“D.J. come on baby?” I look up from the puzzle on the floor toward the door and see my mother waving me to her eagerly, standing beside Mrs. Jefferson who smiles at me sweetly.
I grin up at my mother and put up my finger for her to hold on. I turn back to X and grinning say, “Pick a piece buddy!”
X doesn’t look at me. Instead he sits on his hind-legs calculating and stroking his chin. He sighs after a while and then picks up a puzzle piece from the cluster and tries to place it in the space but it fails to fit.
“Ha! I told you, you wouldn’t win today!” Kelsey giggles to herself and crosses her legs in the chair above us and deducts points from him on her little notepad. X rolls his eyes and shakes his head falling back on his butt and then out of nowhere throws a pillow at me.
“This is a stupid game anyway. Puzzles aren’t even a game!” I stand up grinning at X who sits with his arms crossed angry and toss the pillow back at him.
“Oh you’re just mad because you suck and I beat you.” X rolls his eyes again.
“Whatever, go home asshole.”
“Hey,” Mrs. Jefferson says looking at us. “Nice language.” I laugh and walk up to the wall where all the coats hang and retrieve my coat and school bag and give Mrs. Jefferson a hug around her knees.
“Bye Mrs. Jefferson.” She hugs me tightly and smiles at me.
“Goodbye sweetheart.” She then looks up at my mother who I go to and hug tightly.
“He was an extreme pleasure today. He was so mannered and respectable—so I’d say we’re making slow progress aren’t we D.J.?” I nod up at her sheepishly holding on to my mother tightly.
“Yes ma’am.” My mother bends down to my level and helps me put my coat on smiling at me and I smile back at her, because it’s her and it’s amazing to see . . . and I feel safe again.
“That’s great baby,” my mother says hugging me to her. I kiss her on her cheek and she kisses me back on mine, and for the first time in a long while . . . it doesn’t scare me. “I just try and take it day by day with him yah know. But he’ll get it eventually,” my mother says looking up at Mrs. Jefferson. Mrs. Jefferson smiles down at us genuinely.
“Yah know he’s very smart.” My mother stands up slowly and looks at Mrs. Jefferson curiously taking my hand in hers. Momma looks down at me and looks at me the way she used to . . . like she loves me.
“Yea, yea I’ve had an idea.” She looks back at Mrs. Jefferson. “He just needs a place to learn, and grow in. He needs to be challenged yah know. He needs a place to be able to be a child. Focus on child like things.” She looks back at me and shakes her head lost in me, running her fingers softly against my skin. “I’m sorry I’m rambling.” Mrs. Jefferson shakes her head politely.
“I completely understand.” She begins walking to her desk around these kids who play with cards on the floor and we follow her. I look back at X and he’s looking back at me curiously, but I signal to him that it’s something about school and that I’m not in trouble. I look at Kelsey too, and she just waves at me all happy. Stupid kid.
“We have a talented and gifted program. This will excel him yah know, and challenge him far more than this class can for him. Because I see him yah know, he finishes his work way before any of the other children and he picks up on things very quickly.”
“Well I do teach him at home.”
“But it’s more than that yah know. I think he’s special.” Mrs. Jefferson smiles at my mother and hands her this pamphlet. “Look through it really. It’s a great program here, and they’ll work with him only for three hours a day so he’ll still be a part of this class.” I look up at my mother and watch as she reads through the pamphlet.
“That Erickson lady doesn’t teach this class does she?” I look at Mrs. Jefferson earnestly. I hate that lady and so does my mother.
“No, another lady by the name of Mrs. Jean. She’s young like me so she’d be good for him. I notice he responds well to the younger teachers.” My mother smiles and feels relieved a bit.
“Yes he does.” She looks down at me and smiles and I smile back up at her holding her hand tighter. She looks back up at Mrs. Jefferson. “I don’t like that Erickson lady. She’s killing my son’s creativity. She tells him all the time he’s a bad kid and makes him feel that way too. He’s not a bad kid. He’s just . . . curious.” Mrs. Jefferson nods her head in understanding.
“I understand. She’s not the most patient.”
“I want her to stay away from my son.” I look up at my mother’s face, and I see the righteous anger—the love she has for me. “I mean it. I want that lady to stay away from my son. He’s too beautiful for that.” Mrs. Jefferson nods her head in compassion.
“I’ll make sure she doesn’t hurt him.” My mother nods her head and breathes in deeply.
“Ok.” She smiles and nods her head, and begins to walk toward the door. “Come on D.J.”
I run sort of to follow her, and slip my hand into hers. I look up at her and she looks down at me and she smiles at me genuinely for the first time of many rare occasions in a while. And it makes me feel something that I don’t understand. Like nothing is wrong. Nothing is wrong with us. This is how the world, how we are . . . it’s just how things are . . . and a part of me, as I looked ahead toward where Michael waited near the window, was ok with that.
“Momma we going to Charley’s game!?” I looked up at my mother and waited for her to answer Michael who had practically screamed across the hallway, but she didn’t answer. She just kept on walking toward him with this calm air about her, this patience that she always held for him, and when she finally reached him she took his hand in her left and gently walked him outside past the principal who eyed her. But I don’t know why he eyed her. But then again he eyes everybody’s parents. Or at least the black parents. And he black himself. Michael taught me what black was . . .
“How are you the son of an NBA player and you passin like a sorry
white girl!?” I frowned and looked up at him.
“White, what’s that?” Michael looked down at me and frowned like I was the dumbest idiot he’d ever seen.
“Are you serious? Nigga white people right there,” he said pointing to a woman waiting on the dart bus across the street. “Me and you black,” he said pointing to our skin, “You see the difference?” I looked back and forth for a while, trying to comprehend . . . it didn’t take much . . . and then I nodded.
“Yea, sure . . .”
My mother ignores him gracefully and walks out the front doors with both of us hand in hand.
“Mommy?” My mother looks down at me briefly and then picks me up.
“Momma are we going to the game!?” Michael continues, still talking loud. I really don’t understand why he talks so loud. My mother looks at him.
“Why are you talking so loud?” My mother asks looking down at him and getting her keys out to start the car. I look down at him and he frowns at me.
“Momma we got to go to his game! It’s a big game! I ain’t even got homework—” Momma opens up the car door for Michael and ushers him in.
“Shut-up Michael! Yes we’re going!” She slams the door on him and carries me around the car to the other side. She places me down on the ground, and as I reach for the door she grabs my arm and I turn to her. Her eyes looking different now, and for a second I thought they were the eyes of him, but they’re not. They’re just hers but different . . . worried and concerned.
“You make sure David takes you home with him you hear me?” I stare at her for a long time. Numb and cold—hard. As if I don’t understand what she’s saying to me. But then, nodding my head, I remember what world I live in. Not that of the other children. Not even that of the real world . . . I live in hell.
She raises my head to look at her and so I look back at her, and into her eyes which are still the eyes of my mother and a part of me wants to cry because I thought she’d stay . . . I just want her to stay more than a couple of hours.
“Hey . . . I need you to make him take you home ok? Fight as hard as you can. Force him to take you home. Make him want to, you hear me?” I look down at the ground soberly . . . and after a long time of staring at the ground . . . I nod my head.
“Good.” She rubs my head and sighs deeply staring at me uncomfortably.
I open up the door.
“It won’t be like this forever,” she whispers.
But I’ve heard that so many times before . . . I no longer hear it.
He hit the ball.
“Beside the point, you suck!” I shrugged and kept looking at the ants.
“Don’t care.” Michael threw the ball at my head again. “Yo! What the hell is wrong with you!?”
“Nigga you ain’t gonna be no pussy lookin at butterflies and crap! And drawin rainbows!” He yelled going after the ball.
“But I like rainbows,” I frowned. Michael turned around and eyed me as if I was a complete idiot. He shook his head and reached into his bag and pulled out a football. “Choose one.” I looked up.
“I don’t want to play! Leave me alone!” Michael threw the football at me, and so I stood up and ran to him and pushed him. It made no difference.
“Nigga are you crazy!?” Michael said ignoring the fact that I had pushed him. “This is the way you gonna get out the hood! Like David did. Don’t you wanna be like David, yo daddy?” I thought about it while Michael ran off to get the football as it had hit my head and ricocheted across the yard. I turned around.
“Yea!” Michael grinned that stupid grin he always did and ran back to me.
“Well nigga we got a lot of work to do. Cause you gonna be a star yah hear!?” I shrugged.
“Yea whatever. What we gonna do?” For the next thirty minutes Michael worked with me on my passing, showing me the correct way to pass the ball. He’d throw it real hard at me so that I could learn to catch balls that come flying at insane speeds. He said I’d need this skill when I went to the Cage. I didn’t know what that was, but I listened to him. I actually began to pass pretty well, and Michael even said I was a quick learner . . .
I look out the window, wondering if I am, if I ever was, if I ever will be.
Will it ever get better? What is, what is not. I hate being a child . . . I hate being . . .
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