Hometown Favorite: A Novel (8 page)

Dewayne collected their luggage from the conveyor belt, and
he and Rosella went outside the terminal of the Memphis airport to wait for Cherie. Dewayne had a few days before he had
to start summer school for his last year at USC. He had gone
every summer to make up for the light academic load he took
during football season, and because of the distance and the
expense, Dewayne had made the journey home only once. It
was time to come home again, but this trip held more at stake.
This trip was not the casual return of the hometown boy to
visit family and friends. This trip was to introduce Rosella to
the reality of Dewayne's life.

Their first argument had come when Rosella paid for their
plane tickets. Even though she never played up her affluence or
purposely made Dewayne feel second-class, he still struggled
with the fact that he could not compete with the lifetime of
wealth she had known. They settled the argument by agreeing
Dewayne's ticket was simply a loan.

The couple stood next to their luggage waiting for Cherie
to arrive. Dewayne had tried to prepare Rosella for the two
extremes of their upbringing, and though she reassured him
that it did not matter, Dewayne expected her to have a similar,
queasy "what-have-I-gotten-myself-into" reaction to seeing his house in his humble neighborhood in his humble community
as his own when she had driven him to her house that first
time. It would be either a painfully long weekend full of forced
conversations and sham, pleasant reactions or one that might
exceed his wildest expectations.

The exhilaration at seeing her son after such a long time
was a shot of adrenaline. Cherie felt like a young woman. She
bounced out of the car as though the seat had ejected her, and
mother and son held each other for so long, the airport police
got impatient and instructed them to move along. Dewayne
tossed the bags in the trunk while Cherie and Rosella hugged
and cackled like newfound sisters. From the beginning, Dewayne had written Cherie the details of this growing romance,
and the way Dewayne had portrayed Rosella, Cherie was predisposed to like her. Cherie knew her son would bring home
only a woman of quality. The two women did not stop talking
the entire drive until Dewayne complained about his isolation
from the conversation.

"Rosella and I need to make history;" Cherie said. "Pay attention to the road"

When they pulled in front of the house, there sat a trickedout black Tahoe with Sly inside.

"Can I ask for more blessings?" Cherie jumped out of the
car.

Sly braced for the hug he had come to expect from his surrogate mother, as though he was about to be sacked. When Cherie
released him, Dewayne took her place, both men shouting
as if they had won a big game. Dewayne introduced Rosella,
and Sly scooped her into his arms like an Old World lover,
leaving Dewayne shaking his head at his dear friend's ability
to surprise.

"Girl, it's a good thing my man is keeping you out of my
sight on the West Coast, cause if you were on my side of the
world, you'd be under lock and key."

"You ain't got a lock and key big enough," Rosella said, sticking her finger into Sly's chest and pushing him away from
her.

"My man, you have got first prize here:" Sly finished the
cuddle with a kiss to Rosella's cheek. "It's a wonder you can
concentrate on football."

I manage" Dewayne pulled Rosella from Sly into his own
embrace.

Cherie chuckled at the boys' competition for Rosella's attention and directed them inside so she could start supper.
She took Rosella out of Dewayne's grasp and led her up the
front steps, as over her shoulder she instructed the boys to
get the bags.

Sly could not remove his admiring gaze until Rosella disappeared into the house.

"She is one fine-looking-"

"That's enough."

They fought over who would carry Rosella's bag, and Dewayne gave in out of fear that the leather strap might break in
their tug-of-war. With a first round settled and nothing left to
distract them, Dewayne took in Sly's Tahoe.

"Where'd the ride come from?"

"It's a loaner, my man;' Sly said, polishing the hood with
his shirtsleeve.

Dewayne began an easy pace around the vehicle, admiring
all the bells and whistles inside and out.

"How does a poor boy get a set of wheels like this loaned
to him?"

"One plays football and one plays really well. You must be
a slacker"

"So you don't mind testing the rules" Dewayne kicked the
left front tire. His foot recoiled from the tight inflated rubber
indifferent to the abuse.

"Rules are flexible when nobody's paying attention."

"There's always somebody paying attention, my man"

"Listen to Mr. Clean. I win games and the school I play for
is making money off me, so why shouldn't I get to eat at the
table?"

"Looks like you're eating well," Dewayne said, finishing
his inspection with the slam of the passenger side door. "And
speaking of eating, I'm starved"

Dewayne headed toward the front door, leaving Sly staring
a hole into his friend's back. He refused to feel intimidated or
ashamed for enjoying a few undisclosed benefits given him by
generous people willing to show gratitude to high achievers.
You can be born with nothing, but you sure do not have to live
that way, he reasoned. Sly had made Miami's program exciting,
bringing national attention to the university. Proud he had
earned this windfall, he rubbed the hood ornament. It was not
a handout, and no one would hear him apologize for it.

After one plateful, Rosella said she knew why Dewayne had
grown so big with such good cooking. It would have been hard
to pay Cherie a higher compliment. Even with three people
around the table and Cherie at her traditional place of chef and
server, it was obvious a part of the boys' trio was missing.

"No word from Jesse?" Sly asked. "Why isn't Jesse here?"

"Needed to work late," Dewayne said.

"Work late?"

"You don't stay in touch with your homeboy?"

"What are you talking about?" Sly asked.

"He's at the factory now, learning the business. He dropped
out of school"

"How do you know so much?"

"I have my sources," Dewayne said, winking at his mother.
"You knew Jesse broke his leg in a game"

"Broke his leg;" Sly repeated.

It was obvious that when Sly left Springdale three years
ago, he had never looked back, never thought about looking
back.

"Got clipped midseason his first year. He tried to come back
the second year, but he had lost the passion for the game, I
guess. Don't know for sure what happened to him"

"He told me the pain just would not go away," Cherie said.
"I see him at the factory from time to time, favoring his right
leg, but I think he tries to avoid me. He never comes over
anymore, and I hear that .. "

Cherie's voice faded as she began to pour more sweet tea.
She was afraid she might be going too far with information
she could not substantiate with a firsthand account, so she
hoped the splash of tea over the ice in Rosella's tall glass would
obscure her last words.

"Hear what, Miss Cherie?"

Rosella's polite innocence forced Cherie to finish what she
had begun.

"Well, I shouldn't have even started;" Cherie said. "I mean,
it's like I've never seen him do what they say..

"What are you talking about, Mama?"

"It's gossip. It could just be gossip;" Cherie said, frustrated
she had been compelled to participate in a vice she detested.
"But I worry about him."

"You haven't told us anything to be worried about yet;" Sly
said.

Both boys glared at her with a "come clean" look, and she
could not escape the inquisition.

"Word is he's drinking a lot. That's what they say, but like I
said, I've never seen him take a drop of anything but my sweet
tea. All I know is when I see him at the factory, he's not the
same boy who used to eat at my table."

Sly and Dewayne halted their consumption of food. Sly let
the prongs of his fork rest on his plate, and Dewayne leaned
back in his chair and slowed his chewing. Cherie's news had
interrupted a happy reunion, and the two of them needed a
second to process the startling information, be it hearsay or
truth.

"You boys can't leave here without seeing your friend;" Cherie
said, not giving them much time to reflect.

"But I've got to leave for Miami bright and early in the morning," Sly said.

"Then you find him tonight," Cherie insisted.

With Cherie's word as their mandate, Sly and Dewayne cruised
the streets of Springdale in Sly's Tahoe in search of Jesse. They
had left Rosella and Cherie to their girl talk.

"This fool could be anywhere," Sly said, unable to keep the
tone of complaint from influencing his words. "I mean, why
do we have to do this?"

Dewayne looked at him as if he'd had a moment of temporary insanity.

"You forget who gave us the order? We'll find him," Dewayne
said. "Springdale's no bigger than the way we left it."

If Jesse was working late at the factory, then they would go there first. As they circled the town square and headed out
the highway leading to Webb Furniture, they saw the yellow
Hummer dominating a long line of cars and pickups in front
of the Rebel Rouser Sports Bar. Sly swung the Tahoe into the
first open space in front of the bar, and they went inside.

It was hard to ignore two strapping African-American football players striding into a bar, and the habitues recognized
the local celebrities at once. The owner of the Rebel Rouser
had framed pictures on the wall of each senior the year they
had gone to the state championship game, and circling a large
group shot of the entire team and coaching staff was a drooping
banner painted in school colors that read SPRINGDALE TIGERS
DISTRICT CHAMPIONS. It was the owner's way of remembering the glory. The two boys responded in kind to the warm
greetings as they passed through the crowd on their way to
the shooting gallery where Jesse was playing pool.

The back room was cramped, the atmosphere soured from
years of cigarettes smoked and alcohol consumed. REBEL
ROUSER in bright red neon and the green glow of shaded bulbs
over the pool tables lighted the space. Photographs of Mississippi veterans from the Civil War to the wars in Iraq and
Afghanistan interspersed with posters of scantily clad women
posing with automobiles and handyman tools haphazardly
plastered the peeling walls.

Dewayne grabbed Sly's arm, stopping him from interrupting
Jesse while in the middle of a game. From a distance, unnoticed
in the murky light, they watched their friend run the table in
a game of eight ball surrounded by a juiced crowd fascinated
by the wonder of Jesse's skill. Between each shot Jesse gulped
down a swig of beer, his bottle held for him by a former Tigers
cheerleader. Even in the diffused illumination, the friends could
see that Jesse had lost significant weight, and indeed, he did favor his right leg as he maneuvered around the table. When
Jesse sank the eight ball with a hard smash as though he had
fired it from a gun, the cheerleader performed a Tiger acrobatic
leap and a ludicrously extended kiss. Sly was ready to walk out
the door and willingly lie to Cherie, but Dewayne led him out
of the shadows into the smoky, muted light.

Jesse was about to light a cigarette when his friends appeared
at the end of the table like black apparitions staring at him with
a prophet's insight. The cigarette dangled off his lip and fell to
the floor. Were he not in a public place, he might have burst
into tears at the sight of his friends. Instead, he covered the
impulse with a loud guffaw and hobbled toward them, falling
into their arms like a penitent.

"Man, it's good to see you boys;" Jesse said, a strength returning to him that had not pulsed through his body for a
long time.

"Yeah, yeah, you too, my man," Sly said.

Dewayne said nothing. He nodded to the crowd, who waved
and smiled in return but did not want to participate in this
private moment, and they dispersed to other tables and other
games. Even the cheerleader knew there would be no invitation
to join this trio, and she became a part of the human stream
keeping their distance from this privileged encounter. Jesse
was unable to release his friends. It was as though the power
he received from their touch had brought him back to life.