Multiple sirens woke dreaming minds and alerted nightowls. Flashing lights lit the night and drew people from their homes. Soon Hayley and her cousin, Allen, found themselves standing with a crowd looking at a burning house. Hers actually. The bungalow she once lived in with its newly built handicap ramp, chain link fence, planted flower garden, and quite recently its fresh coat of blue paint, now billowed thick black smoke and crackled with intensity.
“Ida?” Claudia said, nudging her to look where she’s looking.
“Thank you, Jesus,” Ida said. She nudged another old lady and made her look. “Look over there.”
“Hallelujah!” Brenda said, “Glory be to God. Praise the Lord.”
All three old ladies in tears hurried over to Hayley, bringing relieved faces, and plenty of hugs. Each old lady took turns giving kind assurances and offering up what little they could give. But in all honesty, they felt as much relief as those interested parties in the crowd, if not more. They were happy she didn’t fall victim to the fire.
Allen simply looked on, understandably so. He accepted second-hand greetings as they came and any head nods of recognition. The ladies focused their attention on his cousin, and rightfully so, knowing next week she will be heading off to college to play big time basketball, and hopefully use the scholarship and opportunity to stay as far away as possible from here and grow as a person.
“We all thought the worst,” Brenda said.
“That’s right,” said Ida. “Your body hadn’t been accounted for.”
“Nobody knew of your whereabouts,” Claudia said. “I told the police I hadn’t seen you since today when I saw you and your cousin fall down the ramp and run off.”
On hand, the Chicago Fire Department. They ruined the front yard. Not intentionally, but the fire must be put out and the adjacent homes protected. That was the intent of gallons of pressurized water. Police officers kept the spectators back and at a safe distance. Just in the short time out there rumors circulated, going from mouth to ear to another mouth, on how Hayley’s blazing home also doubled as a crime scene.
“So, my Mama isn’t dead?” said Hayley.
“Not at all,” Brenda replied.
“How can you be so sure?” said Hayley.
“At this very moment, she’s in the good Lord’s hands. I recently said grace over her.”
“Say what?” Hayley said, “What do you mean?”
“Goddamnit Brenda, I swear.” Ida said, “Hayley, don’t pay her any mind.”
“Please don’t,” Claudia said. “Her mouth knows nothing but scriptures. She can’t speak a lick of plain English. I’d settle for slang if she knew it. You’d think she’d’ve learned a second language by now. She’s been here long enough.”
“So, she is alive?” Allen asked.
“Yes! Yes, she is.” Brenda said, “Thank you, Jesus.”
“Step-daddy, too,” Ida said.
“Him too,” Claudia said. “Firefighters on the backside found him in the backyard, busted up, twice shot, and doused in gasoline. A gas can and lighter left right beside him.”
“Don’t forget about the gun,” said Ida.
“Gun?” Allen and Hayley said, looking at each other’s face.
“Yeah, gun.” Claudia said. “He had it in his hand.”
“He couldn’t’ve shot himself,” Ida said. “Not with his wheelchair twisted around his body like a tourniquet.”
“The ambulance raced him to the hospital a while ago.” Claudia said, “I heard he was in so much agony, he couldn’t – No! He refused to tell them about who hurt him.”
“The devil got a hold of him,” Brenda said. “That’s all it was, for what he did.”
“And what did he do?” Allen asked.
“What all heathens do, do cruelty to others,” said Brenda.
“Forget him. What about my Mama?” said Hayley. “Where is she?”
“She’s been saved,” Brenda said. “I told you that.”
Around 3 a.m. Sunday morning, Hayley’s mama, Phyllis, found herself lying on the red carpet in front of the pulpit at a nearby storefront church, New Promise Land Baptist Church. The preacher and his wife lived on the premises, upstairs. Reverend Sanford and Esther woke up believing criminality afoot, because both of their Lincoln Continentals’ car alarms blared. He investigated the disturbance holding a Louisville Slugger.
As soon as he made it into the nave, he came upon a short, slightly built, butterscotch skin woman. Her face beaten and discolored, lip busted, and lying unconscious on three tied black garbage bags of personal belongings. At her side, a basketball and the church’s bible open on her chest with five Benjamins for a bookmark. Rev. Sanford shouted for Esther and she came fast, and upon reaching him, she immediately notified vital members of the congregation to come quickly and do the Lord’s work.
“And you know this, how?” asked Allen.
“That’s my church,” Brenda whispered. “Faith and donations help us run an underground railroad for battered women.”
“Hush, Brenda,” Ida said. “Stop all that Tubman talk.”
“Yeah, Hush.” Claudia said.
“The Lord sure works in mysterious ways,” Brenda said. “Doesn’t He?”
“Yes, He does,” said Claudia.
“Yes, He does,” said Ida. “And always on time.”
“He never lets you down, does he?” Allen said, looking at Hayley.
*****
Twilight morning, Saturday, the day before the fire, Allen moved about, dribbling, jumping, and shooting at the rim, making the chain nets jangle. After chasing down the basketball, he quit as soon as he saw his cousin coming toward him, across the playground. He leaned against the high green fence, watching her close the distance between them. They hugged, dabbed, and shared good mornings.
“South Carolina, huh. Congratulations,” said Allen. “My mom and I were getting sick and tired of all those recruits visiting our house.”
“You know why?”
“I do, but still,” Allen said. “So are you ready for this?”
“Ready for what?”
“Don’t play.”
Hayley insisted on playing with her Spalding basketball and not his Wilson, implying winner’s choice, but Allen disapproved. The old rules shouldn’t apply. Not today.
“You know what?” Allen said, “How about —?”
“— Free throws.”
“Uh-huh!”
Allen knelt down, loosened his ankle brace, and fetched from his sock his prized gold Italian coin. Something he kept on him always. A gift from his Uncle Tiberius, a rarity obtained during his time abroad while in the military. Hayley giggled. She reached for it and after looking at both sides sent the coin airborne. “The Pope!” she called, as it somersaulted before it landed onto the painted blue concrete.
“There he is,” she said. Hayley did some fancy ball handling and bragged about her current winning streak. “It’s been a while. What’s that eight in row now?”
“Shut it,” Allen said.
He fisted his coin, socked it away, then placed his ball against the fence. Hayley stretched, dribbled, and took a bunch of perimeter shots to warm up. Moments later, repeated checks followed. The game began hard and fast and for what? Bragging rights! They didn’t play as often as before and for good reason. Once she became one of the most highly sought after athletes in the nation, pick-up games ended.
But when she did play, hoop kings often chose her first or second when they selected their teams. Guys respected her talent, her scoring prowess, and ball handling skills, which included a killer crossover which put defenders on skates. Hayley could hold her own and being 6′-1″ helped. The Park Director recently put her high school jersey number into the baseline of honors, consisting of prior local playground legends. Hayley became the first female. But more importantly, she highlighted how much talent resided within this community.
Five games and hours later, Allen stood bent-over, straddling the rock, tugging on his lengthy short bottoms, blowing sweat droplets off his wide indigo nose, and licking his thick lips.
“Run it back,” said Allen. “Let’s go.”
Somewhat winded, the last game really drained her, forcing hands on hips, Hayley began trash-talking him; which prompted him to deliver a two-handed chest pass, mostly out of annoyance, but in a clear attempt to shut her up. His sportsmanship nearly decapitated her.
“Alright already,” he hinted. “3-2. You lucked up.”
Hayley protected herself. She tucked the caught ball under her right armpit and gave him the middle finger. She then used her extra long tank top, albeit soaking wet, as a towel, to dull her glistening face, but continued shit talking. “You think you’re good, huh, don’t you Donkey Kong, with that jumper.” Hayley said. “No effing way am I letting you win four-in-a-row. No way. I just won’t.”
Allen stood upright. He must’ve been the bluest black boy in the neighborhood and for fifteen surely the most mountainous. His physique plus skill put a toll on her. It felt unnatural, but what could she do? His confidence coincided with his play. For seven years, Hayley defeated him handily and happily. Now, he’s gotten his revenge and some.
Blame family genes. His sudden growth spurt pushed him above her, if not taller. Hayley didn’t think he would grow so big and become fluid so fast. Furthermore, his familiarity with her overall game gave him a competitive advantage. He knew her well which enabled him to take it to her and introduce her to things he learned playing on this same court and at summer basketball camps.
She grew frustrated.
“Say cousin! Look here. All that fouling is so uncalled for,” Allen fussed. “And you know it too. Nobody likes a borderline hack.”
“Shut it,” she said, “or do something about it.”
Allen then walked over, looked her right in the face, and smiled, taking liberties with her t-shirt. “Hey, use your own!” Hayley rebuffed him, jerking it out of his hands. “You don’t own me yet, Magilla!” Hayley said, shoving him back. She walked off the court, went beyond the high fencing, and around the graffitied brick fieldhouse. She needed to regroup to win two more games.
He followed her and found her bogarting the water fountain. Her elongated but not-so-tomboyish figure jutted high in the air, lips almost kissing the tap, swallowing water in delicious gulps until its value became lost. Its cold trickle whetted appetites. She soon hinted at being hungry and inquired about what to eat, but nothing about being taken to school.
“Buffalo,” he told her. “Yeah, Buffalo.”
“I like fish,” she said, “but not that one.”
Hayley continued drinking, filling her cupped hands with water to splash her classical almond freckled-face and carrot ponytail. “Too many bones,” she said, giving the water another chance to stream out. “How about leftover fried pork chops? They’re less dangerous and make good sandwiches.”
“Really? That over fish?”
“I should be able to eat food without fear,” Hayley said. “I can’t do like you do and separate bones from meat while chewing. My tongue isn’t that flexible and I’m afraid I might choke.”
“Fine then. Pork chops,” he said. “You ready now?”
“For what?”
“Say cousin, don’t play. Just admit it, that I’m now better than you. And from now on call me King Kong. Better yet, Mighty Joe Young will suffice. You’ve beaten me for the last time,” Allen said. “Besides, it’s only right that I should be the one to humble you. So, think of it as my parting gift. The next time I’ll see you it will be on nationally televised games, but not on this court.”
His words didn’t sit too well. Hayley took it personally and looked at him, insulted, and told him to shut it. She stormed past him, beckoning him back onto the court. Allen took a few gulps then followed. After repeated checks they went at it again. It quickly dawned on her how much he held back. He defended without fouling, avoided the crossover bait, forced her right, and made her shoot more difficult shots. She couldn’t score as efficiently.
Inversely, when on defense she acted as the gorilla. Eventually, he became fed up with her fouling and gave her a slight forearm shiver which staggered and put her onto her backside. She rose up fast ready to fight. They shared shoves and harsh words but not blows. He felt bad but unapologetic and once tempers cooled, they resumed and despite all her physicality he played through it to win.
“Game!” he shouted.
Allen defeated not a cousin, but a two-time State champion, five-star recruit, and high school All-American. She walked up and embraced him. Hugging him so long and tight he let the ball go and did likewise. They exchanged pleasantries, hidden sentiments, and made polite promises. For old times’ sake, they played Horse instead of Twenty-one. Neither bothered with letters. They shot for fun and talked, but hunger called, and they soon called it quits.
Two fatigued players walked up the porch ramp. Hayley opened the front door to find a despicable sight. Phyllis on her knees, arms limp, chin up, and face bruised-red. Arthur reared back his hand and struck her with such force it sent her sliding across the floor. Hayley tried striking him with her basketball, but missed badly.
“Stay out of this,” said Phyllis. “It’s not what you think.”
“The hell it is,” said Hayley. “And I’m tired of it.”
When she charged at him, Arthur spun but moved backwards, and Allen took hold of her fast and pulled them both out the front door. And in haste, they tumbled down the ramp and the fence brought them to a stop.
“Get up,” said Allen.
From across the street, Mrs. Claudia shouted: “Hey! Y’all alright?”
Neither one responded, but scrambled to their feet and ran. A door slam followed. They didn’t book it to Allen’s house to inform his mother. Instead, she followed him for three blocks to a phone bank. Once there, exhaustion couldn’t hide their emotions. Hayley pushed Allen savagely, knocking him to the ground.
“What was that?” Hayley said. “Why am I running?”
“You didn’t see the handgun in his lap?” Allen said, standing up.
“What handgun?”
“Exactly!” Allen said. “That fool thought about shooting us.”
“I’m calling the police,” Hayley said.
“The police? Please. I had somebody else in mind.”
“Who?”
“Tiberius.”
“No way. Not him.”
“And why not?”
“Come on. You know why?”
“So, what do you suggest?”
“I’m going back.”
“Say what!”
“Cousin? That’s my mama.”
“He threatened your future and mine,” Allen said, taking hold of her arm. “And did you see what she did? Did you see it? Your Mama let a man in a wheelchair knock the crap out of her. I mean, like what is that?”
“He had a gun. So you say.”
“He did,” Allen said.
“So now what? My Mama is back there.”
“Go kick his ass.”
“Let’s go. I’m all for it.”
“Not us,” Allen said. “Tiberius!”
“Again, No!” Hayley said, “We should do it!”
“And put your scholarship in jeopardy. Think!”
“Okay then, do the Police.”
“And what?” Allen said. “Hope they arrest and jail him. He’s handicap for Christ’s sake. I just know if he’s slapping her around and carrying a gun – when you leave then what? Do you think she’ll survive him after you’re gone?”
Hayley remained speechless.
“Just as I thought and I don’t like funerals.”
After walking in circles, Hayley said: “Fuck it. Do the coin thing.”
Allen knelt down and retrieved the gold coin from his sock. He tossed it into the air and she called it. The coin landed on the pavement. The Christ side lay face up and she feigned disapproval. Allen socked away his coin and then lifted the receiver, dialing the number. His uncle answered and Allen gave him the full details about what transpired. Tiberius listened and then said: “I’ll be there shortly, nephew. The darkness won’t be turned off. Not now. Not ever. You know what they say, there’s no rest for the wicked,” and hung up.
“What he’d say?” Hayley asked.
“I think you should stay at my house.”
“And my Mama?”
“I’ll pray for her. It’s in God’s hands now.”