Jimmy Comes Running
out the office when he hears all the racket.
Everyb-b-b-b-body g-g-g-get out!
he says, and points at the door.
Nobody notices.
He moves up to the core of the pack, invisible. Takes quick strained breaths.
Jimmy is: eyes the size of golf balls in thick Coke-bottle glasses, overgrown crop that starts a thumb’s width from his bushy eyebrows, old beat-up flea-bitten sweatshirt zipped up to the throat: ARMY FOOTBALL. He yanks the rock from Trey’s grasp and stomps his foot on the ground, yells:
I s-s-s-s-said, everyb-b-b-b-body out!
Ballers stop dead and turn to check him this time.
Jimmy’s already shut Lincoln Rec down twice this summer. Stood by the soda machine with his arms crossed while everybody grabbed their stuff and filed out slow. First time after Big Mac blasted some first-timer in the mouth and wouldn’t stop kicking after he hit the ground. Guy’s teeth went through his bottom lip. Blood all over the low post area. The second time when Old-man Perkins pulled a gun and dudes hit the ground, ducked behind bleachers. But Jimmy’s bluffed on a handful of other occasions. When arguments build up like volcanoes and everybody blows at once. A chorus of over-the-top cursing and street ball threatening.
We ain’t done nuthin,
New York yells.
Nah,
Rob says.
I ain’t movin one step
.
G-g-g-g-get out!
Jimmy says again, swinging an arm through the air and almost knocking off his glasses. He straightens himself out, adds:
N-N-N-N-NOW!
Aah, come on, Jimmy,
Dallas says.
It don’t gotta be like all that,
Johnson says.
Old-man Perkins jumps off the bleachers and throws somebody’s towel onto the court.
I ain’t even played one
game yet
.
Dante walks up cool as a cat and puts a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder.
Just a simple misunderstanding, Jimmy,
he says.
We
about to shoot for it right now, as a matter of fact
. He looks in Jimmy’s magnified eyes and smiles white teeth.
Jimmy takes a deep breath to slow himself down. He looks back at Dante and shakes his head.
You kn-kn-kn-kn-know th-th-this ain’t r-right, D-D-D
.
I know it, Jimmy. I know it. The question is: What are we
gonna do about it now?
All the c-c-c-c-cursin and h-h-h-h-h-h-hollerin
. Jimmy squints his eyes and scrunches up his face to get all the words out.
You know how brothers be actin sometimes,
Dante tells him.
Jimmy puts a hand on a hip and looks around at all the guys’ faces. Shakes his head, disgusted.
B-b-b-but th-th-they’s
imp-p-p-portant off-ff-ff-ff-ff-ffices next door,
he says, and points at the east wall.
I know it, Jimmy. I know about all that
. Dante reaches in slowly, takes the ball from Jimmy’s hands and bounces it a couple times off the hardwood. He palms the ball with his left hand and fingers his beard with the right.
But we about
to settle all this jazz right now.
Dante spins around and yells out:
Hey, yo, Rob!
What?
Rob yells back, sitting at half-court with his legs sticking straight out, weight on the palms of his hands behind him.
You made a call, shoot for it
. Dante rolls the ball to Rob. Rob gets up slow, dribbles a few times and struts to the top of the key.
Messed up I gotta shoot,
he mumbles under his breath.
White boy tries to tackle me and now I gotta shoot
for it
.
Rob’s the light-skinned black dude who preaches non-stop, up in the bleachers after games, about Marcus Garvey and Malcolm X. About going back to Africa and taking back from the “white devil.” All that passionate preaching and the very next day he’ll bring in a white chick to watch him play.
He steps up to the top of the key and takes a couple more bounces. Wipes hands on shorts and lofts up a high-arcing knuckleball that gets a good bounce on the rim and rolls in.
Water!
he says, and holds his right-hand follow-through in the air so everyone can check it.
My rock!
You right, baby,
Dante says.
Your rock
.
Ball don’t lie,
Trey says. He picks the ball up and sticks it in New York’s face. New York slaps it out of his hands.
What’s the count?
Slim says.
Anybody got the score?
Dallas says.
My jumper’s like water,
Rob says.
This is very bad call,
Carlos says, and he gradually retreats back to his spot on the homeless court.
New York stares at Rob and laughs.
Worst call I ever seen,
he says. He shakes his head and walks toward the baseline.
Shut up and check ball,
Rob says.
Dante puts his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder again and spins him back toward the office.
See, it’s all good, Jimmy. My
main man in charge. Boss man. Check it, we about to play
straight up now. Some good old-fashion ball and no more
quarrelin
. He walks Jimmy as far as the bleachers, pats him on his back and lets him go.
Jimmy takes a few steps and turns around.
N-n-no more
qu-qu-qu-qu-qu-qu-quarrelin, though, D-D-D-D,
he says, shaking his finger.
We done with all that, Jimmy,
Dante says, with his hands in the air.
Good old-fashion ball from now on. The way Dr.
James Naismith intended it to be played all them years ago
when he invented the game
.
Jimmy stands nodding his head at Dante for a few seconds. Then he turns around and walks into his office, reaches a hand back and pulls the door shut behind him.
On the Way
back to Millers, just a week after he met Anh-thu there last summer, Sticky made himself a promise: A dude like him wasn’t leaving Millers empty-handed a second time.
He worked it all out in the back of a dark Number 3 bus. Next to some old lady who smelled like a wet sandbox. He came up with what route to take and how to keep his head in the game. Told himself over and over in his head:
Just stay
cool, man, stay cool
.
But it wasn’t even a question, this trip he was jacking some khakis.
He busted in the open doors all business, stupid pop songs turned way too loud. The smell of cheap sample colognes. He steered straight up to the Anchor Blues and started searching for three or four pairs he could pull into a dressing room.
Walkman turned low enough this time to hear footsteps behind his back.
Hey,
Anh-thu said, coming at him from the side.
You’re
back.
She was excited to see him.
Sticky gave her a nod.
She put her elbows on the metal rack and watched Sticky’s mad search.
You need some help?
she said.
Sticky shook her off. Pulled out one pair, checked tags twice (price and size) and then stuck them back on the rack. When the sticking-back sound didn’t sound right, he pulled them off and stuck them back again. Pulled them off and stuck them back. He started to panic inside. Started sweating. Last thing he wanted to do in front of this pretty girl was act all retarded. But he couldn’t stop himself. He pulled them off and stuck them back again.
Pulled them off and stuck them back.
Pulled them off and stuck them back.
Pulled them off and stuck them back.
Anh-thu didn’t understand what was happening, but she had to do something. She ignored Sticky’s refusal for help and stuck her hands in the mix. Right next to his. Acted like she didn’t even notice Sticky’s repetition. She pulled out a pair herself, looked at them, then stuck them back on the rack.
Sticky eventually got his cool back and they worked together, side by side.
Listen,
Anh-thu said as they continued going through the rack. I have to apologize about last week. About saying you
were my boyfriend. I just didn’t know what I could say at
the time.
I ain’t worried about it,
Sticky said.
I just didn’t want you to think I was weird
. A pair of pants slipped off the hanger and dropped to the floor. Anh-thu picked them up and smoothed out the creases.
I’ve seen you
around school and stuff, though. You’re in Mrs. Edelson’s econ
for third period, right?
Sticky nodded, held a pair of khakis up to his jeans.
I have her right after you. I’ve seen you walking out when
I’m walking in.
Sticky kept his eyes on the cotton, told her:
She boring.
Tell me about it. And she’s super scatterbrained. People say
she puts vodka in her orange juice every morning
. Anh-thu moved in closer to Sticky. She sifted through the pants shoulder to shoulder with him.
Thirty-four in the light ones, right?
Sticky nodded.
Plus I’ve seen you play basketball, too.
And that was what did it, man. Sticky dropped his hands from the search and looked right at her. This green-eyed girl with long black hair. This perfect face floating through his head all week between runs at Lincoln Rec. Just like that: Anh-thu mentions one thing about hoops and Sticky’s at full attention.
Yeah, you’re number seven on JV,
she said. She smiled when she saw she had Sticky’s attention.
I totally go to all the
games. Unless I have to work or something. I love basketball
.
You check out our games?
Sticky said, dropping his cool for a couple beats. Trying to picture her up in the stands and him shooting free throws with the game on the line.
Yeah, and you’re the best one on the team. You make all the
points
. She made a face and put her hands on her hips.
Hey,
just cause I’m a girl doesn’t mean I don’t know what’s up
.
Nah, I didn’t say all that.
Anh-thu pulled a thirty-four off the rack and held it out.
Is this kinda what you’re looking for?
Sticky took the pants.
Yeah, these are smooth
.
She pulled keys from her pocket and motioned for Sticky to follow.
They weaved in and out of intense late-night shoppers, through racks of shirts, hats, socks, freshly dressed mannequins, and slipped into the dressing room area, where Anh-thu unlocked one of the doors and let Sticky in.
Let me
know if you need another size or anything, she said.
She smiled big and closed the door behind her.
Sticky planted himself on the bench and stared at the pair of khakis. Not even a dime in his pockets. This girl had been to games, man. She knew his jersey number. And she was fine. Smelled good too. Sticky sat there awhile, in the dressing room, thinking about Anh-thu and the pair of pants in his lap.
Finally, he walked out of the dressing room without trying them on. He handed the khakis off to Anh-thu and told her:
These didn’t really fit too good
.
Really? Anh-thu said. You wanna try a different size?
Nah,
Sticky said. He scratched his head, leaned against a shelf of shirts, and when it wobbled, stood up straight again.
I don’t think I want em no more
.
They stood next to each other in silence for a few seconds. Anh-thu folded the pants up perfect, let them fall loose and started folding all over. She watched Sticky out of the corner of her eye.
Sticky pulled a T-shirt off the rack, stood staring at the design for a little bit and then pulled out a different one.
Anh-thu put the pants on a hanger and hung them on the wrong rack. She turned and fished out Sticky’s eyes, cleared her throat.
I don’t know what you have to do or whatever, but I was gonna walk through the promenade after work.
Before I catch the bus home
. She reached down and adjusted the strap on one of her flip-flops.
I don’t know, maybe you’d
wanna go with me. I mean, if you’re going that way or
something?
Sticky shrugged his shoulders and buried his hands in his pockets.
That’s cool,
he said, keeping away from her eyes.
Great
, Anh-thu said.
Let me check out
.
They moved through the packed mall without saying a word. Through the food court and into the well-lit promenade. Waited for the green Walk sign with everybody else, and then walked across Broadway.
They strolled past Hear Music, Borders, the new Rip Curl store, the movie theater with its two-story list of films and times. They walked through a crowd that had gathered around a guy finger-picking his guitar and singing a James Taylor cover.
The night air was cool. The moon glowed through a thin patch of clouds. Sometimes Sticky would think up a question to ask, about classes or kids they both knew from school, but they all seemed dumb so he kept them to himself.
They passed Urban Outfitters and Mario’s Pizza, the glass walls of World Gym and the long curving line coming out of Starbucks. A young black kid dressed in an all-glitter suit busted fancy dance steps to Michael Jackson’s greatest hits. He had only one glove on and everything. People cheered. Anh-thu kept pulling her hair behind her ears, out of her face, only to have it slip forward again.
Sticky’s hand accidentally brushed against Anh-thu’s a couple times, so he stuck it in his pocket. There was a subtle squeak coming from one of his Nikes, so he tried to step soft with that foot to make it go away.
It was across a crowded Santa Monica Boulevard and then west on Arizona. Sticky led the way and Anh-thu followed. They crossed Ocean Street to the beach side and had to high-step through a pack of Venice Beach overflows pounding bongos. They stopped at the bridge that goes over the PCH to the sand. Leaned elbows against the wood railing and stared out at the ocean.
I have to admit one thing to you,
Anh-thu said, breaking a long silence.
OK
, Sticky said.
Just so you know, my girlfriends made something up when
we watched your games
. The wind was strong and Anh-thu had to keep pushing her hair out of her face.
They kinda pretended like you and me were together. Like boyfriend-girlfriend. I’m sure it’s cause I always talk about what a great
player you are. And cause I told em I thought you were cute
. She pulled a rubber band from her pocket and put it in her mouth. Gathered her hair for a ponytail and double-wrapped.
I guess that’s why I came up to you in the store
like that.
I never seen you at no games.
You’re probably just concentrating. Like you’re supposed to.
Sticky tossed a piece of ice plant over the cliff.
We’re first
place in league.
I know.
And I’m getting called up to varsity for play-offs. Coach
said he’d get me some time, too. I know it’s ways off, but I
can’t wait.
I’ll totally be going to the play-offs,
Anh-thu said, and pushed Sticky, all jazzed.
My girlfriend Laura and me already
talked about it. But I didn’t know you were gonna be playing
too. That’s so cool
.
Her face went straight and she said:
Hey, why didn’t you
go with me to get hot chocolate last time?
Sticky put his hands in his pockets and shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t feel like getting into the whole thing about him never having money. He barely knew this girl.
Cars whizzed by on the PCH below. A trail of red lights going north, white coming south. All the different motors blending like the hum Baby used to make pushing around her broken-down vacuum. Sometimes a group of people would walk by on their way to the beach. Swinging bags full of blankets and wine. They’d disappear around the bend for a few minutes and then come out smaller on the other side of the bridge. In the distance the Santa Monica Ferris wheel was still spinning tourists around and around. Little arms and legs poking out of old-style seats. There were the faint smells of popcorn and dying seaweed in the air. The muted sound of waves rolling in across the sand.
When Sticky didn’t say anything for a while, Anh-thu wondered if he was getting bored.
Maybe I should let you go,
she said, straightening up.
I have to catch the bus anyway
.
They looked at each other for an awkward second. Sticky opened his mouth to say something but decided to keep it put away.
My dad gets worried when I take the bus too late.
Sticky made the move when Anh-thu looked to the ground. Stuck his face in hers. Touched his lips on her lips and wrapped hands around her back.
Anh-thu pressed against the railing and placed her soft hands on his face.
They looked at each other. Anh-thu giggled a little. She reached for his hand.
Sticky led her down to where the bridge starts and helped her climb over the railing.
I can’t believe we’re doing
this,
she said as they crept along a narrow stretch of cliff and ducked underneath the bridge, out of sight.
There were abandoned fast-food bags at their feet. Styrofoam cups. A soiled blanket. Pieces of cardboard. Beer bottles that had settled in a ditch by one of the thick concrete pillars. Sticky kissed Anh-thu again. They tugged at each other’s clothes.
What are we doing?
Anh-thu said whenever they separated to deal with a stubborn button or snap.
They sat on the dirt, half dressed.
Sticky reached a hand up her blouse. Anh-thu fumbled with Sticky’s zipper. No layer scam meant no khakis underneath. No stop in the action because of a crime.
There were voices of people walking over their heads. Spanish. English. French and Japanese. Someone dropped a glass and the shattering sound echoed under the bridge. When one of their feet slipped a little, slid across the loose dirt, a small cloud of dust would rise up into the bottom of the bridge and separate.
Then it was over. Sticky stood up quick and pulled his jeans over himself. Zipped up. Anh-thu straightened her skirt and stood up too. They both put themselves back together in silence.
OK, I think I have to go now,
Anh-thu said, giggling.
I
have to catch the bus
.
Sticky stepped over two faded Pepsi cans and an abandoned flannel. He got in close to Anh-thu, looked right in her eyes and pulled the loose rubber band from her hair. Anh-thu’s black hair spilled down her shirt, covered her name tag. When she leaned her head back and shook her hair out, Sticky got a weird feeling in his stomach. Like everything was the way it was supposed to be: the cool breeze, the sound of the highway and the beach, the bridge and cliff covering them like they were in their own little world. He’d never had this feeling before.
You wanna be my
girl?
he said, slipping his hands into his pockets.
Anh-thu looked right back into Sticky’s eyes, caught her lips breaking into a smile and made her face go straight.
Yes,
she said.
I totally do
. She reached up and put her hands on the back of Sticky’s head. Went up on her toes and kissed his cheek. She looked up into his eyes and let herself smile this time.
I should really go,
she said.
I’ll walk you to the bus stop,
Sticky said.
When they climbed back onto the bridge Sticky put his headphones on without sound. Walked slow through the homeless bodies curled up on the grass. Anh-thu picked a little yellow flower from a bush and put it behind her ear. She walked a little ahead of Sticky up to the crosswalk that would take them back into the promenade, pushed the button.
Damn,
Sticky said to himself,
I guess I didn’t get me
no pants.