The man in the front passenger seat leaned out the window. “This ain’t your neighborhood,” he said. “You boys are in the wrong place.” Then he flashed a knife—a switchblade.
I was really scared. So was Rudy. Maybe Cassius was, too. But he didn’t show it. He stepped right out in front of me and Rudy.
“You dumb enough to try something with that knife?” Cassius said. He looked right at the guy, staring him down. Daring him.
It was hot that day. The temperature inside that car must have been triple digits. The guys were getting mad because we weren’t moving. We were just standing there. I saw the guy with the knife say something to the driver. The car engine stopped. Then all four car doors opened at once.
Cassius turned to me and Rudy. “Time to go,” he said. Cassius was brave, but he wasn’t stupid.
All we heard was “Hey!” as we started running. With his strong legs, Cassius could have been home sitting on his porch before Rudy and I got to the end of the block, but he slowed down so we could keep up. There was no way he was going to leave us behind.
My Friends
Everybody’s
got a nickname
on our block.
Rudy is sometimes Hollywood
on account of Daddy
named him
after one of his favorite movie stars:
Rudy Valentino.
My best friend, Ronnie, is Riney,
’cause that’s how his grandmother
screams it
from her living room window
when the streetlights start flickering:
RINEYYYYYY!!!
Lucius is Lucky,
on account of
one summer he fell
through a plate-glass window
and not a scratch was on him,
then the next summer
he crashed his bike
into a parked car
and flew over the car
into a bed of hay
in the back
of a passing
pickup truck.
We call Corky Butler Chalky,
but not to his ashy face, ’cause
he’s strong
as a mountain lion,
meaner-looking
than a jackal,
and he gives out
black eyes—to boys
and some men, too—like candy
on Halloween.
We got Jake and his brother, Newboy,
who both sing doo-wop
in a group called
the Blue Tones.
There’s two Bubbas—one short, one tall.
Big Head Paul’s got a head
big as a battleship.
Cobb, aka Lil’ Man, is two years older
and two feet shorter, but
got a real job
and new clothes,
new shoes,
and a bank account to prove it.
When they see me coming,
it’s always, We should call Gee-Gee
the black Superman.
Faster Than a Speeding Bullet
We shoot marbles,
play touch football
in the backyard,
stickball out front
in the street,
hide-and-seek
with the girls,
see who can spit
the farthest,
pretend
we’re Jack Johnson
knocking out
the Great White Hope,
and run races in Chickasaw Park,
but my favorite game
is when Rudy
throws rocks
at me
and misses
’cause I duck
so fast
I make him call me Donald,
jump so high
I can nearly touch the sky
and grab a cloud.
It’s a bird, it’s a plane…
Card Trick
You got some speed on you, Cassius,
Granddaddy Herman says
after we finish pulling weeds
from his garden.
He shuffles the deck of cards,
then tells me
to pick one.
You remind me of myself running bases.
How good were you at baseball? I ask,
pulling the king of hearts
and sliding it back
so he can’t see it.
Better than most, he answers,
throwing the cards
all over his kitchen table.
As good as Jackie Robinson? I ask.
Coulda been.
Really?
Coulda been as good as Cool Papa Bell, Josh Gibson, and all them other players you ought to know about too.
Did they play in the major leagues?
You writing a book, or what? he says, shaking
his head
and telling me
to pick the cards up.
Conversation with Granddaddy Herman
Shouldn’t you head home with your brother?
He’s got to do homework. Momma Bird stays on him.
What about you in school? Your lesson’s important, ya know.
I know. I get by, I say, handing him the cards back.
That ain’t enough, Cassius. “Life ain’t no crystal stair.”
What’s that mean?
It means, you gotta work twice as hard to get half as far as the rest of these folks out here.
Can I ask you a question, Granddaddy?
I don’t know, can ya?
Why’d y’all name me and my daddy after a slave owner?
Boy, you got some learning to do, about baseball and your name.
…
The o-riginal Cassius Marcellus Clay wasn’t no slave owner. In fact, he freed all his slaves on the Clay plantation, including your great-granddaddy, my father. Then he went and fought for the Union in the war. You and your daddy’s named after a man with principles, probably the only white man I ever knew to be good. Know who you are, Cassius, and whose you are, understand?
Yes, sir.
Now, I know you hungry, ’cause you always eating, so go ahead and get some of my cookies, and leave me three.
Thank you, Granddaddy.
Get a glass of milk, too, so you can get on home.
I can stay a little longer, if you need help around here.
I got stuff to do, boy.
…
Tell you what, while you eating up all my snacks, I’ll tell you the story of Tom the Slave, and then you get on home. Deal?
But what about my card?
You mean the king of hearts you’re sitting on? he says, smiling.
…
That Same Night
at bedtime
I tell Rudy
about how Tom the Slave
escaped to freedom
by hiding in a casket
on a ship
of dead bodies
on its way
to London, England,
and how when he got there
he became a famous
bare-knuckle boxer
who would’ve won
the heavyweight championship
of the world
if a hundred Brits
hadn’t gotten so mad
that he was beating
their fighter
that they rushed the ring
in the ninth round,
clobbered Tom,
and broke
six of his fingers.
That ain’t true.
You calling Granddaddy Herman a liar, Rudy?
I’m just saying, you think it’s a real story?
Probably, I don’t know. It’s a good one, at least.
Why didn’t he fight with gloves on?
You writing a book, or what?
…
Rudy, before we go to sleep, pick a card.
Ritual
I practiced
/> card tricks
every night
on Rudy,
even stayed up
long after he fell asleep,
trying to find
the right card,
trying to prove
to myself
that I was smart
at something.
One Friday
after school,
me and Riney and Rudy
were outrunning
the city bus
heading home,
figured we’d save
the ten-cent fare
for some Finger Snaps
at Goldberg’s,
when I took a detour
and told ’em,
Hey, let’s go
to that hamburger joint
over on Broadway.
We sat in Rainbow,
splitting two cheeseburgers
and fries,
me joking about
Riney’s bald spots
from the terrible haircut
his grandmomma
gave him, and
Rudy winking at every girl
that walked by
with her momma,
when in walked Tall Bubba,
who we hadn’t seen
since the accident.
The Accident
We were playing ball
on Virginia Avenue,
our block against theirs.
It was me and Riney, Short Bubba,
and Lucky against
Cobb, Big Head Paul, Jake,
and Tall Bubba.
Rudy was still sick
with the chickenpox bad,
even though our neighbor told us
we could cure him
by flying a chicken
over his head.
Cobb’s block always beat us
’cause Big Head Paul
was a three-sport legend
in the West End.
I mean, he could
hit a rock with a pencil.
And Tall Bubba, from Smoketown,
had arms so long
he could probably box
with God.
He caught everything.
But then Cobb pitched me a fastball
that I cracked so high
it went way over
Tall Bubba’s outstretched arms
and landed inches
from the storm drain
near the corner of 36th and Virginia,
where it slowly rolled in
before he could grab it.
Tall Bubba was the only one
with arms long enough
to reach down the drain,
so he did, and no sooner
than he screamed, I GOT IT, FELLAS,
it blew up
right in his face.
We used to smell gas
all the time around there,
but none of us ever figured
it was anything
that mattered.
We Never Saw Him After That
until we sat in Rainbow,
splitting two cheeseburgers
and fries,
telling jokes,
winking at every girl
that walked by
with her momma.
Until today.
Conversation with Tall Bubba
Hey, Bubba.
Hey, Gee-Gee.
The fellas are over there.
Yeah, I see ’em.
…
…
They fixed the gas leak.
That’s good.
I heard the City’s gonna pay you for what happened.
Naw, they ain’t even calling my daddy back.
That ain’t right.
…
When you coming back to school?
I been doing school at home. Teachers come to my house. Don’t wanna be seen looking like this.
You still cool as a pool to me, Bubba.
I look kinda ragged and old with no hair and a busted-up face.
A little mature, maybe. You still Tall Bubba, though, still too slick for tricks.
Thanks, Gee-Gee. Hey, what did you get on your report card?
How’m I supposed to know that? Report cards don’t come out till next week.
Naw, they came out today.
They did?
Yep! I’ll see ya around.
Report Card Friday
I GOTTA GO, I hollered
to the fellas.
Gotta get home
and get the mail before
my daddy does.
Riney sat there laughing at us
and finishing the rest
of the juicy cheeseburgers
with pickles and loads
of ketchup
by himself.
See, he’d been signing
his own report cards
since first grade
’cause his grandparents
couldn’t read
so well anymore.
But my parents could.
C’MON, RUDY, LET’S SPLIT!
School
Big Head Paul was
the smartest of us all.
His hand was always
the first
to go up
when a teacher asked
a question
about trees
or bees
or oceans and seas.
Science was his thing.
Riney always brought
peaches and pears
from his grandmomma’s backyard
for our teachers,
so whether he studied
or not, he always got
decent grades
and even made
the honor roll once.
Lucky was what you might call
a natural genius.
He knew a little bit
about everything
and loved to talk
as much as I did,
but his claim to fame
was he could spell
mostly any word
in the English language
and he could read
real fast,
which came in handy,
’cause I couldn’t do
either very well.
In the Second Grade
we were sitting
in circle time
taking turns
reading Fun with Dick and Jane
and it was my turn
and I swear the F
in Ⅎun
turned upside down,
started floating
off the page,
and then
some of the other letters
inside the book
started playing
ring-around-the-rosy
and switching their order—Jane said, “Run” became
Rane “said” Jun—and
that didn’t sound like
it made sense,
so I didn’t say it,
then the F came back
but it was dancing around so much
that I started getting dizzy
and my stomach hurt
and some of the kids
started calling me dumb
and I almost threw up
right there in the middle
of second grade circle time,
so now
I just try
to memorize
what I hear
and make up
what I don’t.
Failed Plan
I ran home so fast
I could see my big toe
starting to bust out
of my shoe
like an inmate
in a prison.
Rudy was two blocks
behind me,
so when he finally walked up,
winded and holding
his chest
like he was gonna collapse
in our f
ront yard
from running
so fast and far,
I was sitting on the porch
scared straight
’cause OUR mailbox
was empty.
Conversation with Momma Bird
Gee-Gee, come in here.
…
I thought you were supposed to be trying harder.
I did. I understand everything we’re doing in school, mostly. It’s just sometimes—
Don’t make excuses, Cassius. Your father won’t like this at all. You know that!
I know.
They gonna fail you, you keep getting these kinds of grades.
I’m not gonna fail. Grades don’t make the man, the man makes the grade.
Double talk not gonna make them stop thinking you dumb, Gee-Gee.
You think I’m dumb, Momma?
Course not. I’m just hoping you know you not.
Momma, I came in this world smart and pretty, and I’m gonna leave it the same way.
Well, this weekend we gonna go see Miz Alberta Jones, see if she can help you out with some of your subjects.
Yes, ma’am.
Now go on and finish your chores before dinner.
Momma, I’m too old for chores. Rudy’s the youngest, he should—
Gee-Gee, am I too old to cook dinner and wash your dirty drawers?
Uh, no, ma’am.
Then neither are you. Now, you best stop yappin’ and get your skin thickened up, ’cause your daddy’ll be home soon, and he’s gonna hit the roof when he sees that report card.
…
Turning Point
Daddy came in the house
not like he usually did—flirting
with Bird
and talking all loud—no, this time
the storm door shut,
and he came
in the house, slow
like a preacher
walking to the pulpit
to deliver a funeral eulogy.
Becoming Muhammad Ali Page 3
