Team Fugee

by Dirk Mclean

  “Wall of Six!” Ozzie shouted.

  Defenders Peter and Josiah stood on the outside of each goal post. Defender Owen, forward Ade and the four midfielders formed the wall, with Ozzie reminding them where to stand. Ozzie ran back to the goal line, looked, and shook his head.

  “Ade, step out.”

  Ade stepped out completely, making it a Wall of Five.

  Ozzie signalled to the ref that he was ready. The spectators started clapping in a slow rhythm.

  Hassan takes two running steps. It looks like he will kick with his right foot... but he kicks with his left. The ball leaves the grass... Sure, we rehearsed that. The field was quiet then. Now, I can’t hear myself think over the noisy crowd. I keep my eye on the ball. My Wall of Five covers their crown jewels. The ball lobs high over their heads, spinning. I can’t tell if it is picking up speed or slowing down, heading right toward the centre of my goal. I am the last line of defence. I have to defend the castle. I have to protect the queen. I have seen this play many times. I spring from my right leg, arms straight up. If I am not high enough, the ball will sail over me and into the back of the net. I cannot lean back. I keep straight. The ball touches the tips of my gloves and I push it backwards. Up. Up. Up over the top of the crossbar.

  Saved!

  The ref blew the final whistle. He gestured for Ozzie and Victor to join him in the centre circle of the field.

  “Penalty shootout. Principal Arsenault wants a winner,” he said.

  Ozzie and Victor looked at each other and shrugged.

  “We’ll use that one.” Mr. Greenidge pointed to the goal on the south side of the field. “Less sun in your eyes. Ozzie, Victor, pick your first three shooters. Best after three wins.”

  Ozzie chose Ade, Owen and Sunny right away, in that order. Victor tapped Muhammad, Hassan and Sayid. Ozzie was nervous. He knew that everything came down to his skills, his ability to stop those shooters. He did not know the tactics of the shooters he was about to face. How well had they read his reactions during the match?

  “Keep your focus. Keep your eyes on the ball,” he mumbled to himself.

  Muhammad faked to the left but sent the ball low to Ozzie’s right. Ozzie dived too late.

  Goal!

  Don’t beat yourself up, keep going, Ozzie told himself.

  Ade scored first on Victor. But as Hassan got ready to shoot, Ozzie did not know how to read him. Would he go low like Muhammad? Would he go high again because the distance was shorter? Ozzie and Hassan eyed each other. They knew there had to be a winner. Hassan sent the ball to Ozzie’s left side. His left leg was his shorter leg. Ozzie kept his eye on the ball, not on Hassan. He dived and caught the ball.

  Owen missed on his turn. So did Sayid, by a finger. That left Sunny. If he scored, the match was theirs. If he missed, they picked more shooters and kept on.

  Sunny was unpredictable and funny. He enjoyed soccer with recklessness. Ozzie watched him place the ball and squint at Victor like he could barely make him out in the goal. Ozzie felt like turning away. How could he watch? But he had to. He was his team’s leader.

  Ozzie watched every microsecond of the kick. A cannon shot from Sunny’s shoe started low, but gained quick height past a stunned, helpless, Victor. The ball flew into the back corner of the net.

  It was the World Cup.

  Ozzie United fell into a heap, crushing Sunny — the hero. Ozzie waved to Dylan who gave him a thumbs-up sign. Then he jogged over to Victor who was sitting in front of his goal.

  “Victor, you played well,” said Ozzie.

  “You think?”

  “Seriously. Yes. The score wasn’t 7–1.”

  Ozzie extended his hand. Victor took it, standing up.

  “Congratulations, Ozzie. Your team won a good game.”

  Principal Arsenault made a short speech to the crowd. She thanked the players and the spectators, wished everyone a Happy Thanksgiving and dismissed the students for the weekend.

  Ozzie United was mobbed — especially by the girls. They took abundant selfies.

  “Well done, footballers,” said Mr. Greenidge. All players had rehydrated and sat in the gym, as he had asked. “Ozzie and Victor, you are captains of the highest order. I am happy to have witnessed such a strong display of talent by both teams right to the end.” Mr. Greenidge glowed. “If any of you go on to play for the national squad or the Olympic team I’m telling you here and now I want free tickets.”

  “I praise your commitment to this presentation match,” he continued. “Plus your hard work at your practices over the past two weeks. Now I encourage you to use that dedication to be friends, no longer competitors. You have a common interest and you can learn more about soccer from each other. Next year some of you will end up in the same high school and continue with soccer. You might even be teammates.”

  Ozzie was a little surprised when Victor took the lead and offered his captain’s armband to him. Ozzie returned the gesture.

  “Are you sure, Ozzie? You could sell it on eBay,” Sunny joked.

  “I’m sure,” he replied.

  He was dripping in victorious sweat and he felt good.

  10

  Giving Thanks

  Aunt Lisa had delivered two cedar-planked, whole salmons, as commanded. The dining-room table was laden with food. There was a platter of steamed kingfish slices. Plantain had been done the Nigerian and Trini way, pounded with a large wooden mortar and pestle by Ozzie. His arms still ached. Okras were steamed in palm oil. Bitter melon, also called carailie, was a necessary side dish. Red kidney beans were plated beside pigeon peas and lima beans. Next were sweet potatoes, boiled green bananas, bright orange pumpkin and a large, mixed green salad. Tiny bowls of mango chutney, tamarind chutney, medium-hot pepper sauce and suicidal-hot pepper sauce were scattered around the table. There were large, rounded coconut bakes and homemade bread.

  A large plastic tub on the floor was filled with pop and beer bobbing in watery ice. Palm juice (a drink in green bottles from Nigeria) was also cooling in the tub. Desserts were on a side table: pumpkin pie, strawberry-rhubarb pie and an oversized apple pie. Two jugs of fresh coconut water sat near ginger beer from ginger Ozzie had offered to grate because he loved the scent. Sitting in the freezer, guarded by Ozzie the sentry, were two large tubs of — Uncle Russell swore that he woke up early that morning to churn it by hand, like in the twentieth century ‘back home’ — COCONUT ICE CREAM.

  Jazz on steel pan played throughout the house on the warm Thanksgiving Monday afternoon. Since Easter, and even at the Caribbean festival they still called “Caribana,” Uncle Russell had promised to reveal the secret of his coconut ice cream to Ozzie. But every time Ozzie asked, he was always too young.

  “You’re thirteen yet?” Uncle Russell asked Ozzie, waving him over to his chair on the back porch.

  Ozzie nodded.

  “You’re sure? ’Cause what I have to impart cannot be imparted to a minor.”

  Ozzie sipped from his glass of coconut water and nodded vigorously.

  “I’ll give you two keys now.” Uncle Russell held up three fingers and gulped from his bottle of Carib. “One, almond milk.” He lowered one finger. “Two...” He looked around and whispered into Ozzie’s ear as he lowered the second finger.

  Ozzie’s eyes went wide. He looked at the last upraised finger. He couldn’t wait until he turned sixteen to hear what other trade secrets Uncle Russell would impart to him.

  “If you write it down, put the paper in a vault, you hear me?” After another swig Uncle Russell continued, “You married yet? You have children?”

  Ozzie almost fell out of his chair, laughing.

  “If you ever have children, pass it on.”

  Mom tapped a spoon against her glass of ginger beer to summon everyone. They all held hands around the cramped dining area. Mom blessed the food and thanked everyone for
being a part of their Thanksgiving.

  Mr. Gupta, Dad’s friend, was thankful to be employed again. Auntie Louise (actually Mom’s great-aunt) was thankful to be free of arthritis pain today and for being almost ninety. Mom’s cousin Daisy was thankful to have made it to Scarborough alive. She and her partner, Gloria, had ridden their bicycles all the way from their downtown condo.

  It was Ozzie’s turn. “I am thankful for you, Mom and Dad, bringing me and Rebecca into your lives, amen,” he said.

  Dad’s gratitude was for his family, for opportunities to grow and for the family’s new soccer star. Ozzie wondered if “opportunities to grow” referred to Mom. Maybe she had decided.

  Mom got teary as she started her list. “I am also grateful for new opportunities,” she continued. “I asked Felix, Rebecca and Ozzie not to say anything. But standing among you all today...” And she broke the family secret. Ozzie thought Mom looked uncertain. And she even said that she could not make up her mind.

  Dad took a loaf of homemade bread, broke off a small piece and passed it to Mom. She did the same, passing it to everyone to begin the meal. Everyone piled their plate with food and spread out to find a place to eat. Ozzie sat beside Uncle Russell, waiting for more secrets. Instead of talking, Uncle Russell attacked his plate with noisy glee.

  Ozzie, Dad, Uncle Russell, Mr. Stephenson (one of Dad’s widowed clients) and Mr. Gupta retired to the basement with their desserts. They were just in time for a European Cup playoff match of England versus Croatia. Ozzie filed away more soccer tips. He didn’t know when he would ever play a full match again. He would have to apply the knowledge to six-a-side as long as the good weather held out.

  Long after the guests left with full bellies and the house was tidied, Ozzie and Rebecca sat in their room.

  “I feel better about us moving,” she said, sipping a bottle of palm juice. “I’m ready.”

  “Not me.”

  “It’s not about you, Ozzie. Dad would be making a sacrifice by travelling four days every week. Mom could have a good career.”

  “She has a good career now.”

  “She deserves the best one she can have. We’re lucky to have Mom and Dad.”

  Ozzie was silent for a moment. Then, “You ever think about them, Sis?” Them was their birth parents.

  “I do from time to time.”

  “I sometimes imagine that they show up, ring the bell and we open the door and...”

  More silence.

  “Ozzie, in less than a year you’ll be in grade nine. Even if we stay in Scarborough you might end up in a different school from Dylan and Ade and your soccer buddies.”

  “I’m okay with that. But when it’s my life that might be changing...”

  “Nothing remains the same for everyone.”

  A while later Ozzie went to the kitchen for a glass of water. He found Dad sitting at the table sipping a mug of tea, lost in thought.

  “Dad? Are you okay?”

  “Your mom’s wrestling with herself.”

  “About her decision?”

  Dad nodded. “You know, I was leaning toward Hamilton because as you get older... as a teenager... Tell me, Ozzie, have you ever been stopped by the police? Just walking the area?”

  Ozzie shook his head.

  “I have. Many times. Even when I was a child. I thought if we moved to Hamilton you could escape that experience. But according to the news, you might face it there too.” He sipped his tea and continued, “No matter what comes in your life, Ozzie, stand still and face everything with grace and the God-given power of your being.”

  “I will.”

  Dad kissed Ozzie on his head. “Good night, son.”

  “’Night, Dad.”

  Ozzie stayed in the kitchen, thinking about facing things he did not want to face. Then he went and got Mom. He led her into the basement where Dad kept a whole wall of books. He did not want anyone to hear what he needed to say. They sat on the sofa.

  “Something bothering you, son?” Mom asked gently.

  “I want you to know that I’m okay with whatever decision you make.” Ozzie was surprised. It was easier to say than he thought it would be.

  Mom looked at him and tears welled up in her eyes. She hugged him. “I’m so glad you said that.”

  “Me too, Mom.”

  And he meant it.

  11

  Present and Past

  The school week started well. Ozzie enjoyed celebrity status on Tuesday. On Wednesday after school he continued an easy six-a-side with Ozzie United. The schedule would continue until the weather became too cold to play.

  Thursday, after the main announcements, Ozzie and Victor were summoned to Principal Arsenault’s office. They walked silently along the main hallway side by side. The school secretary directed them to the same chairs they had sat in two weeks before. The office door was closed.

  “Did we have a fight or something that I don’t remember?” asked Ozzie.

  Victor shook his head.

  “I mean, I could have beaten you up in class and Mrs. Yee reported it and I...”

  “No, no, other way around. I always forget after I beat people up,” Victor deadpanned.

  “Right. You think we’re being suspended for something we did or something we didn’t do?”

  Before Victor could answer Mr. Greenidge opened the squeaky door. He ushered them in silently. Principal Arsenault sat regally in her big desk chair.

  What, no breakfast again? Ozzie felt like saying.

  “Ozzie and Victor, please sit,” Mr. Greenidge said.

  How serious these adults looked!

  “I’ll get right to the point,” said Principal Arsenault.

  “Whatever it is we didn’t do it,” said Ozzie nervously.

  “Yes, you did,” Principal Arsenault raised her voice. Then she exchanged sly smiles with Mr. Greenidge. “You both held up your end of the bargain and entertained the school.” Bargain? I thought it was a royal command, thought Ozzie.

  “For doing so, both of you and your teammates will receive a reward. You will go with Mr. Greenidge to watch the Grade seven/eight soccer Division Championship next week at Birchmount Stadium.”

  Ozzie breathed a sigh of relief. He turned to Victor and, for the first time, they high-fived.

  “Defending champs Agincourt Archers will be playing Kingston Bluffers,” Mr. Greenidge added.

  “Will we be going by jet?” Ozzie asked.

  “Oh, yes. The jet is yellow, has six wheels and a horn,” replied Principal Arsenault without missing a beat.

  * * *

  William Hall PS would celebrate Heritage Day on the third Tuesday of October. Ozzie spent his usual Saturday morning at Malvern Public Library after his chores. He was there to rewrite the story he had chosen for his assignment. He needed to put it into a rhythm. This was something new to him. Dad had promised to help on Sunday.

  Earlier that morning Mom, Dad and Rebecca had left for Hamilton to check out the area. Mom had given the Hamilton hospital their answer — yes — the day before, and had given Scarborough Centenary Hospital one month’s notice.

  Ozzie stopped working around noon. Packing up his papers, he turned and saw Victor at the main desk. Victor was talking with a librarian. So it had been Victor he had seen before. Ozzie wondered what brought Victor to the library on Saturday mornings.

  Instead of heading straight out past the main desk, Ozzie walked over to the adult fiction section. Pretending to browse, he walked backwards through the stacks... Atwood... Armstrong... Alexis... Achebe... Things Fall Apart. Here was a copy of the book, the only book he brought over from Nigeria. He opened it and flipped through the worn pages.

  One day I’ll finally read it, Ozzie thought as he closed it and put it back on the shelf. Then he noticed a sign: “Please Do Not Reshelve Library Materials, Surve
y in Progress.” He took the book again and left it on a table. By the time he reached the main desk, Victor was gone. Good. Ozzie didn’t feel like talking to him anyway.

  Walking out of the library, Ozzie grabbed an apple out of his pack and bit into it. Across the way, he could see Dylan finishing his speed work on Blessed Mother Teresa school’s track. Dylan and his cross-country team had qualified for the finals to be held the next Friday.

  Ozzie looked around. He thought of Mom and Dad showing Rebecca her new high school — soon to be his new high school in the fall. Rebecca had been excited about visiting a mall five times bigger than Malvern Town Centre.

  Ozzie knew that he would miss Malvern.

  * * *

  Ozzie stood in front of his class wearing a colourful African print shirt. It had a round neck and short sleeves, and was collarless. He waited until he had the class’s full attention. Only then did he start to sing, without music, in the style of a Trinidad & Tobago calypso.

  Mama Osun was a Nigerian goddess

  She lived many years ago

  Her beauty was like no other female

  The ancestors told us so

  Mama Osun was a healer of sick

  She watched over the lost and poor

  Some say she appeared like a mermaid

  A fresh water goddess from my folklore

  Mama Osun brought teaching to humans

  She wore yellow adorned with gold

  Her husband was the god called Shango

  She loved certain things we’re told

  Ozzie sang the chorus in upbeat Nigerian HighLife style:

  She loves honey

  She loves oranges

  She loves pumpkin

  She loves sweets

  Honey, oranges, pumpkin, sweets

  Honey, oranges, pumpkin, sweets

  Honey, oranges, pumpkin, sweets

  After more verses about Mama Osun, the Mother of Sweetness, he launched into the joyful chorus again. He drummed the desk in front of him and got his classmates to join in:

  Honey, oranges, pumpkin, sweets

  Honey, oranges, pumpkin, sweets

  Honey, oranges, pumpkin, sweets