’cause all the old folks
cheered her on
during the Soul Train line.
She was short, shy,
kinda goofy,
and honestly
she had no rhythm
at all.
But all that’s changed now,
’cause Roxie Bell
is a giant
with a crown
of braids, tall
as a sequoia,
and she walks
like there’s music
in her roots.
She gets
in the truck
with a lunch bag
in one hand
and a basketball
in the other, leans
over the seat,
kisses Granddaddy,
stares at me,
punches me
in the arm,
then starts yapping
a mile a minute.
What’s up with girls
always hitting boys
and whatnot.
Conversation (One-sided)
What’s happening, Charlie-boy?
I heard you were coming
to the big city.
You play basketball?
HOW ABOUT THOSE LAKERS?
My father said
he’d take me
to see them
when they play
the Bullets next season
if I keep
my grades up.
You make As
or Bs?
Don’t tell me you make Cs?
I know Aunt Gloria doesn’t
tolerate Cs. I got straight-As
all this year. Booyah!
I’m only gonna be here
for half the summer,
then I’m going to basketball camp.
I’m playing JV next year.
Starting center, that’s why
I’m going to camp, to
practice my rebounding.
You know how to rebound,
Charlie?
You always gotta be prepared
to grab the ball.
That’s what Granddad says, right, Granddad?
Oh, I’m sorry, Charlie. I’m
real sorry about
what happened to your dad.
I think I liked it better
when she was shy.
She Got Game
As soon as we get to
the Boys and Girls Club,
Roxie dribbles her ball
to the gym
and starts shooting.
She doesn’t stop
for hours.
My grandfather
introduces me
as his grandson Chuck
to everybody
who works there,
including the lady
who makes the hot dogs
and sweet tea,
which she pours
into a big plastic cup
for me.
He sits behind a desk
at the front door
and tells me
to go have fun,
which is not
playing Pac-Man,
since the machine is
out of order.
Instead, I head
for the gym
take a seat
in the bleachers
pull out
issue #12:
Meet the Incredible Hulk,
and pretend
like I’m not in awe
watching
Roxie silently make
every shot
before trash-talking
a bunch of stunned boys
in a game
of Around the World.
HEY, CHARLIE, COME PLAY A GAME WITH US
Roxie screams
from the court,
where she’s been putting
on a show,
and of course
that’s not gonna happen,
especially in these
busted kicks I’m wearing.
Plus, I’d just make a fool
of myself, ’cause
I’m no good,
so, yeah: absolutely NO WAY!
Four Hours Later
On the way home
Roxie tells us
that she shot
200 free throws,
150 lay-ups
75 jump shots,
and played six pickup games, then
she falls
asleep hard,
which leaves me
and Granddaddy
and boring jazz.
Jazz
This is Miles Davis
at his best, he says,
snapping his fingers.
That’s all kinda blues
under the hood.
The syncopated rhythms,
the flatted fifths,
and just you wait
till Coltrane’s sax solo
starts up.
That’s when the car’s
gonna really take off.
VROOOMMMM!
Roxie—who wakes up
at the first
trumpet blast—and I
both say, at the same time,
Huh?
It’s a metaphor, he says
as we drive by
several big
white buildings
on either side of us.
Jazz music
is like an automobile.
That’s a simile, I correct,
which makes Roxie laugh.
Pay attention, now,
he continues.
If jazz were a car,
Miles Davis would be
a convertible Black Mustang GT,
Coltrane would be the Corvette,
and Thelonius Monk, well, that cat
would probably be
a vintage Fiat.
Jazz is smooth.
And slick.
And it takes you places.
Where? Roxie asks, winking at me.
Anywhere you wanna go, he answers.
Granddaddy, what building is that? I ask, pointing to my left.
Chuck, that’s the Bureau of Engraving, where they make the Alexander Hamiltons.
The what? I say.
The ten-dollar bills, says Roxie, reminding me of know-it-all CJ.
The dollars, the cash, the money, Chuck, he continues.
But there’s no jazz in money,
and no money in jazz, he says, laughing out loud.
What if you don’t know where you’re going? I ask.
Doesn’t matter. Jazz’ll take you there. Just listen to those horns and that piano, he says, turning it up even more. That there is some bona-fide gas-guzzling music for ya.
Mom calls
to ask how my day was and to tell me that she saw CJ playing with Old Lady Wilson’s dog. Then she says I miss you, and asks if I miss her and I say, I guess, and then she gets all silent and whatnot . . . So I say, I mean, yes, Mom, I miss you, then I tell her how we were playing Scrabble and Grandma beat us with a word she said describes Granddaddy’s attitude—ornery—and, Mom, I sweat a lot at night ’cause the fan in my room just blows hot air and it’s uncomfortable . . . And speaking of fans, Grandma was washing dishes tonight and the kitchen fan blew her wig right off her head and into the dishwater and she just picked it up, rinsed it out, and slapped it back on . . . And Mom laughs so loud and so long, it reminds me that I haven’t . . . in a while.
Saturday Morning
I tiptoe
in my socks
to the refrigerator
to get a snack.
How he hears me
all the way
from the backyard
I do not know,
but he does.
HEY, CHUCK, GET YOUR CLOTHES ON AND COME HERE, he hollers.
Your grandmother
is out here folding clothes
and I’m fixing thi
s shed
and if you think
we’re gonna work
like the devil
while you lounge
around the house
in your PJs
reading those cartoons
and eating us
out of house
and home
you got another thing coming.
Morning, Charlie—you sleep well?
Yes, ma’am, Grandma.
He’ll sleep all day if you let ’im. Teamwork, Alice!
You want something to eat, Charlie?
Stop babying him, Alice. I swear.
Can I eat first, please? I say.
Champions train, chumps complain, Chuck. Love. Work. Eat. In that order. Time to get in the game, Chuck!
Don’t work him too hard, Percy, Grandma says, walking back inside the house, abandoning me.
No harder than you work me, baby, he says, smiling.
What do I have to do? I ask, hoping he doesn’t make me cut down a tree and whatnot.
Love your family. Work hard. And eat well. That’s all you have to do. Everything else is a want.
Huh?
See that apple tree over there?
Yes.
Them’s my apples
he says,
pointing to
a towering tree
filled with
tiny yellow-green apples.
Ten should do the trick.
Ten? Huh?
Gotta protect ’em from disease and pests. Grab ten apples.
How?
With your hands, son.
I mean, do you have a ladder?
No, but you got legs. Put ’em to use.
You want me to jump.
Unless you’re Superman and you know how to fly.
My grandfather laughs
so loud
the birds
leave
their comfortable perches
for quieter ones
next door.
Then, go over to that peach tree back there, he adds, pointing to a smaller tree, and pick a few of those for your grandmother’s pie. And, be careful, so they don’t get bruised. You got it, Chuck?
I guess, yes, I got it.
Grabbing
I try jumping straight up.
That doesn’t work.
I try climbing the tree.
That doesn’t work.
I stand on a chair
but it sinks into the ground.
So I run and jump
and run and jump
and run
and jump
and RUNNNNNNNNN!
and JUMP
and grab apples
and snatch peaches
and wonder
how I ended up
working
on a farm.
Monday Morning
Halfway to the lake
we see Granddaddy’s friend
in the cowboy hat
walking his
great big ol’
black-brown dog.
Collie Pride’s his name,
Mr. Smith says, then
he and Granddaddy
start laughing
(at what, I don’t know).
Collie Pride buries
his pointed face
and big ears
into me, and
I just pet him,
till he starts
barking
at a boy
on a bike
delivering newspapers.
Grandma, who joined us
for the walk, says
I think
he likes you, Charlie.
Maybe you can walk him sometime.
Sure, I say,
thinking of how
I kinda miss
Harriet Tubman.
Grandma and Granddad talk
about random stuff, like
how the trees
seem taller,
how so-and-so
ought to get
her car fixed,
and if they should
invite Uncle Ted
to the Fourth of July cookout
after the ruckus
he caused
last year.
He almost got himself
put in jail, and I don’t want
these kids around
that kinda nonsense, Percy.
I hear ya, Alice.
I hear ya loud and clear, honey.
Are you excited
about going to the Club
today? she asks.
Yes, ma’am.
Then walk faster, son, Granddad snaps.
We gotta get to work.
Now put some pep
in your step.
I prefer some move
in my groove, I say, just loud enough
for her to laugh,
and him to shake his head.
Work
Roxie makes me
put my hand
in her face
while she shoots
free throws
in the gym.
She makes
twenty
out of forty,
which is pretty cool.
Then she does
the same thing
to me, and
I make
none
out of twenty,
which is not.
Escape to the Arcade
After I get
the top three
high scores
on Pac-Man,
I’m just about
to eat a Popsicle
and read
about how Ant-Man
helped the Fantastic Four
triumph over
their foes
when
Roxie dashes
out of nowhere
says she needs me
and literally
starts pulling me
off the bench
I was chilling on.
WHAT ARE YOU DOING, ROXIE?
Just come on—we need your help!
“We”?
Three-on-Three
In the middle
of a basketball game
going on
in the gym
one of the players
on Roxie’s team—some boy
named Grover—was
going up
for a rebound
and got elbowed
in the face.
His nose
bled a river
so now he’s in
the clinic
and she needs
a sub.
Me.
On the Spot
I told you I don’t really like playing basketball, Roxie.
Of course you do. Plus, you’re tall. Just stand there and catch the ball, then pass it back.
But I can’t.
“Can’t” is a word for losers who are afraid to try.
Don’t call me a loser.
Then try. We only need two points to win.
I just don’t feel like it.
Charlie, we don’t have time for this. The score is tied. First one to eleven wins, and I am not losing to these second-rate villains. Are you gonna help your cousin out or what?
Or what.
I’ll owe you. Anything. C’mon, this is really important to me.
. . .
Thanks, Charlie. You’re the best.
I didn’t say yes, Rox—
Hey, guys, this is my cousin Charlie, she says to the other team before I can argue again. He’s a beast. Y’all better watch out!
Just don’t expect me to shoot, I say to her.
Oh, you don’t have to worry about that, Charlie Bell.
The Score
is 9–9
when Roxie brings
the ball
up the court,
showing off,
dribbling
between her legs,<
br />
behind her back,
the whole time
talking smack
to this redhead
whose teammates
are screaming
at him
to get the ball
from her
but he can’t
’cause she’s like
a magician
and the ball is
her hat
and they all look
at each other
in awe
like she just pulled
a rabbit
out of it
when she fakes
a jumper
then passes
the ball
right between
Red’s legs
to HERSELF
and lays up
an easy point.
Now, THAT was awesome, I think, smiling, and
wishing I could ball like that.
10–9
Red inbounds
the ball to
the boy
I’m checking
but he just dribbles
right past me
so fast
I trip
over myself
trying to keep up
and now it’s three
on two
and they pass
until one of them
finger-rolls
the ball right off the backboard
and into the net.
Rebound Page 7
