What They Found (7 page)

“You got any money?” he asked. “I gave mine to the kids.”

In the cab uptown he was quiet, lost in his thoughts. I knew he was thinking about the children. I heard myself thanking him for being there for that boy. I told him I had been wrong about him, that he was different than I thought he was.

“There’s more to you,” I said.

I wanted to say that there was more to me, too. There was a me that could learn about who he was, that didn’t mind how tough he was, or how hard he needed to be. I wanted to say words that my heart knew but that my tongue could not, somehow, pronounce.

The cab pulled up in front of the Curl-E-Que and I put my hand out timidly. He looked me in the face as he shook it. What he saw, through the hardness of the mask that had returned, was my own mask. If he had had the wisdom to put his head upon my chest he would have heard something deep inside saying I was afraid that I would be locked away for another year from a day like this.

“Goodbye,” I called from the sidewalk.

He turned away and the cab eased into the late-afternoon traffic. For a long moment I stood on the sidewalk. I was confused, and hurt, and flooded with a thousand conflicting emotions.

When I walked into the shop, the tears were running down my face. Mama glanced up from doing the bills and a shocked look came over her face.

“Noee, you all right? What happened?”

“Everything,” I said, “and nothing.”

“H
ey, Keisha. How you doing, girl?”

“I’m all right, Mama Evans. How you doing?” “Well, my arthritis and my high blood pressure are running neck and neck to see who’s going to take control of my body.” Mama Evans had taken down all the gels and lotions from the shelf to dust and was putting them back up. “And the tax people and the grocery store are running neck and neck to see who’s going to take control of my finances. Now, other than that, I’m doing fine. What have you been doing with yourself? I haven’t seen you for a while.”

“I just dropped in because I need some advice,” Keisha said. “And maybe a good lawyer.”

“Did I hear somebody talking about a lawyer?” Abeni
came out of the back room of the Curl-E-Que with a styling comb. “What happened?”

“Well, I lost my boyfriend, I got a college scholarship, and I’m leaving home at the end of the month,” Keisha said.

“I’m not too good on giving advice on how to get your boyfriend back,” Mama Evans said. “Are any of these things connected?”

“You want to hear the whole story?” Keisha asked.

“I do.” Mrs. Danforth was in Abeni’s chair getting a touch-up. “Because I think her boyfriend left because she’s going to have more education than he has.”

“It’s not the education, ma’am, it’s the game,” Keisha said.

“Go on,” Mama Evans said.

“Okay, so Mr. Pearl—he trains the girls’ team at Frederick Douglass—told me last week that this big-time white coach was coming to New York to talk to this Puerto Rican girl who plays for Powell.”

“Keisha is a good basketball player,” Mama Evans said to Mrs. Danforth. “She was in the paper.”

“This girl from Powell is good, too,” Keisha said. “And she’s tall like Abeni, but Mr. Pearl wanted this woman to know about me even though our team didn’t win our division this year.”

“Did you beat Powell?” Abeni asked.

“No, but I was out sick that day,” Keisha said. “I wish I had played.”

“This white coach hadn’t seen you play?” Mama Evans asked.

“No, ma’am. So the boys were having their tournament on a Saturday up at City College and Mr. Pearl set up a girls’ game for eleven o’clock and invited this woman to come.”

“Just to see you?” Mrs. Danforth said.

“Right. I show up and I’m all ready to play and Mr. Pearl said the woman hadn’t shown up yet. There was going to be a boys’ tournament at twelve, so we had to be off the court before then. Now if the coach don’t show, there’s no use in me playing.”

“This white coach is a woman?” Mrs. Danforth said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And your boyfriend was looking at her?” Mrs. Danforth asked. “I don’t know why our boys love white womens.”

“Will you let her finish her story?” Mama Evans asked.

“So I get in the game and I’m playing hard and the game isn’t even serious,” Keisha said. “Just a bunch of chicks goofing. Mr. Pearl is looking for this coach but she doesn’t show. The game is over and she still wasn’t there.”

“You must have been disappointed,” Mama Evans said.

“Not really,” Keisha said. “I didn’t expect nothing so it
wasn’t a big thing. Anyway, I had some time to kill and I’m checking out the boys’ game, which was kind of righteous because they had some fine-playing dudes on the court. Then Michael shows up and gets in the game. You know Michael, right?”

“I’ve seen him around,” Abeni said. “He’s tall, wears those rimless glasses?”

“Yeah. Well, me and him have been kind of tight.”

“He the boyfriend you lost?” Mrs. Danforth asked.

“Let Keisha tell the story, woman!”

“So I’m watching the game and then Mr. Pearl comes up to me with this white woman and I knew this was the coach. I’ve seen her on TV,” Keisha said. “She had those mean-looking eyes and tight little mouth like some white people have. But I know she’s down with some b-ball. She said she had just flown in from Tennessee, but the plane had been delayed. She’s smiling at me and saying how sorry she was that she didn’t get to see me play and why don’t I send her my clippings.

“I said I would, but my heart was still down. Since our school only won four games all year the clippings weren’t that impressive. I knew that and so did Mr. Pearl. So even though that white woman was smiling and being nice I knew she was going to forget about me as soon as she left the park,” Keisha said. “So Mr. Pearl went over to one of the older guys standing on the sidelines and told him what the situation was. Then he called me over and told me to get in the game.”

“With the boys?” Abeni asked.

“These weren’t just some boys,” Keisha said. “Big Sal was there, Brian Addison was there, Jo-Jo Greene, and Footsy from a Hundred and Forty-seventh Street. You know, if my game is correct I can play with regular boys, but this was a coaches’ tournament and there were a bunch of down dudes in the action.”

“What did you do, honey?” Mama Evans asked.

“I jumped on in. Yo, it wasn’t going to be easy but it’s ball, right?”

Mama Evans nodded.

“So, it’s me and Footsy—we’re the silver team—at guard so everything is jumping off cool. Michael is on the gold team. I’m on the point and Footsy’s playing shooting guard. We play off a few picks and I’m feeding the big men underneath and we’re getting a lead. Footsy is helping me out on D and nobody is too anxious to go around me anyway because Big Sal is on my team and he’s patrolling the lane big-time. So, I’m doing okay, relaxing into the set, and not only that, I’m having fun because boys are serious about their ball all the time.”

“And this coach is watching?” Abeni said.

“Steady scoping!” Keisha said. “Then Brian—he’s playing for the gold team—he peeps that I’m feeding off and he starts sagging and clogging up the lane so I have to start taking shots. Hey, I can shoot, so right away I hit a couple of outside shots and then the crowd starts getting in
on the action because I’m a woman. They’re saying things like ‘Yo, she’s busting you guys!’ Footsy is digging it and he sets up a screen for me and when his man switches late I pop another outside shot. That’s when Michael says he’s going to hold me.”

“Uh-oh, here comes trouble,” Mrs. Danforth said.

“Please, ma’am, will you keep your head down?” Abeni asked Mrs. Danforth, gently pushing the older woman’s head forward as she soaped the back of her neck.

“Abeni, you ever see Michael play?”

“No, I’m not into sports.”

“Well, he’s okay. He’s not Footsy, and he’s not Brian Addison, but he’s okay. He’s fast and he can get down on a fast break so he scores a lot when his team gets a turnover or a rebound. But when he plays defense he stands too straight. I tried to tell him that but he don’t want to listen to me. He’s one of these dudes who’s good but don’t want to work his game.”

“Lot of men like that,” Abeni said.

“Uh-huh. So he comes out on me and he’s smiling. You know, I don’t like people smiling at my game. You know what I mean? My game is not a joke so don’t be showing your teeth. He’s my old man—at least he was my old man—but he still had to show me some respect on the court. So he comes to me and fakes like he’s going to snatch the ball and I guess I’m supposed to panic or something. I see how straight he’s standing and how
casual he’s trying to look and I give him a head fake and go for his right shoulder.”

“You hit him?” Mrs. Danforth asked.

“No, I just dipped my shoulder and went under his. You know, you get your shoulder past his shoulder and you go! So I cut across the lane. Brian thought I was going to pass and he cut off Big Sal so I was free for the layup. Then the crowd really went wild.”

“Michael got mad.” Abeni folded her arms.

“Mad? The fool started cussing and stuff. He come down the court and tried to post me low, which was stupid because, like I said, Big Sal done peed all over that inside paint. That was his territory and you better not step in it. So Michael is mad but he was still trying to nonchalant it on defense.”

“And you weren’t going to let that work!” Mama Evans said.

“My mama gave birth to a real girl and not some lame, you know what I’m saying?” Keisha had her hand on her hip. “So I went after Michael big-time just to reclaim my propers. First, I ran him into a pick at the top of the key and left him standing there looking stupid. I heard somebody telling him to fight through the picks, so the next time I had the pill I just pointed to the left and he looked for the pick and came straight up to slide by and I faked left and went past his left shoulder. He grabbed my T-shirt from behind but I pulled away, drew Brian over, and laid
a pass behind my back to Footsy that was so sweet I wanted to run home and look for the instant replay on television.”

“It was on television?” Mrs. Danforth asked.

“No, ma’am,” Keisha said. “But that’s what I was thinking. Michael’s team called a time out and started strate-gizing. All the dudes in the stands started signifying and carrying on when the Golds came out and they had Brian guard me. That’s a whole lot of respect because he’s six foot eight and quick as a snake.

“The rest of the game was sweet. I only hit one more shot and one time I went up and Brian got my shot and pinned it against the boards but that wasn’t a big deal,” Keisha said. “Brian is liable to pin anybody. And by that time they had Michael sitting on the sideline.”

“Please don’t tell me he was still mad after the game?” Abeni was finishing up Mrs. Danforth.

“After the game Mr. Pearl took me over to the coach, who said she was going to write to the school for my records. ‘If your academics are decent you’ll be hearing from me,’ she said.

“My academics are right in the middle but Frederick Douglass has a good rep so I was hopeful,” Keisha said. “No way my moms can send me to college on what she makes. Anyway, last week I got the notice by telephone and a telegram.”

“Baby, you got a scholarship?” Mama Evans wiped her
hands and put her arms around Keisha. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Yeah! Now, I’m going to a mostly white school down in Tennessee, and I need some advice about how to keep my hair nice in case they don’t have stores around there to buy the stuff I use.”

“Girl, you are going to college!” Mama Evans said. “Anything you need for your hair you just let me know and I’ll send it to you free of charge. And baby, Harlem is wonderful but they got black people everywhere in this country. You’ll find some sisters down there who will definitely hook you up. Now go on and tell me more about this boy who’s sitting on the sidelines pouting.”

“So I ran into him on a Hundred and Forty-fifth Street and I told him—I said, ‘Look, Michael, you were trying to be all cool and everything like I didn’t even have a game! How you going to look me in the face and disrespect my ability?’ ”

“What did he say?”

“He said he would play me one-on-one any day in the week and burn me like I was a blunt at a roti-cue!”

“And what did you say?” Abeni asked.

“Well, you know me, girl. I really can’t stand no shouting man and I can’t stand no pouting man. So when a brother starts shouting and pouting at the same time I got to remind him of his place. So I did.”

“You go, girl!”

“But Keisha, you said you needed some advice?” Mama Evans asked.

“About getting my hair together in Tennessee?”

“We got that straight,” Mama Evans said. “But you also said you might need a good lawyer?”

“Michael said he was going to sue me,” Keisha said.

“For beating him on the basketball court?” Abeni asked.

“No, ma’am, for hitting him on a Hundred and Forty-fifth Street,” Keisha said. “I said I had to put him in his place. But when I started telling him about his stupid self—”

“Like you were supposed to—” Abeni said.

“He had the nerve to put his hand over my mouth. So I hit him. Mama Evans, I swear I didn’t know his boys were checking us out. If I had known that I would have waited until we got off the block. I offered to help him up, but he told me not to put my hands on him and I would be hearing from his lawyer.”

“Girl, you must of put a hurting on that man,” Abeni said. “What did you hit him with?”

“An overhand right. He was standing too straight again. I still love him, though,” Keisha said. “He’s just hardheaded and got some kinks in his game. Other than that he’s good people.”

“Keisha, you pick out anything you want from here to take with you to Tennessee,” Mama Evans said. “It’s on
the shop. You go on down there and make us proud. And don’t worry about Michael. His ego’s just been bruised a little. He’ll get over it.”

“Mama Evans, you are just wonderful.” Keisha hugged Mama Evans, waved to Abeni and Mrs. Danforth, and left.

“I don’t think that boy is going to get over being knocked down in the street,” Mrs. Danforth said.