came back inside.
It wasn’t until that next summer that Lucien got me to go out there. He bought me a small pink plastic chair with a butterfly painted on it. He placed it next to one of the big white patio chairs. Then he gently took my hand and led me outside. Even though it was the middle of summer, I got goose bumps and asked him to grab me a sweater. He brought me my fuzzy pink sweater, to match the chair, he said, and kneeled down next to me, wrapping his arm around me. He pointed to the ocean and said, “If you speak to her here, she can hear you.” Through the warmth of my sweater, Lucien’s arm around me and the beating sun, I told Mom that I loved her with all my heart.
–––––
I’m lying on the couch, still in my PJs, watching the Cartoon Network. The perfect channel to space out to. I have the little eraser ball in my hand from the other night.
Half a smoke later, Dad comes in from the balcony and plants a kiss on my forehead. “Good morning , ma cherie .”
“Morning,” I say back.
Dad heads to the kitchen. I hear drawers and doors opening, then slamming shut. “Looking through these cupboards, you’d think nobody lives here.” He laughs.
Yeah, real funny . I had maraschino cherries for breakfast; some trip he must have made to the market yesterday. Our house is all condiments, no sustenance.
“If you leave me some money, I can pick up a few things this morning,” I offer.
Dad strolls back into the living room eating peaches straight out of the can. No utensils. I wince as a trickle of juice dribbles down his chin. “That would be great. I’ve got a busy day today.”
I guess part of that’s my fault. I’m the one who set up the date between Graham and Dad. I could’ve said no.
“Dad, I think Graham’s really excited.”
“Good. What time is he coming by?”
“You said three.” I throw the eraser up into the air and catch it with one hand. Coach Parker did tell us to practice, and she didn’t stipulate the size of the ball. To make my efforts more authentic, I use my cup from breakfast as the basket.
“Right, I did. Okay, I have a lunch at one at Café Monsoon. Plenty of time.”
I flatten the eraser with my palm. “A date? While I’m left home foodless.”
“It’s with a couple of guys from the bank. Their treat. I suppose you could come.”
As long as the blond lady’s not eating a jumbo steak while I’m lugging home groceries from the market. “Nah, I’m fine.” Besides, if I’m even going to consider basketball as my passion, I need to spend more time practicing. I fashion the eraser back into a ball and continue shooting.
Dad pulls some bills from his wallet and sets them on the coffee table. “That should cover the basics, and there’s an extra twenty in case you want to go to the movies with your friends.”
I’m five for five with the baskets. I move the paper cup a little farther away so I can work on my three-pointers. “Thanks, Dad. But I’ve got a game today.”
“Well, maybe afterwards, then.” Dad goes to shower and I blast the volume on the TV. I pretend it’s the crowd going wild during my exhilarating paper-cup basketball game. The stands are full. Dads are yelling Go for it! and moms are clapping so hard, their hearts are popping out of their chests.
Everything hinges on this last shot. Ten seconds left on the clock and the two teams are tied. Cassia Bernard Hadley has control of the ball. She runs down the court, eyes the basket, and … shoots! Ladies and gentlemen, she knocks the basket over by the sheer force of her shot. The refs call it a freak act of nature and demand a replay. This time the basket is reinforced by an empty glass of lemonade that can withstand winds upward of 130 mph. Cassia focuses her eyes on the basket and releases the ball. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a superstar in the making!
I finally get up from the couch around lunchtime and head for the grocery store. It’s always limiting when I shop by
It wasn’t until that next summer that Lucien got me to go out there. He bought me a small pink plastic chair with a butterfly painted on it. He placed it next to one of the big white patio chairs. Then he gently took my hand and led me outside. Even though it was the middle of summer, I got goose bumps and asked him to grab me a sweater. He brought me my fuzzy pink sweater, to match the chair, he said, and kneeled down next to me, wrapping his arm around me. He pointed to the ocean and said, “If you speak to her here, she can hear you.” Through the warmth of my sweater, Lucien’s arm around me and the beating sun, I told Mom that I loved her with all my heart.
–––––
I’m lying on the couch, still in my PJs, watching the Cartoon Network. The perfect channel to space out to. I have the little eraser ball in my hand from the other night.
Half a smoke later, Dad comes in from the balcony and plants a kiss on my forehead. “Good morning , ma cherie .”
“Morning,” I say back.
Dad heads to the kitchen. I hear drawers and doors opening, then slamming shut. “Looking through these cupboards, you’d think nobody lives here.” He laughs.
Yeah, real funny . I had maraschino cherries for breakfast; some trip he must have made to the market yesterday. Our house is all condiments, no sustenance.
“If you leave me some money, I can pick up a few things this morning,” I offer.
Dad strolls back into the living room eating peaches straight out of the can. No utensils. I wince as a trickle of juice dribbles down his chin. “That would be great. I’ve got a busy day today.”
I guess part of that’s my fault. I’m the one who set up the date between Graham and Dad. I could’ve said no.
“Dad, I think Graham’s really excited.”
“Good. What time is he coming by?”
“You said three.” I throw the eraser up into the air and catch it with one hand. Coach Parker did tell us to practice, and she didn’t stipulate the size of the ball. To make my efforts more authentic, I use my cup from breakfast as the basket.
“Right, I did. Okay, I have a lunch at one at Café Monsoon. Plenty of time.”
I flatten the eraser with my palm. “A date? While I’m left home foodless.”
“It’s with a couple of guys from the bank. Their treat. I suppose you could come.”
As long as the blond lady’s not eating a jumbo steak while I’m lugging home groceries from the market. “Nah, I’m fine.” Besides, if I’m even going to consider basketball as my passion, I need to spend more time practicing. I fashion the eraser back into a ball and continue shooting.
Dad pulls some bills from his wallet and sets them on the coffee table. “That should cover the basics, and there’s an extra twenty in case you want to go to the movies with your friends.”
I’m five for five with the baskets. I move the paper cup a little farther away so I can work on my three-pointers. “Thanks, Dad. But I’ve got a game today.”
“Well, maybe afterwards, then.” Dad goes to shower and I blast the volume on the TV. I pretend it’s the crowd going wild during my exhilarating paper-cup basketball game. The stands are full. Dads are yelling Go for it! and moms are clapping so hard, their hearts are popping out of their chests.
Everything hinges on this last shot. Ten seconds left on the clock and the two teams are tied. Cassia Bernard Hadley has control of the ball. She runs down the court, eyes the basket, and … shoots! Ladies and gentlemen, she knocks the basket over by the sheer force of her shot. The refs call it a freak act of nature and demand a replay. This time the basket is reinforced by an empty glass of lemonade that can withstand winds upward of 130 mph. Cassia focuses her eyes on the basket and releases the ball. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a superstar in the making!
I finally get up from the couch around lunchtime and head for the grocery store. It’s always limiting when I shop by
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