The Pact

by Monica McKayhan

  A short, dark guy with a bald head took the ball out, passed it to his tall teammate with a nappy Afro, who dribbled it downcourt. Just as he went up for a layup, an opponent from the other team—a light-skinned dude with buckteeth—grabbed his shirt and prevented him from shooting.

  “Foul!” Nappy Afro yelled.

  “Hey, I didn’t touch you, man,” Bucktooth protested.

  “Man, you grabbed my shirt.” Nappy Afro was in Bucktooth’s face in an instant.

  Bucktooth pushed him, and before I knew it they were on the ground, rumbling. That is, until someone pulled them off each other.

  “I quit,” Nappy Afro said, and grabbed his shirt from the ground. He tossed it across his shoulder and headed off the court.

  “We need a fill-in.” A somewhat heavy dude with braids that needed to be redone scanned the crowd.

  “I got next game.” A guy standing next to the fence walked up. “I’ll wait, though.”

  Heavy Dude looked into the bleachers. I must’ve stood out in the crowd, because he immediately zeroed in on me.

  “Hey, man…you play?” he asked me.

  “Yeah, I play.”

  “Come on, then,” he said.

  I stood and stepped down from the bleachers. Andre looked as if he’d been betrayed. I pulled my wifebeater over my head and tossed it to Michelle for safekeeping. Heavy Dude threw me the ball and told me to take it out. I stepped on the other side of the white line and passed the ball to a brown boy wearing sweatpants and raggedy sneakers. He caught it and headed down the court. When he got into trouble, he passed the ball to Heavy Dude, who handed it off to me as I split through the middle. I sank it into the basket with one swift move and headed downcourt. My teammates slapped me high fives before I took the ball out again.

  Before long, we were only down by four points and I had six baskets under my belt. The court became more and more crowded, and by the time Brown Boy dunked the ball, we had managed to win the game. The losers were replaced by a different set of dudes and a new game began. A couple of hours later I glanced over at the bleachers at Andre and Michelle. They were still there, Andre hoping to get some play action, but he had been looked over all day. I felt his pain.

  “Hey, man, I’m tired,” I told Heavy Dude. “Why don’t you let the little dude over there play?”

  “Who, Andre?” Heavy Dude asked. “Man, he can’t play no ball. Stick around a little longer, bro. We got this game wrapped up tight.”

  After the fifth game, I was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to get home, grab a turkey sandwich or some leftover tacos. I wanted a Cherry Coke so bad I could taste it.

  “I’m done, man,” I told Heavy Dude.

  “Cool.” He signaled to the others that it was time to quit. As we headed toward the bleachers, he asked, “What’s your name, anyway, man?”

  “Marcus.” I held my fist out to give him some dap.

  “I’ma call you Flash, because when you run downcourt, you’re like a flash of lightning, man.” We gave each other dap. “Where’d you learn to play like that?”

  “Been playing in leagues all my life. I play on the team at school, too.”

  “That’s cool, bro. I’m Eldridge. But everybody just calls me El,” he said. “You coming back tomorrow, Flash?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be here.”

  “Cool, I’ll see you tomorrow then, man.”

  “No doubt.”

  Michelle and Andre stepped down from the bleachers.

  “Can I have my shirt, please?”

  “Marcus, you were so good.” Michelle tossed the shirt my way. “You looked like a professional ballplayer—like Wade or Kobe.”

  “You do have game, dog,” Andre said, and I was sure it took everything he had just to pay me a compliment, especially after he had bragged about his game.

  We didn’t discuss the fact that he didn’t get any playing time. I didn’t want to embarrass him any more than he already was. We just headed back the way we came—across the street to the Diamond Shamrock, and then back through the Shell parking lot. We jaywalked across the busy street again and strolled into the parking lot of our subdivision. Rena was still seated on her throne as I passed by the pool. She looked my way, but I looked away this time. Headed up the stairs to our condo unit, unlocked the door and went straight for the shower.

  When I stepped out of the shower, I knew Mom was home because there was old-school music playing and all sorts of spices were floating through the air. I could even hear voices and laughter over the music and wondered if she had company. I dried off and stepped out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around my waist. I left the door cracked as I pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. That was when I heard a male voice and wondered who was in our home.

  I stepped into the kitchen, where Mom was frying pork chops smothered in a mixture of New Orleans spices. She had a pair of tongs in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, shaking her hips to Marvin Gaye’s “Distant Lover.” The smell of a cigar suddenly assaulted my nose. I peeked into the living room to find a tall, thin black man in the middle of the floor, singing the words of the song and puffing on a cigar.

  “You must be Marcus.” He grinned and held his hand out.

  “How you doing?” I asked, giving him a firm handshake. “Yes, I’m Marcus.”

  “This is my baby,” Mom said as she appeared in the living room. “Marcus, this is Leon.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I told Leon.

  “Marcus, I understand you’re considering a move here.” Leon wore a pin-striped suit with perfectly shined shoes. The cuff links on the sleeves of his shirt were gold and sparkling as he took a drink from his shot glass.

  “I’m thinking about it. But I haven’t really made a decision yet.”

  “I know your mom would love to have you here. The three of us could really have a good life together.”

  The three of us? When did he become a part of this twosome?

  “I’ve asked your mother to marry me.” Leon smiled at Mom, who was holding her hand in the air and flashing the huge rock that he had placed on her finger. “And of course she said yes.”

  “When did all this happen?” I wanted to know.

  “Over lunch this afternoon,” Mom explained.

  “What do you think about that, son?” Leon asked, and placed his hand on my shoulder. “I’m going to be your stepfather.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. Mom was engaged to some dude she hadn’t even introduced me to before now. I felt betrayed. I knew she had a boyfriend, but I had no clue that they were halfway to the altar. I didn’t even have an opportunity to size him up, make sure his intentions were good. I didn’t know if he was a criminal in his previous life or if he had done jail time. I hadn’t had a chance to get to know him at all, and here they were planning a wedding. I didn’t know if he had kids, or if he even liked kids. He was dressed in a tailored suit with a silk shirt and expensive shoes, but I had no idea what Leon did for a living. My first time laying eyes on the guy and I’m knocked upside the head with the prospect that he might be my stepfather soon.

  It was the same way with Pop when he met Gloria. I didn’t have a say in the matter; I was just told that I would have a new stepmother. Nobody warned me that my life would be turned upside down and that I would lose my father to a gold digger. Our relationship as I knew it was suddenly different—no more basketball games at Philips Arena, and no more rolling through Buckhead on a Sunday afternoon in Pop’s pickup truck. No more eating TV dinners in our underwear while watching SportsCenter in the den. All of that changed. Instead of it being just Pop and me, we were now a threesome. Here I was going through the same thing all over again.

  “Congratulations, I guess….” That was all I could say.

  I walked into the kitchen, grabbed a Little Debbie chocolate cupcake from the shelf and stuffed the whole thing into my mouth. I poured myself a glass of milk and sat at the bar.

  “That’s all you have to say, Marcus?”
Mom asked.

  “What else is there to say, Mom?” I asked. “You didn’t give me an opportunity to have a say in the matter.”

  “Marcus, Leon and I have been dating for the past nine months. You weren’t here during that time, but I’ve been very eager for you to meet him.”

  Not eager enough, I thought. I’d been in Houston for almost a month, and this was the first I’d heard of Leon.

  “You asked me to move here with you, Mom, but I had no idea that you wanted me to move here with you and someone else. I thought it was just going to be me and you.”

  “Marcus, you’ll be gone away to college in the next couple of years. Where does that leave me? Alone again?” she asked. “I want happiness, too, just like your father has with Gloria.”

  “It’s no big deal, Mom. I’m happy for you,” I said, “but I think I’ve made my decision about moving here. One stepparent is enough for me…and I already have Gloria.”

  With that, I hopped from the bar stool and headed back to my room. Before I walked out, I could see that Mom’s eyes were a little moist. I had hurt her feelings. But she’d hurt mine, too, just springing this dude and this whole marriage thing on me like that. She hadn’t even given me an opportunity to get to know the guy. She’d simply said, “Hey, Marcus, this is Leon…and by the way, we’re getting married. What do you think of that?” How selfish was that? I remembered talking to him on the phone once last Christmas, when he asked me what Santa had brought me. I had long stopped believing in Santa and knew then that he couldn’t possibly have any kids my age. And if he didn’t have teenage kids of his own, how could he relate to me?

  I stretched my legs across my bed, placed the headphones of my iPod into my ears and listened to Young Jeezy. I was tired from shooting hoops all day, and before long, I had dozed off. When I woke up, an afghan had been thrown over me, the old-school music had stopped playing and the house was quiet. I tiptoed into the living room to see if Mom and Leon were still there.

  Mom sat on the sofa in her pajamas, the remote control in her hand.

  “Hey, Ma, you okay?” I asked.

  “Hey, sleepyhead. You fell asleep before dinner was done.” She looked over at me. Her eyes bloodshot, like she’d been crying. “I fixed you a plate, though. It’s on the stove.”

  “I’m sorry about earlier, Mom. I was kind of rude.”

  “Yes, you were. But it’s okay, Marcus.”

  “It’s just that you caught me off guard with your engagement news. And I don’t even know the dude.”

  “You were right, Marcus. I should’ve introduced you to Leon long ago, when we knew that we were serious about each other. We should’ve flown to Atlanta, so that you could have spent some time with him…gotten to know him months ago.”

  “I’m sorry that we live so far apart.”

  “That’s not your fault, baby. It’s mine,” she said. “But I’m trying to fix that.”

  “I know, Mom…and I’ve been thinking about it. I do want to move here, and go to school here.” I wasn’t sure why I said that, but I did. Seeing her with tears in her eyes did something to my heart, and this was the only way I knew to fix it. I wanted to see my mother laughing and happy, not with bloodshot eyes. And if my moving to Houston made her happy, that was what I wanted. “I’ll call Pop later and let him know.”

  “Are you serious, Marcus?”

  “Yeah, I’m serious,” I told her.

  “We can have your father ship your things here. That way you won’t even have to go back to Atlanta.”

  “What about my Jeep?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that old thing.” She smiled. “I was waiting to surprise you, but…I guess I could tell you now….” She stood, walked into the kitchen and refilled her wineglass. “The BMW outside…it’s yours.”

  “For real?”

  “Yes, for real.” She grabbed the keys from the bar and threw them my way. “It’s your car.”

  “What will you drive?” I asked.

  “There’s a cute little Mercedes that I’ve had my eye on for a long time,” she said. “Leon bought it for me today. That was part of his proposal. He had it all wrapped up in a bow.”

  “Are you for real?” I asked thoughtfully. “What does he do for a living, anyway?”

  “He’s a lawyer…actually, a partner at his firm,” she said. “You’re gonna like him, Marcus. He’s really a good man.”

  I didn’t know if I would like Leon, but I liked the fact that I was the new owner of a convertible BMW with leather seats and a bumping system. Maybe living in Houston wouldn’t be so bad after all. Actually, it was all good until I told Pop.

  “Have you lost your mind, Marcus?” Pop was nearly screaming in my ear after I told him the news.

  “I think I might like to live with Mom for a little while, Pop,” I told him. “I’ve lived with you since eighth grade. Now I want to stay with Mom during my last couple of years. She deserves that.”

  “She deserves that? Are you kidding me, son?” He was hurt. “This is the woman who walked out on us—on you—because she was tired of being a wife and mother, leaving us to pick up the pieces and get our lives back on track. And we did it, Marcus, me and you, we did it. Did you forget about all that?”

  “No, Pop, I didn’t forget. But regardless, I have to forgive her.”

  “Well, Marcus. That is your mother, and you should forgive her. I just don’t want to see you hurt again,” he said, “so you think long and hard about this…and if your decision is to stay in Houston with your mother, then I guess I have to support that.”

  My pop had done his best to raise me. He taught me things that only a father could instill in his son, things like how to be a hard worker and to be a man of character. He taught me that you should treat people the way you wanted to be treated. He spent time with me and encouraged me to do my best in school. I understood his hesitation about me living with my mother. When Mom left, I had a hard time emotionally. I even went to therapy for a little while to get through the difficult time. It was Pop who talked to me through the nights until I finally fell asleep. It was Pop who had done all the work of raising me through the difficult times, and now Mom wanted to come in and benefit from my most important years—the last two years of high school.

  “Thanks, Pop.” I needed his blessing. His opinion mattered to me. “I need your support in this.”

  “What kinda car did she buy you?”

  “How do you know she bought me a car?”

  “I know Dorothy Carter better than anyone else. She gets what she wants by any means necessary.” Pop laughed sarcastically.

  “She gave me a BMW.”

  “I knew it!”

  “It doesn’t mean that much to me, Pop. You know I’m not into material things. But it is nice. It’s got the little sporty wheels on it and everything.”

  “Your Jeep is a good-running vehicle, Marcus,” he said, “not to mention you saved up for months just to buy it with your hard-earned cash. That should mean something to you.”

  “It does, Pop. I love my Jeep,” I said.

  He was right. I had saved up for months just to buy my Jeep, and every week I washed it, waxed it and rubbed Armor All on the wheels to make them shine. I kept the interior spotless and had just put a hot system into it, with new speakers. My Jeep was my pride and joy.

  “Your Jeep will be here waiting for you when you come for visits,” he said. “And what about Indigo? What are you gonna do about her?”

  “We broke up at the beginning of the summer. Made this stupid pact to be free to see other people,” I told him. “It was her idea.”

  “You miss her?”

  “Nah, Pop. I don’t miss her one bit,” I lied. Truthfully, I thought of Indigo every day. I missed everything about her, but I couldn’t admit that to anyone. “There are plenty of honeys here. It’s a single man’s playground.”

  That was a phrase that I’d heard my pop use with his buddies before, “a single man’s playground.” I h
ad been waiting for the perfect opportunity to use it, and it actually sounded pretty good—if I believed it. The girls in Houston really didn’t mean anything to me. Rena was beautiful and all, but I didn’t have any feelings for her. Not like I had for Indigo. Rena was just nice to look at. I’d originally had plans of reuniting with Indigo at the end of the summer when we both returned to Atlanta, but things had suddenly changed. I wouldn’t be returning to Atlanta after all. The thought made me sad, but I couldn’t let it get me down. I snapped out of it.

  “What do you know about a single man’s playground? Boy, you are something else.” He laughed.

  “I know, Pop, I’m just like you.”

  “Marcus, if living with your mother is what you really want, then you have my blessing. Just know that you always have a home in Atlanta if you change your mind. And I’m always here for you, son, anytime, day or night,” Pop said. “You got that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now tell your mama I said hello. I gotta go cut Mrs. Jackson’s grass. Wish you were here to cut it for me.”

  “Pop, you could always hire somebody to cut it.”

  “Not a chance. I just put a new spark plug in that old lawn mower, and it’s as good as new.”

  My father bought, sold and managed old properties for a living. Not only was he a landlord, but he was also the Mr. Fix-It Man and did all the repairs himself. He even cut the lawns of his elderly tenants. He refused to hire someone to do the work and didn’t have any problem dragging me along to help him out. I hated the thought of unclogging toilets and trimming bushes, but I did it. And now that I was gone, Pop would have to do these things all by himself. Maybe he would finally see that he needed to get some help.

  “Okay, Pop. I love you, man.”

  “Love you, too, Marcus,” he said. “Be a good boy.”

  Before then, I wasn’t sure about my decision to stay in Houston. I guess I was hesitant because I didn’t want to hurt Pop. But after he gave me his blessing, I felt better about my decision. It was as if he had released me and I was free to make my mother happy for a while. I loved Pop for that; it proved just how unselfish he was, and I was glad that he was my father. The values he instilled in me were the same values that he claimed as his own. He practiced what he preached. My pop was a man of character, and I wanted to be just like him when I grew up.