Panther
before dinner
and discover
a large padded
yellow package
on my bed.
Inside is
a picture
of CJ and
Old Lady Wilson
hugging
Harriet Tubman.
There’s also
a spiral notebook
with a note
on the front:
Scientific studies show that writing a few sentences in your journal each day can be a powerful tool for successful athletes. Kareem Abdul-Jabbar even wrote a book, and didn’t you say he was the best player ever, Charlie?
July 2
I run
out of the house
when I see Mom
walking down
the gravel driveway.
I don’t know
if she’s more shocked
because I hug her
for like five minutes
or because
I haven’t cut
my hair
/> in like three weeks
and there’s shrubbery
atop my head.
New Sneakers
I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow.
I thought I’d surprise you.
I got so much to tell you. Granddaddy makes me listen to his jazz. Skinny’s here with his family. I’ve been getting better at basketball, but we lost the game, and Roxie’s depressed, but she’s been teaching me, and I—
Slow down, honey. That all sounds wonderful, but I have something for you.
What?
Help me get my bags out the trunk and I just may show you.
Okay, c’mon.
You excited to see all your cousins on the Fourth?
Yea— Yes!
I want you to be on your best behavior.
Of course.
And, Charlie, I don’t want you accepting money from your aunts and uncles.
But, Mom, it’s not like I ask for it. They always give us kids money. Especially Uncle Richard. I think he’s rich.
He’s not rich, Charlie.
MOM! It’s a family tradition.
For Christmas, maybe.
I just think it’d be rude not to accept.
Well, if they offer, just be polite and say thank you, you understand?
I understand.
Here, this is for you, she says, handing me a Foot Locker bag.
WHAT’S IN IT? I say, excited.
Open it and see.
It can’t be. You got my message. Thank you. Did you really? I say, wondering
if I’m finally
going to be sporting Jordans.
It just can’t be, I repeat.
(It isn’t.)