Deal With It

by Monica McKayhan

  There was no doubt in my mind—I wanted to know her better. But having a girlfriend definitely made that tricky. The problem was, I happened to actually like my girlfriend, unlike some of my friends on the team, who dated girls for one reason and one reason only. Tameka was smart, funny and had a nice body, too. I enjoyed talking to her on the phone until the wee hours of the morning—even on school nights. And she definitely knew her way around a dance floor and could skate her behind off—backward, too. Not to mention her pops was a music producer. I was just waiting for my opportunity to free-style for him since the first time Tameka told me what he did for a living. She’d promised to tell him about my lyrics. And I knew that once he heard me flow, he’d talk to his people, and I’d be on my way to a multimillion-dollar contract. After that, I wouldn’t even need a full ride to college. I wouldn’t even need to go to college, as a matter of fact. My parents would be disappointed, but they’d get over it after I started throwing cash their way. Mom could get that two-story mini mansion in Buckhead that she’d been eyeballing since they’d posted a For Sale sign in the front yard.

  When I was smaller, she would wake up at the crack of dawn on Saturday mornings. She would scour the garage sales in the areas where rich people lived, like Buckhead. My father was a dentist who made good money. Mom was an attorney who made a nice salary, too, yet she still shopped at garage sales. What was the point in buying other people’s junk when you had good junk of your own? I never understood that.

  “We’re not moving to Buckhead,” my dad kept telling her. “We’re staying right here in College Park. Keep our money in this community.”

  That was the end of that. My father had a way of putting his foot down, and nobody asked any questions once he did. He was often unfair with his reasoning and usually responded with, “Because I said so.” And because he said so, it was so. It was like that when we discussed my future and college plans. In his mind, I was destined to be a Duke man. He’d graduated from Duke and went on to become a dentist. Therefore, it was in the stars that I graduate from Duke and become a dentist. There weren’t any other options, not according to Dad. Most days it depressed me to think about it, so I tried not to.

  Marcus Carter threw me a pass, and I headed down court. With the scout from Grambling gone, I could relax a little bit. As I took a shot from the three-point line and the ball hit the backboard and popped off of the rim, I thought, life can be so bittersweet sometimes.

  After practice I waited for Tameka to get changed and meet me out front. Most nights I drove her home, and sometimes we stopped at McDonald’s and grabbed a burger. Tonight wouldn’t be one of those nights, because I was exhausted. I hoped that my mother had prepared something good for dinner, like my favorite, chicken tortilla soup, or my second favorite, spaghetti with meatballs. It was cold enough for a meal like that, and I needed something to stick to my ribs. I zipped my coat up and braced for the cold. Tameka came rushing toward me, her jacket wide open, her gym bag flung across her shoulder, with a sock hanging out of it, and her shoes untied.

  “What’s up with you?”

  “I almost had a fight in the locker room,” she said.

  “What?” I was shocked.

  “This girl Darla was in there talking trash!” she exclaimed. “I don’t even know why she was in our locker room. She’s not even on the dance team.”

  The minute she said Darla’s name, I didn’t hear anything else she said. I immediately visualized those jeans Darla wore in my American history class, and that smile. I couldn’t imagine her in a catfight with my girlfriend.

  “Let’s go before I have to hurt somebody.” Tameka pushed the glass doors open, and a cool breeze rushed inside.

  She walked briskly toward the parking lot, and once she made it to my car, she stood there, with her arms folded, until I hit the locks. She hopped into the passenger seat, snapped her seat belt on and folded her arms across her chest again. “I can’t stand girls like that. They think they’re so tough when they’re with their girls. But I bet if I had her in a corner by herself, she wouldn’t have been talking all that trash.”

  Tameka ranted the whole way home, and I wondered if Darla was somewhere ranting to her boyfriend, too. Did she even have a boyfriend? And if she did, what would he be like? I wondered if I was her type, or if she even liked athletes. She probably liked nerdy dudes who competed on the debate team or something.

  The smell of chicken tortilla soup filled the house as I stepped inside, dropped my backpack on the kitchen floor. I would know that smell anywhere.

  “Uh-uh. Take that on upstairs to your room,” Mom said, referring to my backpack.

  I kissed her cheek as she poured hot water into a mug for tea.

  “Hey, Ma,” I said.

  “How was practice?” she asked.

  “Usual,” I said, even though it was everything but usual. I changed the subject. “How did it go in court this morning?”

  “Pretty good. The guy got off with probation and community service, so that was a victory for me.”

  My mom was a great attorney. When I was a little boy and she wasn’t able to get a babysitter, she’d drag me along to the courthouse, and I’d sit in the back of the room and watch her work her magic. Even back then, I knew she was good, defensive and sharp. Whatever they brought her way, she had a comeback for it. She would wear the prosecution down and end with a victory every time. I was proud of her. Admired her. I had decided long ago that I wanted to be an attorney just like my mother. My father wanted me to be a dentist, but the truth was, I’d already fallen in love with the law. I liked just watching how cool the judge was, sitting up there on the bench with his black robe on and a gavel in his hand. He had the power to change lives, to send people to prison, if that was what he chose to do. And he could determine how long they stayed in prison, too—three years, twenty years, life. Whatever he wanted to do, the power was in his hands. He just looked so cool, in control. I wanted to be an attorney and then eventually become a judge.

  Mom would always encourage me. “You can be whatever you want to be, baby,” she’d say. “And you don’t even have to decide today. You can decide later. Right now, you just keep your grades up and stay focused. Your future is in your hands.”

  Oh, yeah? Try telling my dad that.

  “That’s cool. I’m glad you won your case,” I said.

  “I made your favorite. Chicken tortilla soup.” She smiled. “Why don’t you go on upstairs and get cleaned up, and I’ll fix you something to eat.”

  “Okay,” I said. “A scout from Grambling was at my practice today.”

  “Really?” She smiled.

  “Mom, I really wanna go there. I’m not really interested in Duke.”

  “I know that, honey.” She touched my face. “Things will work out in your favor.”

  “You think so?” I asked, really wanting an answer. She had always been my biggest cheerleader, my encourager.

  “I know so.” She smiled. “Now go say hello to your father. He’s in his office.”

  I took the stairs two at a time. Once at the top, I peeked into Dad’s office.

  “Hey, Dad.” I announced my presence.

  He was reclined in his chair, his feet on top of the desk, a newspaper in his hand. “Hey, son. Come on in. How was school?”

  “It was cool.”

  “Have a seat.”

  I took a seat in the chair on the other side of my father’s desk, the side where his patients usually sat either before or after he’d pulled their teeth or performed dental procedures that were too painful to think about.

  “Check this out. That Elliott Williams kid is something else.” He handed me the newspaper to read the article myself.

  I looked at the picture of Elliott Williams, Duke’s guard from Memphis, going up for a layup. I scanned the article, which talked about Williams’s high school years at some school in Tennessee, where he averaged 24.7 points, 7.2 rebounds and 7.1 assists for a 24–3 team; and about how he was v
oted Tennessee’s Mr. Basketball. The article also said that he maintained a 3.7 grade-point average, which was about like mine. Colleges were going crazy trying to recruit him.

  “The Blue Devils are lucky to have that boy,” Dad said.

  “He had other choices, though,” I reminded him. “He could’ve gone to Memphis, Virginia, Clemson. They all wanted him.”

  “But he chose Duke,” Dad said, right before his phone rang. “Now what does that say about the school?”

  When Dad answered his phone, I tried to excuse myself from his office, but he motioned for me to stay. I patiently waited as he finished his conversation.

  Once he hung up, he said, “Your mom and I are going to Philly this weekend to see your grandmother. We need to make some decisions about her health, review her medicines and make sure she’s taking the right things. Besides, she’s missing us like crazy.”

  “Yeah, I miss her, too,” I said.

  My grandmother was aging quickly. Just last year she’d been traveling to places like Las Vegas and the Caribbean with her friends. Then, after her stroke, she could barely even talk. She didn’t seem like the same grandmother who used to take me to the corner deli in Philly for a real Philadelphia cheesesteak when I was a little boy, or to a 76ers game at the Wachovia Center. Nobody was a bigger 76ers fan than her.

  “Anyway, we are leaving early Friday morning and will probably be back on Sunday night. That should get you and Lori back in time for school on Monday.”

  “Do I have to go?” I asked. “I have a game on Friday night, and I really can’t miss it.”

  “Your grandmother is really looking forward to seeing you, son. She hasn’t seen you since Thanksgiving.”

  “I know, Dad. And I really miss her, but this is important to me. If anybody would understand, it would be Grandma. She understands basketball,” I pleaded.

  “You’re right about that,” Dad agreed. “I don’t see why you have to go. You can stay,” he said. “I just need for you to handle yourself in a responsible manner while we’re gone. Take care of the house like a man.”

  Staying home alone was nothing new to me. I’d done it before.

  “Is Lori going with you guys?” I asked. My weekend would be destroyed if my little sister was staying home with me.

  “Yes, Lori’s going,” Dad said. “You’ll be here by yourself. Are you okay with that?”

  “I’m fine with that.”

  Dad’s phone buzzed again.

  “I gotta take this,” he said, “but we’ll talk later.”

  I excused myself and went down the hall to my bedroom. Excited about the fact that I would have the whole house to myself for an entire weekend, my adrenaline started flowing. What could be better than this? I dropped my backpack in the middle of the floor and fell backward onto the bed. I was tired. Practice was exhausting. Coach had acted like he had an attitude with us or something, and we all felt it. I shut my eyes for a moment. I needed a shower bad just to soothe my aching muscles, but I didn’t even feel like turning it on. I couldn’t move.

  “Mom said come and eat, stupid.” Lori popped her head inside my doorway.

  I looked up and glared at my sister. Her best friend, Nina, stood next to her.

  “Hi, Vance.” Nina waved and smiled.

  “Hey, Nina.” I gave her a nod.

  “Ooh, did something die in here? It stinks!” Lori said. “You need to clean up this rat hole.”

  “Get out!” I yelled. I wasn’t in the mood for my sister and her stupidity.

  “You’d better get downstairs and eat,” Lori said and then disappeared. A few seconds later she appeared in the doorway again. “Right now.”

  Nina, who stood next to her, giggled and waved again. Twelve-year-old girls were silly.

  My body wanted to hop in the shower. My mind told me to get up. My stomach growled and wanted food. But I couldn’t move. I lay there, completely clothed—coat and all—my eyes facing the ceiling. When my cell phone buzzed, I knew it was Tameka calling, but I didn’t even have the energy to pull the phone out of my pocket.

  Before long I had drifted off to a point of no return.

  four

  Indigo

  There were stop lines, no-passing lines, crosswalk lines, edge lines, lane lines—too many lines to remember which was which—but I did the best that I could. Daddy patiently sat in the waiting area as I took the written exam for my learner’s permit. He’d spent lots of time over the past few weeks preparing me for this, going over the driver’s manual and quizzing me on the rules and regulations found inside. He’d also allowed me to practice driving a few times in the school’s parking lot. And he hadn’t fussed very much when I ran over the orange cones while trying to parallel park.

  “Driving takes practice, Indi,” he’d kept saying.

  Driving also took coordination. And coordination I had. After all, I was a member of the hottest dance team in the Atlanta metro area. I knew how to move one part of my body while moving another part at the same time. But for some reason, when it came to moving the front tires of a car in the opposite direction of the steering wheel in order to parallel park, I had absolutely no coordination whatsoever. The good thing was, I knew the driver’s manual inside and out: I had studied it every day since the beginning of the school year. And that was all I needed for a learner’s permit. By the time I turned seventeen, I would have parallel parking down to a science. I was already enrolled in drivers’ ed for the upcoming summer, so there I would learn all the ins and outs of maneuvering a car.

  I took a seat next to Daddy in the waiting area and dug deep into my Baby Phat purse in search of a piece of gum. I popped my last piece of Big Red into my mouth and glanced up at the huge clock on the wall. It was ten o’clock on a Saturday morning, and I was just minutes away from being legally able to drive in the state of Georgia—that is, as long as there was an adult in the car. I didn’t care that it wasn’t a full-blown driver’s license. A permit was good enough for now. I could hardly sit still in my chair, thinking about it. All I needed was a fly photo, I thought as I pulled my compact out and took a glance in the mirror. My hair was okay. I dabbed on a bit of lip gloss, smacked my lips together and rubbed a little bit of sleep from the corner of my eye with my fingernail.

  I tucked the compact away, sat up straight in my chair and asked Daddy, “So, can I drive us home?”

  “Hmm.” He thoughtfully placed his finger on his chin. “You think you can handle that, Indi? Home is a long way from here. It’s not like driving in the school’s parking lot, and it’s not our regular practice route.”

  “Daddy, I have to learn how to drive on regular roads if I’m ever going to get my license,” I said. “Of course I can handle it.”

  “Well, you know there are some tricky twists and turns between here and home.”

  “Daddy, it’s a straight shot.”

  “But there’s that left turn on Jonesboro Road. You know, the one right there at the BP station,” he said. “And that’s a pretty busy intersection right there by the Rib Shack.”

  “You worry too much. I can handle it.”

  “Well, if you think you can handle it—” Daddy smiled nervously “—then I guess you can drive us home.”

  Yes! I exclaimed silently, where only God and I could hear. I didn’t say it out loud, because I didn’t want Daddy thinking I was too excited, too eager. I had to appear calm and in control. “That’s cool. Don’t worry. I’ll get you home safe and sound.”

  I gave the woman behind the counter a subtle smile as she snapped my picture. Didn’t want my smile to be too big. I wanted to be laid-back and have a somewhat sexy look on my face. After all, I would be using the permit as ID, too. There was no telling who might be checking out my photo. When she handed me the laminated piece of plastic, I wanted to skip to the car. I couldn’t resist showing it off to the nerdy girl with braces who had sat next to me during the exam. Both of us had nervously toiled over the answers to the multiple-choice questions. N
ow she sat nervously next to her mother in the waiting area.

  “Got mine,” I told her, with a huge smile on my face. “What about you?”

  She dropped her head. “I didn’t pass.”

  “For real?” I felt bad for her. “You know you can always take it again.”

  “I know. I’ll have to come back another day,” she said. “But congratulations to you, though.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and then I gave her a smile and followed Daddy to the parking lot.

  He tossed me the keys to the truck, and I hopped into the driver’s seat. I looked serious as I adjusted my mirrors, strapped on my seat belt and put the truck in Reverse. Daddy was pretending not to be nervous, but I could see in his eyes that he was as he pulled his seat belt across his huge stomach. He was shaking in his boots, probably wishing he had a brake and accelerator on the passenger’s side. He adjusted the heat to knock the chill off. The leather seats were cold against my behind as I carefully pulled out into traffic. At the light I hit the brake too hard and sent both of us toward the dashboard.

  Daddy glanced over at me. “Remember to hit the brake gently, and start slowing down before you get to the light.”

  He was so calm. I was so proud of him. He was a much better passenger than Mama was. She was always yelling when I did something wrong, and that only made me more nervous. But Daddy was a trouper. He sat there pretending to be unshaken.

  “Sorry, Daddy,” I said and made a mental note to work on braking gently.

  As I pulled the truck into our driveway, I noticed Marcus standing on his front porch, watching. The hood of his sweatshirt covered his head, and his hands were stuffed into the pockets. He smiled my way and then walked over to the truck and opened my door.