from his nose
still shooting
long after the shot-
clock buzzer goes off.
After
On the short ride home
from the hospital
there is no jazz music
or hoop talk,
only brutal silence,
the unspoken words
volcanic and weighty.
Dad and Mom,
solemn and wounded.
JB, bandaged and hurt,
leans against his back-seat window
and with less than two feet
between us
I feel miles away
from all of them.
Suspension
Sit down, Mom says.
Feels like we’re in her office.
Can I make you a sandwich?
But we’re in the kitchen.
You want a tall glass of orange soda?
Mom doesn’t ever let us drink soda.
Eat up, because this may be your last meal.
Here it comes . . .
Boys with no self-control become men behind bars.
. . .
Have you lost your mind, son?
No.
Did your father and I raise you to be churlish?
No.
So, what’s been wrong with you these past few weeks?
. . .
Put that sandwich down and answer me.
I guess I’ve been just—
You’ve been just what? DERANGED?
Uh—
DON’T “UH” ME! Talk like you have some sense.
I didn’t mean to hurt him.
You could have permanently injured your brother.
I know. I’m sorry, Mom.
You’re sorry for what?
. . .
I’m confused, Josh. Make me understand. When did you become a thug?
I don’t know. I just was a little ang—
Are you going to get “angry” every time JB has a girlfriend?
It wasn’t just that.
Then what was it? I’m waiting.
I don’t know.
Okay, well, since you don’t know, here’s what I know—
I just got a little upset.
Not good enough. Your behavior was unacceptable.
I said I’m sorry.
Indeed you did. But you need to tell your brother, not me.
I will.
There are always consequences, Josh.
Here it comes: Dishes for a week, no phone, or, worse, no Sundays at the Rec.
Josh, you and JB are growing up.
I know.
You’re twins, not the same person.
But that doesn’t mean he has to stop loving me.
Your brother will always love you, Josh.
I guess.
Boys with no discipline end up in prison.
Yeah, I heard you the first time.
Don’t you get smart with me and end up in more trouble.
Why are you always trying to scare me?
We’re done. Your dad is waiting for you.
Okay, but what are the consequences?
You’re suspended.
From school?
From the team.
. . .
chur·lish
[CHUHR-LISH] adjective
Having a bad temper, and
being difficult to work with.
As in: I wanted a pair
of Stephon Marbury’s sneakers
(Starburys),
but Dad called him
a selfish millionaire
with a bad attitude,
and why would I want
to be associated
with such a churlish
choke artist.
As in: I don’t understand
how I went
from annoyed
to grumpy
to downright
churlish.
As in: How do you apologize
to your twin brother
for being churlish—
for almost
breaking
his nose?
This week, I
get my report card.
Make the honor roll.
Watch the team win
game nine.
Volunteer
at the library.
Eat lunch alone
five times.
Avoid
Miss Sweet Tea.
Walk home
by myself.
Clean the garage
during practice.
Try to atone
day and night.
Sit beside JB at dinner.
He moves.
Tell him a joke.
He doesn’t even smile.
Do his chores.
He pays no attention.
Say I’m sorry
but he won’t listen.
Basketball Rule #7
Rebounding
is the art
of anticipating,
of always being prepared
to grab it.
But you can’t
drop the ball.
The Nosebleed Section
Our seats are in the clouds,
and every time Dad thinks
the ref makes a bad call,
he rains.
All Mom does is pop up
like an umbrella,
then Dad sits
back down.
JB’s got nineteen points,
six rebounds,
and three assists.
He’s on fire,
blazing from
baseline to baseline.
Dad screams,
Somebody needs to call
the fire department,
’cause JB is burning up
this place.
The other team calls a time-out.
Dad, JB still won’t speak to me, I say.
Right now JB can’t
see you, son, Dad says.
You just have to let the smoke
clear, and then he’ll be okay.
For now, why don’t you
write him a letter?
Good idea, I think.
But what should I say? I ask him.
By then,
Dad is on his feet
with the rest of the gym
as JB steals the ball
and takes off
like a wildfire.
Fast Break
He’s a
Backcourt Baller
On the b r e a k,
a RUNNING GUNNING
SHOOTING STAR
FLYING F A S T.
JB’s FIXING for the GLASS—
BOUNCE BOUNCE ball beside him
NOW he’s GETTING
FLYER and FLYER,
CLIMBing sky.
He nods his head
and pumps a FAKE,
Explodes the lane.
CRISS ball CROSS ball CRISS
and takes the break
K
A
B
O
O
M
Above the rim,
A THUNDEROUS almost DUNK.
That elbow just sent JB
K
E
R
P
L
U
N
K
to the floor.
F O U L.
Storm
Like a strong wind, Dad
rises from the clouds, strikes
down the stairs, swift and
sharp and mad as
lightning. Flagrant foul, ref!
he yells to everyone in the
gym. Now he’s hail and blizzard.
His face, cold and hard as ice.
His hands pulsing through
the air. His mouth, loud as thunder.
He tackled JB—
this ain’t football,
Dad roars in the face
of the ref, while JB
and his attacker do
the eye dance. I want to
join in, offer my squall,
but Mom shoots me a look
that says, Stay out of the rain,
son. So, I just watch
as she and Coach chase
Dad’s tornado. I watch
as she wraps her arms
around Dad’s waist. I watch
as she slowly brings him back
to wind and cloud. I watch
Mom take a tissue from
her purse to wipe her tears,
and the sudden onset of
blood from Dad’s nose.
The next morning
at breakfast
Mom tells Dad,
Call Dr. Youngblood today or else.
The name’s ironic, I think.
I’m sorry for losing
my cool,
Dad tells us.
JB asks Mom
can he go to the mall
after practice today?
There’s a new video game
we can check out,
I say to JB.
He hasn’t spoken to me in five days.
Your brother has apologized
profusely for his mistake,
Mom says to JB.
Tell him that I saw the look
in his eyes, and it wasn’t a mistake,
JB replies.
pro·fuse·ly
[PRUH-FYOOS-LEE] adverb
Pouring forth
in great quantity.
As in: JB gets all nervous and
sweats profusely
every time
Miss Sweet Tea walks
into a room.
As in: The team has thanked
JB profusely
for leading us
into
the playoffs.
As in: Mom said
Dad’s blood pressure
was so high
during the game that when
he went into a rage
it caused
his nose
to start bleeding
profusely.
Article #1 in the Daily News (December 14)
The Reggie Lewis Wildcats
capped off their remarkable season
with a fiery win against
Olive Branch Junior High.
Playing without suspended phenom
Josh Bell didn’t seem to faze
Coach Hawkins’ undefeated ’Cats.
After a brief melee caused by a hard foul,
Josh’s twin, Jordan, led the team,
like GW crossing the Delaware,
to victory, and to their
second straight playoff appearance.
With a first-round bye,
they begin their quest
for the county trophy
next week
against the Independence Red Rockets,
the defending champions,
while playing without
Josh “Filthy McNasty” Bell
the Daily News’s
Most Valuable Player.
Mostly everyone
in class applauds,
congratulating me
on being selected
as the Junior High MVP
by the Daily News.
Everyone except
Miss Sweet Tea:
YOU’RE MEAN, JOSH!
And I don’t know why
they gave you that award
after what you did to Jordan.
JERK!
JB looks at me.
I wait for him to say something, anything
in defense of his only brother.
But his eyes, empty as fired cannons,
shoot way past me.
Sometimes it’s the things that aren’t said
that kill you.
Final Jeopardy
The only sounds,
teeth munching melon and strawberry
from Mom’s fruit cocktail dessert
and Alex Trebek’s annoying voice:
This fourteen-time NBA all-star
also played minor-league baseball
for the Birmingham Barons.
Hey, Dad, the playoffs start in two days
and the team needs me, I say.
Plus my grades were good.
JB rolls his eyes and says to Alex
what we all know: Who is “Michael Jeffrey Jordan”?
Josh, this isn’t about your grades, Mom says.
How you behave going forward is what matters to us.
I loooove Christmas.
Can’t wait for your mother’s
maple turkey, Dad says, trying
to break the tension. Nobody responds,
so he continues:
Y’all know what the mama turkey
said to her naughty son?
If your papa could see you now,
he’d turn over in his gravy!
None of us laughs.
Then all of us laugh.
Chuck, you are a silly man, Mom says.
Jordan, we want to meet your new friend, she adds.
Yeah, invite her to dinner, Dad agrees.
Filthy and I
want to get to know the girl who stole JB.
Stop that, Chuck! Mom says, hitting Dad on the arm.
What is “I’ll think about it”? JB replies,
kissing Mom, dapping Dad, and not once
looking
at
me.
Dear Jordan
without u
i am empty,
the goal
with no net.
seems
my life was
broken,
shattered,
like puzzle pieces
on the court.
i can no longer fit.
can you
help me heal,
run with me,
slash with me
like we used to?
like two stars
stealing sun,
like two brothers
burning up.
together.
PS. I’m sorry.
I don’t know
if he read
my letter,
but this morning
on the bus
to school
when I said,
Vondie, your head
is so big,
you don’t have a forehead,
you have a five-head,
I could feel
JB laughing
a little.
No Pizza and Fries
The spinach
and tofu
salad
Mom packed
for my lunch
today is cruel,
but not as cruel
as the evil look
Miss Sweet Tea
shoots me
from across
the cafeteria.
Even Vondie
has a girlfriend now.
She wants to be a doctor one day.
She’s a candy striper
and a cheerleader
and a talker
with skinny legs
and a butt
as big
as Vermont,
which according to her
has the best tomatoes,
which she claims
come in all colors,
even purple,
which she tells me
is her favorite color,
which I already know
because of her hair.
This is still better
than having
no girlfriend at all.
Which is what I have
now.
Uh-oh
While I’m on the phone
with Vondie
talking about
my chances of playing