Tears of a Tiger

by Sharon M. Draper

English Homework

  November 29

  Personal Essay

  Topic—If I could Change the World

  If I could change the world I’d get rid of peanut butter, Band-Aids, and five-dollar bills. I know this sounds like a weird list, but I got my reasons.

  First, I’d get rid of peanut butter. When I was little, peanut butter and jelly was my favorite kind of sandwich. Mama would fix it as a special treat and it always made my lunch box smell so good. But Mama left and the peanut butter stayed. We get it free, so there’s jars of it sitting around. Sometimes that’s all there is. It sticks to my teeth and it seems like it sticks my bones together—it always makes me feel clogged up.

  I’d also get rid of Band-Aids—for two reasons. One, they’re beige. They say on the box, “skin tone” is the color of the bandages inside. Whose skin? Not mine! So I HATE wearing Band-Aids because they’re so noticeable and people always say, “How’d you get that cut, or that bruise, or those stitches?” And I always have to make up a reason about how I hurt myself. When Andy came back to school after the accident, he was wearing a bunch of Band-Aids. At least it took the attention away from me for a while. But I’d still eliminate Band-Aids—at least beige ones.

  Finally, I’d get rid of five-dollar bills. With a five-dollar bill, somebody’s stepfather can buy a bottle of whiskey, a nickel bag of pot, or a rock of crack. He smokes it, or drinks it, and goes home and knocks his kids around, or his wife (before she got sick of it and left). He makes his kids wish they could leave. The next morning he doesn’t even remember what he did. With a five-dollar bill, Andy and the guys bought a six-pack of beer. They ended up buying five dollars worth of death. It seems like all a five spot can do is buy trouble, so I’d get rid of five-dollar bills.

  So, to make MY world better, I’d get rid of peanut butter, Band-Aids, and five-dollar bills.

  Hoops and Dunks

  The Big Basketball Game

  DECEMBER 7

  —Okay, okay. Everybody here? Where’s Jackson? Anybody seen Jackson?

  —I called his house, Coach, to give him a ride, but his little brother said he already left. He said Andy was takin’ the bus.

  —The bus? Good grief, he may never get here! All right, let’s go over the game plan. This is a big game for us, and I know it’s our first home game since…since we lost Robbie, so it’s going to be difficult for all of us—especially Andy. Let’s see if we can give him as much support out there as we can—assuming he gets here. The bus! I could have picked him up if he had called me.

  —He’s been real moody lately, Coach. Sometimes he just likes to be alone. He don’t talk to us like he used to.

  —I know. I’ve been trying—

  —Hey, Coach! Andy’s here!

  —Great. I was getting worried, Andy. Are you ready to play?

  —Sure. No problem. Let’s get it on!

  —Okay, get suited up and meet me on the court for warm-ups in three minutes. We have a game to win!

  —…and we now have only four minutes, thirty-three seconds remaining in the second half and Hazelwood trails by eight. This has been a very emotional game for all involved. The Tigers really want to win this one because this is their first home game since that devastating loss of their popular and capable center, Robbie Washington.

  And it’s a pass to Jackson, to Mills, back to Jackson and it’s in for two.

  That’s fourteen points now for Jackson, Hazelwood’s new center. It’s hard to fill another man’s shoes, but he’s wearing them tonight.

  Covedale’s Stefanski is ready to move the ball downcourt—he tries one from the outside—it’s good. The score is now 62-54. Hazelwood’s Mills takes it down, under full-court pressure, and—no—he’s fouled on the shot and will go to the line for two.

  Mills has ten points in this game so far—make that eleven—Now let’s see how he does on this next one—He takes his time, pulls the trigger—and he’s got it! That gives him twelve, and brings Hazelwood within six. Covedale takes the ball out. Jackson steals and drives for the basket. It rolls on the rim—and it is good! He’s dynamite tonight!

  The score now stands at 62-58 and we’ve got about three minutes remaining in the game. Covedale takes it down. Barkley tries an eight-footer and it’s no good. Hazelwood seems to be on fire and Covedale out of steam as Shuttlesworth drives it hard on the inside, fakes the jump shot, and finger rolls it in for an easy two points.

  Hazelwood is now within two points of tying the score with Covedale, but no, Covedale’s big man, Stefanski, who never seems to miss, gets two and the score is 64-60, with 1:04 remaining.

  The ball is passed now to Mills, to Shuttlesworth, and to Jackson who seems almost frenzied out there. He grabs the ball, gets up close, and dunks it in! The crowd is going wild! You can hear the thunder of the stomping feet in the stands as they cheer and stomp, giving their team their noisy, enthusiastic support.

  There’re fourteen seconds left to play and Hazelwood is still down by two. Covedale’s Macintosh drives it down, tries for three, and—it rolls off the rim. The crowd is roaring! Billy Smith grabs it for Hazelwood and passes it to Mills. Mills can’t find an opening. The clock is running—the crowd is counting—ten seconds, nine, eight…He throws it off to Jackson, who is blocked by Stefanski. Jackson turns—he’s got one clear shot, but he has never made a three-pointer in his high school career! There’s six seconds, five—he shoots—it touches the rim—it rolls around—two seconds—it’s in!…and it’s good!

  The crowd is spilling out of the stand and onto the floor. They’re screaming and cheering and mobbing the team, who pulled out a fantastic win tonight. Andy Jackson should be very proud of himself. He proved that he could stand up under pressure and in spite of the severe emotional strain he must have been under, he was able to pull it out. Congratulations to Jackson and to the Hazelwood team for a stunning 65-64 victory over Covedale. This is station WTLZ bringing you the high school game of the week.

  —Good night, Coach! See ya Monday.

  —Good night, Tyrone. Great game, son. Are you the last one out? I’m ready to lock up and get out of here.

  —No, Andy’s still gettin’ changed. I guess he’s takin’ his time, tryin’ to make this night last a little longer. I offered him a ride, but he said he was waitin’ for his dad.

  —Okay, thanks Tyrone. Tell Rhonda I said hello.

  —How’d you know?

  —Didn’t you know I was a psychic with X-ray vision?

  —Hey, I thought that was just my mom. Later, Coach.

  —Later, man. See you at practice Monday…. Andy—you still here?

  —Over here, Coach. I just have to get my shoes. I was waitin’ for my dad—he said he’d be here.

  —You played a terrific game tonight, Andy. I’m sure your dad was popping with pride.

  —He wasn’t poppin’ with nothin’. He didn’t come. He never comes. He always says he will, but there’s always an excuse.

  —What about your mom? Was she there?

  —No, she doesn’t like basketball—too noisy—too sweaty—somethin’ like that. You know what? Rob’s parents were at the game. It must have been awfully hard for them. But they always came to our games, even the away games. It’s like they supported not just Rob, but the whole team. Seein’ them up there really made us want to win tonight—it made us not want to give up. They sat there, Rob’s mom holdin’ back tears, and my folks didn’t even bother to show up. I should be the one dead, not Rob.

  —That’s not true, and you know it, Andy. It’s hard for us to understand why things like this happen, and I think you’re doing a remarkable job of handling a very rough situation. You came back to the team, you’re playing well—and we all support you. You know that. Actually, you are the glue that’s holding the team together. Without you, we’d all fall apart.

  —I don’t see how. I’m not even holdin’ myself together very well. I just don’t understand so much stuff. I just can’t—

  —
Go ahead and cry, Andy. Don’t be afraid of those tears. Sometimes they help to wash the soul clean…. Come on, I’ll take you home.

  How Do I Feel?

  Andy’s First Visit to

  the Psychologist

  DECEMBER 10

  —Andy, my name is Dr. Carrothers. I’m glad you were able to come today. Are you comfortable?

  —Yeah, I guess. Hey, man. I ain’t never seen no black shrink before.

  —Well, here I am. I went to the University of Cincinnati for my undergraduate and master’s degrees. And I got my Ph.D. from Yale.

  —Man, I can’t even pass chemistry. You make a buncha cash?

  —Over ninety dollars an hour.

  —That’s heavy, man. I’m impressed. You must be real smart. I can’t even spell “psychiatrist.”

  —I’m no smarter than you are, Andy. I struggled through high school. I worried about my math grades, and I always had trouble in English composition classes. But I kept going, and I found out that it wasn’t impossible. In college, it got easier, once I figured out that I was as capable as the next dude—maybe more so. And I’m a psychologist, not a psychiatrist.

  —What’s the difference?

  —They make more money. No, just kidding. They can dispense medication, and I don’t. There’s a couple of other differences, but that’s basically it.

  —And you think you can help me?

  —Let’s say that I’m going to try to help you help yourself. I’m no magician.

  —That’s fair. But I still don’t think I need to be here, ‘specially at almost a hundred dollars an hour. Who’s payin’ for this, anyway?

  —Your dad’s insurance, mostly. They feel it’s worth it.

  —Yeah, I guess they would.

  —Now, we both know that your parents have requested this counseling for you, even though you say it’s not necessary. They’re very concerned that the automobile accident in which you were involved may have affected you more than you are aware. We know why they want you to be here. Why do you think you’re here?

  —’Cause I’m depressed. But I don’t need a shrink, not even a smart black shrink. I’m fine. School is fine. Everythin’s just cool. Can I go now?

  —I’ll tell you what, Andy. If, at the end of this hour, you have convinced me that everything is really fine, you don’t have to come back, bet?

  —Bet.

  —Okay, take your time, and just tell me what has happened in your life since that night. It doesn’t have to make sense—just let the thoughts come as they come. Talk to me, Andy. What we say here doesn’t go out of these doors. That’s a promise. You’ll be surprised how much better you will feel if you just talk about some of the jumbled up thoughts in your head.

  —Well, if you say so. But I really am okay now. I have headaches sometimes, and I can’t sleep some nights, but I feel a whole lot better than I did right after the accident.

  —How did you feel then?

  —Like a piece of crap.

  —Why?

  —’Cause it was my fault that Rob died.

  —Why do you say that?

  —I was drinkin’. I was drivin’.

  —Do you think Rob blames you?

  —I don’t know. Probably not. He was such a cool dude. He took everythin’ real easy. Nothin’ hardly ever upset him.

  —So maybe you’re blaming yourself for something that Rob forgives you for?

  —Maybe.

  —What was it like when you first went back to school?

  —Most of my friends were very understandin’, and most of my teachers were cool—as cool as teachers can get—they do have their limits, you know. Some of ‘em smiled a lot. Most of ‘em just kept pilin’ on the homework like nothin’ had happened. None of ‘em ever took the time to sit down and talk to me, and ask me if I was havin’ any problems, except Coach Ripley. He’s an okay dude.

  —He’s your basketball coach?

  —Yeah. But like I said, I don’t really care. I can take it.

  —You can take what? Did you get any negative reactions from people at school?

  —There were a few bad things that happened—like the note I found taped to my locker that said, “Killer!” And the kids who wouldn’t look at me in the face. I never figured out if they was embarrassed or angry, but most people adjusted.

  —How did you feel about that? The note on your locker. Do you think you’re a killer?

  —Naw, man. I ain’t no killer. I never wanted to hurt nobody. But he’s just as dead. What difference does it make?

  —It makes a lot of difference, Andy. Don’t you think Robbie knows that you didn’t mean to hurt him?

  —I don’t know, man. And I sure can’t ask Robbie, can I?

  —Why not? Pretend I’m Rob. Ask me.

  —You ain’t Rob.

  —I know that and you know that and even Rob knows that. But let’s just try it and see what happens. Ask Rob if he blames you.

  —I’m sorry, Rob. How can I ever make you know how sorry I am?

  —I know you are, Andy. It’s okay. Really. I don’t blame you. Maybe all of this was meant to be. We can’t always see the big picture, you know.

  —Yeah, man. But it’s rough…. Hey, that’s enough of this stupid pretendin.’

  —Okay. That was great. Tell me about basketball. What’s that been like for you without Rob?

  —How do you know about me and basketball? You workin’ from a script?

  —No, Andy. In my initial interview with your parents, they shared with me what they thought was important to your life—things like basketball. It was all very surface information. There’s a lot about you that they don’t really know.

  —You ain’t lyin’ there, man. You could talk to them all day and never find out anythin’ about me.

  —Do you think your parents understand your problems?

  —Heckee, no! Sometimes I think my parents ain’t got no grip on reality. My mother lives in “la-la land.” Do you know that she still says “Negro?” and refuses to call us black or African-American? At least she doesn’t say “colored.” She says that her skin is not black and never will be and that she doesn’t know anyone from Africa; why should she change what has worked perfectly well all of her life? I’ve given up tryin’ to convert her.

  —What kinds of things is she interested in?

  —She’s active in her sorority activities, which to me seems kinda stupid. You got a bunch of black women (forgive me, Mother), who graduated from college twenty-five years ago, who meet once a month to talk about the good old days. That reminds me—she keeps the station on her car radio set to one of those oldies stations. If I hear the Supremes one more time, I think I’ll scream!

  —Does she ever listen to your music?

  —Be for real! Anyway, they plan meaningless activities like cotillions for girls like Rhonda and Keisha. She once asked me if I would like to be an escort for one of the girls.

  —What’d you say?

  —I almost died! Me? Put on a tuxedo and dance the waltz with some pimply faced girl whose major goal in life is to master the bass trombone? I don’t think so. So me and my mom kinda stay out of each other’s way. We don’t dislike each other—we just don’t think alike.

  —What about your dad?

  —My dad is another one who can’t deal with the real world, although he doesn’t think so. He’s active in the Republican party—yes, I said “Republican.” Isn’t that disgustin’?

  —If you say so.

  —He’s got a good job workin’ at Proctor and Gamble, where his main function, as far as I can tell, is kissin’ up to white people. He’s the vice president of somethin’ or other—some office they created when affirmative action was real popular. He’s got a car phone and a fax machine—I guess he thinks he’s got it made. But he doesn’t make it to very many of my basketball games—too busy, or out of town, usually.

  —Does that bother you?

  —Yeah, sometimes.

  —Do you think h
e realizes how that hurts you?

  —Man, he hasn’t got the slightest idea what I think about or care about. He once told me that he hoped I’d go into the business world with him when I finished college. But I plan to use my lips for kissin’ beautiful women, not the soles of some bald-headed white man’s feet. You know, I can’t even remember the last time he was in my room. He yells at me through the door every once in a while to turn my music down, but he never comes in. I wonder why.

  —Why don’t you ask him?

  —Naw, man. I ask him a question, and I get a lecture. I gave up askin’ him questions when I was twelve years old. It’s easier that way.

  —What about your little brother?

  —Now you talkin’. The only one in my family who is really cool is my little brother, Monty. But I worry about him. I think when he gets to be my age, he’s goin’ to have a lot of problems. I know he’s only six, but he doesn’t think black is cool. And he’s got this thing for little girls with yellow hair—yeah, I worry about the kid sometimes.

  —Are your parents concerned?

  —My parents are no help—they don’t even know there is a problem, let alone how to solve it. Monty gets a lot of attention from them, though, more than they ever gave me. I’m not jealous, but I think they like him better. He’s still cute and charmin’ and hasn’t started to get rebellious or misunderstood yet.

  —Like you?

  —Like me.

  —So, how’s it going, now that you’re playing ball again?

  —It was hard at first gettin’ used to Rob’s empty seat at school and going’ by his locker. But basketball, instead of bein’ harder, got easier. It’s like I could work out my feelings on the basketball court. The coach gave me his position—center.

  —How’d you feel about that?

  —I felt proud, but I also felt a little guilty because I never coulda won that position from him. He was the best center that Hazelwood ever had.

  —So why did you accept the position?

  —I decided that he woulda wanted me to have it, so I worked really hard, and I really improved my game. I’m averaging seventeen points a game.