Truth Comes Home

“We’re finally leaving this shabby dump!”

Jarod palmed the basketball and tried shutting out the words his dad spoke minutes before. Stepping a few paces back, he toed the crack running across the driveway, eyed the hoop hanging from the garage and shot. Swish! The orange ball with Magic Jonson’s signature on it bounced twice before careening into a pile of gravel and cigarette butts.

Sure, his parents had talked moving to the suburbs for years but never acted on it. Dad got promoted to manager at the MacDonald’s two blocks away while Mom’s eyesight went from bad to worse until she couldn’t see a thing. Now she walked around with a red-tipped cane when Dad went to work and that only made her mood sour because she said she just took up couch space.

“But why now?” Jarod wanted to ask Dad before he turned on his heel and walked through the front door. He’d spoken too slow. Now he’d get the full report at dinner time.

Dribbling the ball again, Jarod dashed toward the single lane road with its broken sidewalks, pivoted and sprinted back toward the garage. *Slammer!* He wasn’t quite Dominique Wilkens, but he’d spun 360 degrees in the air and switched the ball from his right to his left hand before dunking it. Where’d he find a new basketball team to join in the suburbs? The last time he’d played out there, his buds routed some snooty rich school 50-12 and he’d racked up 30 of those points himself.

“How abouts you come on in?”

Dad was back, staring through those bushy eyebrows of his. Set jaw and flushed cheeks meant business. But why? The family wouldn’t pack up and leave today, would they? Mom was still away at some school for blind adults in Arkansas and wouldn’t be home for another few months.

“I said: Get in here, Jarod.”

Heart aching, Jarod trudged inside. This little house with its dinky kitchen lined with dinky cabinets and a living room with a single couch and 19-inch TV was all he’d ever called home. The picture of some beach scene hung above the couch on a rusty nail that had weathered a lot of bumps and thuds from upstairs neighbors.

“Mom got the good news today,” Dad said once he and Jarod sat side by side. “She got a job. Can you believe it? The U.S. government hired her to work for Social Security.”

Tears streamed from Dad’s eyes. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and blew his nose. Something in the way his back and shoulders straightened made him look so proud or perhaps relieved.

“But, why couldn’t she find work here?” Jarod asked while wiping his own face. “I mean, Dad, Sactown’s so far away and I’ve just got one more year in high school?”

“Ain’t you happy for your mother? She won’t have to sit at home all sad and sorry any more. I’ll get work at some restaurant, and we’ll have the life we’ve always wanted.”

 *That you’ve always wanted,”* Jarod thought. That some folks called this part of town the projects never bothered him. He knew every square inch of pavement, had played on every basketball court for two or three miles around. He’d watched kids a grade or two older than himself get scholarships and play on TV after going to the high school half a mile away. But he’d never get that good no matter how much he practiced. Basketball was fun and a great way to meet boys his age.

“Why aren’t you excited?” Dad asked after clicking on the TV. “You know how little your mama could do outside our apartment with no public bus routes nearby. Now all that’s changed because she went to school. Just three more months and she’ll help us get a good house.”

“But, what if she don’t make it?” Jarod asked. “Maybe, they kick her out because she mouths off at her teacher like what happened a couple years ago.”

“Your mama didn’t mouth off!” Dad’s voice thundered like it always did when he got mad. “She just told that teacher she needed more time for turning in work. It wasn’t her fault. That school of hers singled her out.”

“It’s discrimination, Dad. I may be young and not so smart, but I know what treating someone bad because of what they can’t help is all about. And it’s not right.”

“Of course, it wasn’t right. But your mama told me herself. And she didn’t get kicked out; she left on her own terms.”

“Two sides to every story.”

Jarod stood, waved goodbye, grabbed his basketball and sprinted out the door. Maybe, some guys would be hooping it up at the park. And if not there, he’d ball with the regulars at the YMCA two streets over. He’d cool down after a while, get contrite, and tell Dad he was sorry for mouthing off. But now? He didn’t want to say goodbye to folks he’d known since before kindergarten. They were as good as blood brothers to him.

To his surprise, Dad didn’t chase after him like he’d done dozens of times in the past couple years. Free of the house’s pall, Jarod ran hard as the wind whipped through his dreadlocks. He didn’t slow until he reached the full-length court at the corner of Sixth and Tempest. Where were the brothers? Only he was here, ball in hand, ready to play.

If he would’ve had his iPhone, Jarod would’ve texted at least twelve friends to see where they were. Of course, most of them lived in the row houses that stretched for blocks on either side of where he lived. Boarded up, those homes held ghosts, not warm and friendly ones either but reminders of the summer’s struggles. Jake had been put behind bars for selling illegal drugs to an undercover agent. Gang fights had claimed the lives of Mike, Donte, and Willie. Had all that tragedy broken even the rough and tough boys, Jamal, Conrad, Xavier, and Randy?

“This ain’t our playground any more,” said the lanky boy who seemed to appear out of nowhere wearing tats up and down his bare arms. I just came to see if you were here and to pay my last respects.”

“Who are you?” Jarod asked while dribbling his basketball.

“Aaron,” the tattooed boy said. “Big trucks are coming here tomorrow from what I’ve heard. Gonna tear this whole place down to build a shopping mall and parking lot.”

Aaron waved his hand all the way left and back to the right. Means we gotta beat it out of here unless we want the authorities breathing down our backs.”

“Damn,” Jarod said. “Maybe, that’s what Dad was gonna tell me if I’d stuck around home instead of coming down here.”

“Dunno. My folks are packing up today to move East. Better schools out there, they say…and organized leagues where we can get real coaching for our skills.”

“Coaching?” Jarod asked. “I ain’t never seen you around here before and I don’t know you from Adam. But something tells me you’re speaking truth.”

“Of course, I am. My dad’s driving the bulldozer tomorrow. Too bad so many of us just tossed the city notices in the trash and waited till the last moment. Now it’s crunch time.”

“Then let’s play some one on one for old time’s sake,” Jarod said.

For the next hour, the boys went toe to toe shooting lay-ups, blocking each other’s three-pointer bombs, and fouling hard just for the fun of it. By the time they stopped and collapsed on the grass beside the court, they were whooped tired. Perspiration drenched their hands and faces. Somehow, it had never felt so good as now.

“I’d best be going home,” Jarod said after a prolonged silence. “Thanks for telling me the news.”

The walk home took much longer than did the earlier sprint. Jarod kept swinging his head right and left like a periscope panning the whole scene around him. It was then he saw his neighborhood’s decay. Dilapidated houses near the park were barely lean-to’s with old used cars parked in some driveways. A stiffening breeze made shutters bang against some homes’ metal siding while screen doors squeaked on rusty hinges.

If Mom were really getting a gig with the government, moving would be so worth it! Jarod took one last glance across the street before walking up his driveway. Maybe, like Aaron, he could get some real coaching to clear up his game’s rough spots. And if basketball didn’t work out, doing well in a good school might seal the deal for going to college to be a teacher.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Jarod said after closing the front door and reclining on the couch. “I didn’t let you tell me the news.”

“Everything’s forgiven,” Dad said. “We’ve held out as long as we could. So, it’s time to pack up and live with your aunt Monica until Mom comes home from school.”

“Then I’m ready when you are,” Jarod said. “We really don’t have much to pack up.”