Rebound

by Kwame Alexander

  Today, Old Lady Wilson fell

  and the ambulance came,

  but don’t worry, Charlie—

  she’s okay, she didn’t break anything,

  just bruised her hip,

  so my dad said Harriet

  could stay with us tonight,

  but when I brought her home

  she was acting despondent,

  as in glum and unhappy,

  probably because

  she misses Old Lady Wilson

  or she misses home

  or she misses you.

  I miss you too, Charlie Bell.

  Write me back.

  goodbye

  CJ

  PS. In 1941, a Great Dane named Juliana saved a whole family. A bomb fell on their house and she peed on it (the bomb), which of course diffused it. She got a Blue Cross Medal for that. Random, I know, but interesting fact, right?

  PPS. Did you know that PS means “postscript, ” as in an afterthought, as in you still have some more things to say after you finish writing. Pretty cool, right?! Have a great Fourth of July, Charlie Bell!

  I read

  and reread

  her letter,

  then fall asleep

  with it

  next to my pillow

  and my endless smile.

  Practice

  I shoot

  free throws,

  dribble

  with Roxie

  at the Club,

  and then

  when we get home

  we go to the park

  to practice

  some more.

  I pretend

  I’m Curly,

  crossing the ball

  from one hand

  over to the other

  and back again

  like fifty times.

  You get a good

  crossover, Charlie,

  and you’ll catch

  your opponent

  off-balance.

  Like this, Roxie, I say,

  boasting

  and crossing

  her up,

  but not fast enough,

  ’cause she steals

  the ball

  like a thief.

  No, like this, she says,

  crossing me so fast

  I almost sprain

  my ankle

  trying to

  get the ball back.

  More Practice

  We play

  till the moon floats

  across the sky

  way past

  the time

  the streetlights

  illuminate

  the court

  till my legs

  are anchors

  in a sea of tired

  but we stay long

  after playground swings

  stop swinging

  and the crickets

  stop singing

  and even then

  I wanna play some more.

  Pickup Game

  At the Club, it’s no pinball for me.

  No comic books for me. I don’t

  even care who has the high

  score on Pac-Man today.

  Today, I hit the

  hardwood. Play a

  pickup game.

  Ballin’.

  SWISH!

  I don’t score

  a lot of points

  but I do cross

  this one dude

  over like a bridge

  and I do jump

  so high

  to get a ball

  my fingers

  touch the net

  and I do

  catch a pass

  with one hand

  from Wink

  and I do alley-oop Roxie

  who skyrockets

  to the net

  with a lay-up

  and we do

  win.

  Guess Who

  Good game, champ.

  Yo, what’s up, Skinny!

  YO YO YO!

  You watched?

  Dang, Charlie. I didn’t know you got game.

  I taught him everything he knows, Roxie interrupts, coming up from behind. Hi, I’m Roxie, Charlie’s favorite cousin. Who might you be? I’ve never seen you around here before.

  I’m Charlie’s homeboy. Skinny’s the name, and hoops is my game, but love is my claim to fame.

  Can you play? Roxie asks him.

  Does the sun shine?

  Well, today it doesn’t, ’cause it’s raining, so I guess not, she says, rolling her eyes.

  Your cousin’s a PYT, Skinny says.

  A what? Roxie snaps, with a frown.

  A pretty young thing, Skinny says, laughing and trying to high-five me, but I leave him hanging.

  I know what it is, silly, but it’s rude.

  I was just—

  Yeah, just save it. Charlie, please teach your homeboy how to talk to girls, she says, whipping her braids, walking away.

  I think she likes me. A lot.

  Doubt that.

  You like my kicks?

  YEAH! When did you get them?

  Yesterday. No more K-mart specials for me, Charlie, he says, laughing, showing off his white-on-white stunners. You need a pair of Jordans too.

  I don’t have a hundred dollars.

  You’re a champ, Charlie—don’t look like a chump. Get some real sneaks. My cousin got these for me. For cheap.

  Your cousin? No, thanks. Ivan’s gotten me into enough trouble already, Skinny.

  It’s not Ivan. It’s my other cousin.

  Who?

  Randy. He works at Foot Locker in DC.

  Oh.

  Whatchu doing on the Fourth of July?

  Family reunion party. You want to come? I could ask my mom and grandma.

  Nah, but you should come hang. I’ll introduce you to Randy. If your mom and Grandma will let you, I mean.

  It’s not like I’m locked up or anything.

  Then come to Skate Castle with me. That’s where he works.

  I thought you said he worked at Foot Locker.

  He works both places.

  Where’s the Skate Castle?

  It’s not too far. It’s somewhere in DC. There’s a party there on the Fourth. We can go.

  What kind of party?

  Summer Skate Jam. Six o’clock.

  . . .

  So, you coming?

  Maybe.

  C’mon, Charlie, we can ask Randy to hook you up with some Jordans. Plus, it’s the last time I’ll see you all summer. Let’s get our independence. Get it?

  Yeah, I get it. Maybe.

  Okay, bet.

  I’ll see ya later, Skinny.

  Envy

  As he walks away

  in his slick, sleek

  white sneakers with

  elephant print trim

  and an air cushion

  on the heels

  (to help you jump higher)

  it’s like

  he’s floating

  on air

  or walking

  on water

  and if I had

  a pair

  I could probably

  up my game

  and do all kinds

  of tricks

  like Magic

  and soar

  like Bird.

  If only.

  When I get home

  The man

  in the cowboy hat

  is walking up the driveway.

  Hey, sonny, is Iron Man home?

  Who?

  Your Granddaddy.

  Whatchu doing, Smitty? my grandfather says, coming from around the back of the house with a hammer.

  What are you trying to build now, Percy?

  Always the same thing. Building a better world, Smitty.

  True.

  Alice wants a shed for something or another. I’m not even sure.

  How come your grandson’s not helping you?

  It’s a good que
stion, Smitty. These young folks don’t work like we used to.

  Back in the olden days, I say, when rainbows were black and white.

  Percy, your grandson’s trying to joke us.

  Nice to see you, sir. Granddaddy, I’ll be back, I say, rushing away before he does ask me to help him with the shed.

  Conversation at Roxie’s Front Door

  I can’t play right now, Chuck.

  Why?

  I’m going to the movies.

  Oh.

  I’d invite you to come, but it’s just girls.

  . . .

  Here’s my ball. You can take it to the court and practice.

  Thanks.

  Work on your crossover and your lay-ups, Charlie. We got a big game on Friday, and we can’t afford for you to mess up.

  A big game? What do you mean?

  You saw the poster for the three-on-three Hoop Stars game on Friday, right?

  Yeah, the Boys and Girls Club is playing the YMCA.

  Exactly, and they’re our rivals. They beat us last year, and they never stopped bragging. How do I know this? Because I go to the same school as two of their players, and they literally bragged about it every day at lunch, and it was unbearable, Chuck. I tell ya, unbearable. So, you gotta be ready.

  Be ready for what?

  Be ready to play!

  I’m playing?

  You’re exhausting.

  But what about Grover?

  His mom doesn’t want him to get hurt again, so she said he can’t play.

  Oh.

  So, it’s me, you, and Wink.

  Oh.

  Now go practice. I gotta get dressed and put on my makeup.

  Wait, you wear makeup?

  Bye, Charlie Bell.

  Bye.

  Solo

  Nobody’s on the court

  but me,

  so I play against

  myself,

  missing jump shots,

  grabbing rebounds,

  making lay-ups,

  ballin’ like a champ.

  The two old men

  are still sitting

  on the porch

  when I return

  a few hours later,

  their faces lit

  by the fading sun,

  sleeping, snoring, and

  I don’t want

  to wake them,

  so I tiptoe

  up the stairs

  when outta nowhere

  Mr. Smitty screams

  FREEZE! and points

  an imaginary gun

  at me

  and I almost jump

  outta my own skin

  and then they both

  sit up

  and start laughing

  like madmen.

  You got him, Smitty, my grandfather says. Sorry, Chuck—Smitty had too many hours fighting crime today.

  You can’t out-joke a joker, Smitty screams, slapping his knee and laughing so hard he almost falls out of the chair.

  Say good night to your grandfather and Mr. Smith, Grandma says, holding open the front door.

  I do, then

  follow her

  in the door

  to sanity.

  Come sit down in the kitchen. I want to show you something, she says.

  She pulls out

  a scrapbook

  of family pictures

  of people

  who look familiar

  but I have no memory

  of.

  Percival Bell, Age 22

  This is your grandfather

  when I first met him.

  He was sharp

  as a tack, cool

  as a summer breeze,

  serious as thunder

  in his light blue polo

  and matching pants,

  with black belt

  and air force boots.

  I was at the train station

  with my parents

  waiting for

  my grandparents

  to arrive

  when he got off the train

  and this girl

  I knew from school

  come running up to him,

  kissing on him

  so fast,

  she almost knocked

  me over.

  I saw him

  staring at me

  and I turned away quick

  ’cause I didn’t want

  him to know

  I’d been staring too.

  But he knew.

  I think he knew,

  ’cause he found out

  where I went to church,

  which was pretty easy

  ’cause it was only two churches:

  the Baptist

  and the Methodist.

  He showed up

  that Sunday, tried

  to talk with me, and

  I ignored him.

  ’Cause he had a girlfriend.

  Yes, because he had a girlfriend!

  Tell ’im what happened next, Alice. Tell ’im, Granddaddy says, walking in the front door.

  They were always fussing and—

  She fussed a lot. Get it straight, Alice.

  And the next thing I know, they broke up—

  Who is the other guy in the picture, Grandma? In the uniform, walking behind Granddaddy.

  Jordan Bell, Age 23

  Your grandfather’s brother

  was a jokester,

  liked to laugh a lot

  and yap a lot,

  especially on

  the football field,

  and to the girls

  at church.

  Your grandfather

  was sweet

  as apples, straight

  as the pleats

  on his pants,

  like a gentleman should be.

  But your Uncle Jordan,

  he was a bona-fide mess,

  always the loud one,

  the life of the party.

  They were both

  on leave

  for three weeks, and

  by the time

  they left

  Jordan Bell knew

  everybody’s name

  and they all knew his,

  God rest his soul.

  The girl

  that was kissing

  on Percy

  at the train station—her name

  was Ruth—never

  spoke

  to either of us

  again.

  And, I fell

  I fell so deep

  in love

  with him,

  it’s like I was drowning

  in pure joy.

  Now, that’s deep, Charlie, she says, laughing

  and turning the page.

  Joshua Bell, Age 37

  That’s your father

  playing catch with you

  in the front yard.

  He was handsome

  as a Hollywood actor,

  just like you.

  You want a son like him, Charlie,

  that’s what you want.

  Just a joy to—

  Now, why are you lying to that boy, Alice? Granddaddy interrupts. Tell him the truth.

  Family History

  Don’t say that, Percy. Josh was a good boy.

  He was a cut-up, a knucklehead going nowhere fast. No plan, no purpose. If it weren’t for the air force, he would’ve been in a world of trouble.

  I seem to remember you were a bit of a cut-up back in the day too, Percy.

  We’re not talking about me right now, Alice.

  Charlie, your father was a good man, just took him a little longer to find his way. That war straightened him out, though.

  He told me he didn’t like it.

  He may not have liked it, but it made a man out of him.

  That war didn’t make him who he was, Charlie. Your momma did that.

  I agree with that, too, Alice.

  Josh didn’t stand a chance when he met her.
She just looked at him and he melted like butter. Heck, me too.

  They were so cute.

  Yeah, real cute, Alice. Now how about we stop all the reminiscing.

  We can all use some good remembering from time to time, right, Percy?

  I guess you right, Alice. I guess you right, Granddaddy says, kissing her on the cheek, then rubbing my bushy head. But after we get finished with the memories, Chuck’s got to get to work.

  Work?

  The grass.

  But, Granddaddy, it’s almost too dark to see—

  Well, you better get to cutting, before you can’t see.

  Phone Message

  Hey, Mom,

  it’s me, Charlie.

  I just cut

  the grass

  at night.

  I can’t wait to see you

  at the cookout

  on Saturday,

  and can you bring

  my skates, please,

  and some

  of our records,

  ’cause Granddaddy plays

  jazz nonstop

  in the house

  in the car

  and it’s annoying

  and I can’t get this one song

  out of my head

  and I want some

  new sneakers,

  Air Jordans,

  PLEAAAASSSSEEE!