The Crossover by Kwame Alexander

benches are filling up.
    Even Jordan and Alexis are now watching.
    Five-oh is the score,
    third play of the game.
    I try my crossover, but
    Dad steals the ball
    like a thief in the night,
    camps out at the top for a minute.
    What you doing, old man? I say.
    Don’t worry ’bout me, son.
    I’m contemplatin’,
    preparing to shut down
    all your playa hatin’,
Dad says.
    Son, I ever tell you
    about this cat named
    Willie I played with in Italy?
    And before I can answer
    he unleashes a
    killer crossover,
    leaving me wishing for a cushion.
    The kids are off the benches.
    On their feet hollerin’,
    Ohhhhhhhhhh, Whoop Whoop!
    Meet the Press, Josh Bell,
Dad laughs,
    on his way to the hoop.
    But then—

At Noon, in the Gym, with Dad
    People watching
    Players boasting
    Me scoring
    Dad snoring
    Crowd growing
    We balling
    Me pumping
    Dad jumping
    Me faking
    Nasty shot
    Nasty moves
    Five–zero
    My lead
    Next play
    Dribble bounce
    Dribble steal
    Dad laughs
    Palms ball
    You okay?
    Dad winks
    Watch this
    He dips
    Sweat drips
    Left y’all
    Right y’all
    I fall
    Crowd wild
    Dad drives
    Steps strides
    Runs fast
    Hoop bound
    Stutter steps
    Lets loose
    Screams loud
    Stands still
    Breath short
    More sweat
    Grabs chest
    Eyes roll
    Ball drops
    Dad drops
    I scream
    â€œHelp, please”
    Sweet Tea
    Dials cell
    Jordan runs
    Brings water
    Splashes face
    Dad nothing
    Out cold
    I remember
    Gym class
    Tilt pinch
    Blow pump
    Blow pump
    Still nothing
    Blow pump
    Sirens blast
    Pulse gone
    Eyes shut.



The doctor pats Jordan and me on the back and says
    Your dad should be fine. If you’re lucky,
    you boys will be fishing with him in no time.
    Â 
    We don’t fish, I tell him.
    Mom shoots me a mean look.
    Â 
    Mrs. Bell, the myocardial infarction has caused some
    complications. Your husband’s stable, but he is in a coma.
    Â 
    In between sobs, JB barely gets his question out:
    Will my dad be home for Christmas?
    Â 
    He looks at us and says:
Try talking to him,
    maybe he can hear you, which could help him come back.
    Â 
    Well, MAYBE we’re not in a talking mood, I say.
    Joshua Bell, be respectful!
Mom tells me.
    Â 
    I shouldn’t even be here.
    I should be putting on my uniform, stretching,
    Â 
    getting ready to play in the county semifinals.
    But instead, I’m sitting in a smelly room
    Â 
    in St. Luke’s Hospital,
    listening to Mom sing “Kumbaya,”
    Â 
    watching Jordan hold Dad’s hand,
    wondering why I have
    Â 
    to push water uphill
    with a rake
    Â 
    to talk to someone
    who isn’t even listening.
    Â 
    To miss the biggest game
    of my life.

my·o·car·di·al  in·farc·tion
    [ MY-OH-CAR-DEE-YUHL IN-FARK-SHUN ]
noun
    Â 
    Occurs when blood flow
    to an area of the heart
    is blocked
    for a long enough time
    that part of the heart muscle
    is damaged
    or dies.
    Â 
    As in: JB says that he hates
    basketball because it was
    the one thing that
    Dad loved the most
    besides us
    and it was the one thing
    that caused his
    myocardial infarction.
    Â 
    As in:The doctor sees me Googling
    the symptoms—coughing, sweating,
    vomiting, nosebleeds—and he says,
    You know we can’t be sure what causes
    a
myocardial infarction. I say, What about
    doughnuts and fried chicken and genetics?
    The doctor looks at my mom,
    then leaves.
    Â 
    As in: Dad’s in a coma
    because of a
myocardial infarction,
    which is the same thing
    my grandfather died of.
    So what does that mean for me
    and JB?

Okay, Dad
    The doctor says
    I should talk to you,
    that maybe you can hear
    and maybe you can’t.
    Mom and JB
    have been talking
    your ear off
    all morning.
    So, if you’re listening,
    I’d like to know,
    when did you decide to jump
    ship? I thought you were
    Da Man.
    And one more thing:
    If we make it
    to the finals,
    I will not miss
    the big game
    for a small
    maybe.

Mom, since you asked, I’ll tell you why I’m so angry
    Because Dad tried