It’s sneakers, but
NOT Air Jordans.
NOT even almost-like-Jordans.
Inside the Foot Locker bag
is a pair
of corny red low-top
PRO-Keds.
What do you think, honey? I know they’re not the Michael Jordans you wanted, but they’re cute. Don’t you like them?
she asks.
Thank you, Mom. I, uh, do. I do, I lie, hoping
that tomorrow
the relatives are feeling
generous
so I can get
some real sneakers.
The Fourth
In the backyard
there’s family
and disco music
and dancing
and burgers
and BBQ
and little cousins in diapers
and potato salad
and flies
and old aunts playing dominos
and loud talking
and love
and fried fish
and more flies
and drunk uncles handing out cash
and grape soda
and beer
and chicken
and me
and Roxie
and the promise
of a hoop
in our very near
future.
How hot is it out here?
my Uncle Richard says,
wiping his face
with the bath towel
draped around
his tank-topped chest.
It’s so hot, his boyfriend responds, I saw a coyote chasing a jackrabbit and they were both walking, which NO ONE laughs at.
Granddaddy hollers, It’s so hot even the Devil took the day off, which EVERYBODY laughs at.
Basketball Rule
I ask Roxie, who’s dancing with a
chicken wing in her mouth, if she’s
okay, and she says, Losing
is a part of the game.
There’s always rain in
spring. Champions
dance through the
storm. I’m
good.
Let’s Ball
Roxie and I
are just going
to shoot basketball
for a little while, I say
to Mom,
who wants me
to stick around
and spend time
with my family.
I promise, I’ll just
be gone
for a little while.
Okay, she says, but be safe, Charlie, and don’t be out there too long. It’s ninety-nine degrees out here.
It’s just a few hours, and we’ll take breaks so we don’t get overheated, I add, and she kisses me goodbye.
The Plan
When we’re blocks away
from the house
and the smell
of hot sauce
and fried fish
is faint
in the air,
and we’ve played
three games
of one-on-one
and she’s won them all,
and we’re both swimming
in a river
of perspiration,
I tell Roxie
I need
to do something.
What?
I just got to go do something.
Do something like what?
I just need to run an errand.
Run an errand. Chuck, what are you even talking about?
I’ll meet you back here in two or three hours, okay?
No, it’s not okay. I’m not staying out here for three hours by myself
You’ve stayed out here longer than that, Roxie.
But not on the Fourth. I’m going back to the reunion.
Just don’t tell anyone I’m not out here.
I’m not lying for you, Chuck.
I seem to remember I was minding my business, reading my comics, when someone pulled me away to play a game because their teammate got hurt, and if I remember correctly, she told me, I’ll owe you. Anything. C’mon, this is really important to me.
. . .
I just gotta go do something, okay?
Fine.
Thanks, Roxie.
. . .
One more thing: which train will take me to northeast DC?
I get off the train
and the heat
punches me in the face.
I walk two blocks,
take a left,
just like Roxie told me,
and there, on the corner,
two blocks away
from Skate Castle,
is a convenience store,
a Chinese takeout,
and Soul Brothers pizzeria,
where Skinny is
standing outside
eating a slice
while his terrible cousin
Ivan
holds up
the corner
lamppost
with a bunch
of older guys
with skates
hung over
their shoulders,
drinking from
bottles
hidden in
brown paper bags.
Waiting in Line
Hey, Skinny.
Yo, you came.
Yep. I don’t have my skates, though.
You got money, right?
Forty-three dollars.
WHOA! That’s fresh to death. Where’d you get the loot?
My grandma and uncles.
Your family is rich.
Nah, not really.
I’ma be rich when I grow up too.
. . .
Want a slice of pizza?
I wanna skate. C’mon, let’s go to the rink. I gotta be back soon.
We gotta wait in line. They haven’t opened the rink yet.
Who’re those guys with Ivan?
Some guys from around the way.
Y’all want something to drink, punks? Ivan says to us, drinking from the bottle in his paper bag.
We’re good, Skinny says.
Skinny, your cousin Randy’s working, right? Can he really get me some sneakers for a discount?
Yeah, he’s in there, Charlie. C’mon, let’s go, Skinny says, following Ivan, who walks away with his crew of guys.
Fight
It’s hot out here. How long we gotta wait in line, Skinny?
Stop sweating, Charlie, he says, which is
ironic, because
he’s the only one sweating
like a pig.
I gotta be back home in like an hour and a half.
The line is moving, see.
Hold my bag, Ivan shouts, and you better not put it down.
He tosses
his backpack
to Skinny,
then runs
toward the front
of the line
with his crew,
who start chasing
this other
crew of guys
like they’re about
to throw down.
Inside
Skate Castle
are security guards
with guns,
Which is weird,
Skinny says,
for a skating rink.
I agree.
The DJ plays
“I Wanna Rock with You”
and we stare
in awe
at the boys and girls
skating.
I mean, they got moves
like water,
rhythm
like waves.
Just as I’m talking
with Skinny
about how I miss CJ
we see Ivan
walk through
the front door
of the rink
drenched
in sweat
with specks
> of blood
on his shirt
and a sneaker
in his hand.
And just as he’s telling us
about the beatdown
they just dished out
on somebody
who was clownin’ them,
and just as he’s bragging
about how he
slapped some boy
so silly
the kid ran away
with just one shoe on,
someone yells
GUN!
C’MON, CHARLIE, RUN!
Skinny screams,
jetting, and forgetting
the backpack
sitting on the floor
next to us.
I pick it up
and run too.
Fast.
I make it
out of the rink
Just as I hear
a shot
and see Skinny
and Ivan
taking off
back down
the block.
I follow
behind them
past the graffiti
past the pizza shop
and I’m about
to catch up
when the strap
on Ivan’s cheap backpack
breaks
and falls
and so do I.
Déjà Vu
There is one tragic sound that still jolts
me, that terrorizes my heart
and menaces me so bad
that I can’t breathe. A sound
that petrifies me
and sends me in-
to total
freak-out
mode . . .
SIRENS
close in, and
I. Can’t. Move.
STOP! POLICE!
Skinny looks back
like he’s gonna come back
for me.
He does.
He sprints
like he’s running
for the gold.
Or his life (and mine).
I see Ivan looking back,
motioning
for me
to get up,
to bring the bag,
but I can’t move.
He puts a finger
to his lips,
mouths Shhhh,
and then
he runs. Away
from us.
Skinny tries
to help me up,
but it’s too late.
The blue lights
the white noise
have closed in
on me
on us
and I have no idea
what’s going on
and I can’t move.
HANDS BEHIND YOUR BACK!
LISTEN TO MY COMMAND!
blue uniforms
swallow me.
Piercing sirens
scorch
my ears
and I see
real guns
pointed directly
at me
and Skinny.
The Crime
In Ivan’s backpack
is a brown bag
with three sandwich bags
filled with
cannabis
a.k.a. reefer
a.k.a. pot
a.k.a. we’re both getting
handcuffed
for possession
of MARIJUANA.
Arrested
We sit in the back
of the police car,
scared stiff—hands
cuffed behind
our backs—siren
still torturing me,
as we speed
through red lights
into the unknown.
You okay? Skinny whispers.
You knew he had those drugs? I whisper back.
Naw, I didn’t know.
. . .
. . .
Why didn’t you keep running?
Two amigos. That’s how we roll, he whispers.
Hey, shut up back there, the cop says.
Locked Up
When we get
to the police station,
the policemen separate
me and Skinny
take us each up
the stairs
into separate
rooms with
nothing
on the walls,
a table
in the middle,
and two dirty metal chairs
with grime and
what looks like blood
caked on them.
Write your parents’ phone number down, he barks, handing me a pen and a notepad.
Do you have to call them?
Well, either that or I can lock you up for the weekend. The judge is gone for the night, kid, and he won’t be back until Monday morning, and since you had more than two ounces in your possession, technically we could arrest you as an adult, and—
Okay, I say, scared straight, writing down my Granddaddy’s phone number before he has a chance to finish the sentence.
You want some water?
No.
Fine with me. Stay put, he says, laughing, then
walking out
and slamming the door
on what little piece
of joy
and fun
I thought
I’d found
this summer.
Things I Think About While I’m in Jail
If I ever get out of here, I’m gonna do better
I’m gonna go out and save the world
Carry groceries for old ladies
Rescue cats out of trees
I’m gonna practice basketball every day
Have the best crossover in the land
I’m gonna go to school and never skip
I’m gonna listen to all the coaches in my life
I’m gonna love my family
I’m gonna clean up my room
Cut my Granddaddy’s grass with a smile
I’m gonna write CJ back
Listen to my mother
I’m gonna go to the cemetery.
I’m gonna visit my father.
Tell him I’m sorry.
If I ever get out of here, I’m gonna do better
I promise
I just repeat this over
and over
and close my eyes
and imagine
the Black Panther
busting through the door
to save me.
The Black Panther
does not walk through
the door, but
a man wearing a silver suit,
big glasses,
and a cowboy hat does.
My Granddaddy’s friend, Mr. Smith,
walks in
with,
uh-oh,
Granddaddy.
Consequence (Part Three)
Thank you for calling me, Smitty.
Granddaddy, I was—
Shut. YOUR. MOUTH. Chuck. You hear me?
I nod.
Seems he and another boy were caught with the bag. We don’t think it belongs to them, but the boys aren’t talking.
Might be good for him to spend a night in jail, Smitty.
I can do that if you like, Percy, but you sure you want to upset Alice like that?
Granddaddy, I’m sorry, I won’t—
You still talking? I thought I said not to. And stop all that, he says, crying, which I’ve been doing since this all started. You made your bed, now sleep in it.
Chief, here’s the paperwork, the policeman that arrested me says, coming into the room and handing a folder to Mr. Smith.
Yep, I think we’re good here, Percy, you can take him. Chuck, I expect more out of you, son. We all do, Mr. Smith says to me. You and your friend shouldn’t get caught up in these streets.
Yes, sir, I manage to say
, through tears and sniffles.
Now get outta here!
So I do.
Fast.
Freedom
It takes
my grandfather
almost twenty minutes
before he speaks
a single word to me
and then he doesn’t stop
except to hear my
yessirs every now
and then.
He exits
the highway
near the airport,
then pulls into
a viewing lot
where people
can watch
planes take off
and land.
And we just sit there.
What do you have to say for yourself?
There’s a Hole In my Soul
The drugs weren’t mine. I was just hanging with Skinny and his cousin Ivan. It was Ivan’s bag.
I told you before and I’ll tell you again, Chuck. This is a team sport. You can surround yourself with people who don’t play by the rules, or you can surround yourself with those who do. But if you choose wrong, don’t start complaining when the coach takes you out the game. You hear me?
Yessir.
You put the wrong people on your team and you gonna lose every time, whether you meant to or not. You understand?
Yes, sir.
You want to lose or you want to win, Chuck?
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