“Sure,
Dad,” Latesha said, her whole body coming alive. “We’ll go down together and
come home together.”
“I
need my tape measure,” he said, passing the television without turning it on
for the first time in months. “Get my notepad and pen, too.”
“Sure
thing,” she replied, unable to believe her ears.
“I
suppose it’s the least I can do,” Mr. Thomas conceded. “Everyone else is
pitching in. It would probably be good for Deon, too. He’s a good kid. Just
needs a little direction.”
“He
really does need someone to help him out, Dad.” She kissed him on top of the
head. “And we couldn’t find anyone else to hang those doors—not like you.
You’re really good at it.”
“I’ve
lost track of how many doors I’ve hung over the years,” he said. “I don’t want
anything to do with your friend, though. I’ll go do my thing and he can stay
out of my way. Make sure he understands that.”
“He’s
a nice person, Dad. If you got to know him, you would like him.”
“Make
sure he understands,” her father demanded.
“I’ll
make sure,” she said defensively.
“He’s
here tonight,” Mr. Thomas noted, “and there’s no way of changing that, but I
really don’t want him around, Latesha.”
“You
don’t want him around me, you mean.”
“I
especially don’t want him around you,” Mr. Thomas assured her. “The way I see
it, there’s no need of him coming to Beechwood except for the night of the
play. He can say his two or three lines, or help out if the power goes off or
something, but after that it’s a done deal. There’s nothing in Beechwood for
him.”
Latesha
readied her father to emerge from the house that had become both a protective
cocoon and a self-imposed prison. When they were ready, she went outside to
make sure there was nothing lying in the driveway that might get in the way.
She came around the corner when an athletic black man of about twenty-five,
wearing a body shirt, suddenly appeared before her. He was a handsome fellow
whose features seemed to have been chiseled from granite.
“Hey,”
he said, looking at Latesha. “What’s up?”
“Nothing
much, Blake. How are you?”
“Good,
thanks. Just going down to the center to toss the pigskin.”
A
tall, skinny man her father’s age and a teenager came down the road throwing a
football back and forth. Mr. Thomas pushed himself through the doorway and
Latesha went to him, helping him down the ramp.
“Wheels!”
the skinny man shouted. “This is the first time I seen you in months. I thought
you croaked, bro.”
Mr.
Thomas was obviously embarrassed but said nothing.
“Wheels,
you is the man!” the thin man taunted with a laugh. “If my wheelbarrow breaks,
I’ll just come get you.”
“Leave
him alone,” Latesha shot back.
The
man shook his hands as if pretending to see a ghost. “Ooh! Wheels has a woman
to protect him. Better watch out, boys!”
“That’s
enough, Tin Man!” Blake snapped, grabbing him by the shirt in a forceful way.
“You sound like a fool.”
Tin
Man obviously did not want to confront Blake, so he just rolled his eyes at Mr.
Thomas and started walking away, jerking his arms as if pushing himself in a
wheelchair.
Latesha
growled under her breath. “Sometimes I wonder why Mrs. Hill ever let Tin Man
come home.”
“Only
his mother could love him,” Mr. Thomas commented.
Latesha
knew her father was embarrassed and wanted to go back into the house, but she
stepped behind the wheelchair and started pushing him down the driveway. The
three men walked ahead, yet Tin Man kept looking back. Latesha purposely slowed
down, allowing them to gain distance. At the community center, the men veered
into the parking lot and started running around, throwing and catching the
football.
Latesha
tried to push her father up the ramp, but he insisted on doing it himself.
Halfway up, the tires started to slip and Mr. Thomas had to use his full
strength, struggling so much that Latesha was forced to help.
“Get
a power chair, Wheels!” Tin Man shouted between loud guffaws.
“Someday
I’m going to wipe the smirk off that jerk’s face,” Mr. Thomas said under his
breath, pushing himself into the center.
“Maybe
someday you’ll get your chance, but right now let’s think about those doors.”
The
actors were already inside and casually milling around the stage. When they saw
Mr. Thomas, they all came up to him and started talking in a friendly way. Mr.
Thomas seemed shy at first, but gradually became more comfortable and even
shared a few laughs with the young people. Peter, who had been behind the
center when Latesha and her father arrived, came around to the front, meeting
Deon as he strolled into the parking lot. Peter spoke to Deon and the teenager
helped him carry in the doors and framing materials. They worked well together
and Peter also got Deon to help him bring in nails, hammers, saws, and a work
bench.
The
three men from outside, as if on cue, began walking toward the steps. Blake and
Tin Man climbed them together, with Ronnie behind. Just inside the door, they
stopped and looked around. It was obvious they were surprised by the changes.
Mr. Thomas bristled when he saw Tin Man.
Tin
Man sauntered over to Mary. “Who’s the cracker?” he asked loudly, pointing at
Peter.
Mary
smirked and spoke in a low voice, “He’s here to help, Tin. Don’t cause any
trouble.” She nodded at Blake. “I saw some of your pictures. Very nice.”
“Thanks,
Mary. Brandy’s going to work on the photo journal with me.”
“I
heard. She’s pretty excited about it.”
“Yea,
I noticed. She’s got lots of enthusiasm.”
Mary
leveled a gaze at the youngest of the trio. “Ronnie, there’s a lot of old
building materials that have to be hauled to the curb for pick-up. Want to
pitch in?”
Tin
Man suddenly noticed Mr. Thomas. “Wheels!” he hollered brazenly, his voice
echoing in the building. “I don’t see you for months and now I can’t turn
around without tripping over you!”
Mr.
Thomas did not acknowledge the remark, though it was obvious he heard it. He
went back to work.
“Whatcha
doing, Wheels?” Tin Man called out loudly.
Mr.
Thomas suddenly glared at Tin Man and then wheeled to within a few feet of him.
Tin Man, a man of more than six feet, stood as straight as he could and puffed
out his bony chest. Mr. Thomas stopped and looked up at him. Everyone else in
the center turned to watch.
“Don’t
call me that,” Mr. Thomas said.
“Didn’t
mean nothing by it, Wheels,” Tin Man returned, holding up his hands.
“You’re
full of crap,” Mr. Thomas shot back challengingly.
Everyone
in the center had been casually watching the two men, but suddenly Mr. Thomas
and Tin Man became the one and only focus.
Tin
Man laughed in his face. “What you gonna do, Wheels? Beat me to death with your
chair?”
Latesha,
fearing there might be a fight, looked at Peter as if pleading for him to do
something, anything. Peter realized she wanted his help and immediately stepped
forward.
“You
throw a good ball,” he said to Tin Man, distracting him from his staring
contest with Mr. Thomas.
Tin
Man and all the others turned to Peter. “It’s all technique,” Tin Man said, the
smell of liquor on his breath. He started laughing, looking at his friends.
“Technique, boy,” he repeated, eager to see Peter’s reaction.
“I
think it’s all about heart,” Peter said, not the least flustered.
“It’s
all about skill,” Tin Man shot back. A hateful expression descended across his
features. “Ain’t no white man ever gonna take no black man to the hoop, and it
don’t matter if an invalid got a heart as big as a house, he’s still an
invalid.”
Mr.
Thomas gritted his teeth and Latesha pressed her lips together. Her father
looked on the verge of exploding.
“I
think it’s all about heart,” Peter repeated, flashing a sly smile. “Look at
you, for instance. You have a tremendous arm. Anybody can see that.” He pointed
at Blake. “This gentleman looks ready for the NFL and your young friend here,”
he gestured at Ronnie, “well, he’s obviously a gifted athlete. It wouldn’t take
a rocket scientist to realize you three would make a formidable team.”
Tin
Man smirked belligerently. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“All
right,” Peter said. “I say that football is all about heart and I think Mr.
Thomas has more heart than you do.”
Tin
Man laughed in his face. Mr. Thomas furrowed his brows.
“What
is he doing?” Latesha whispered to Mary.
“I
have no idea,” she said.
“If
you believe Wheels has more heart than me,” Tin Man began with a grin, “you’re
an even bigger idiot than I thought. And I don’t know how that could be
possible, because I think you’re the biggest idiot I ever met.”
Mary
grimaced and was about to intercede, but Latesha caught her by the arm.
Peter
smiled in a strange way. “Talk is cheap,” he said. “How about we play a
football game and settle this once and for all?”
The
suggestion took everyone by total surprise.
“Are
you serious?” Tin Man replied, hardly able to believe his ears.
“Very
serious,” Peter said. “We’ll have a football game out in the parking lot.
Friendly game, but competitive. One-hand touch. Our team will be me, Deon and
Mr. Thomas. We’ll play against you three.”
Mr.
Thomas pressed his lips together and his face was contorted with anger.
Tin
Man burst out laughing. “You should be a comedian, dog.”
“The
way I see it,” Peter continued, “is that Deon and Ronnie will cancel each other
out and I’ll do my best to hold my own with Blake. So that leaves you and Mr.
Thomas. It’ll all come down to you two. But I’m betting he has more heart than
you do.”
Tin
Man waved his hand as if brushing away a fly. “You’d be a fool to take that
bet. You honestly think a pale-faced cracker, a drop out and an invalid could
beat us? Is that what you’re saying?”
Mr.
Thomas growled low under his breath.
“I’m
saying I think we can beat you,” Peter assured him.
Tin
Man and Ronnie laughed. Blake listened with amusement.
“I’d
like to put some green on that,” Tin Man said, briskly rubbing his palm.
“You’re the craziest cracker I ever heard.”
“Let’s
make a bet then,” Peter challenged.
“Name
it!” Tin Man exclaimed with bluster.
Though
most watched the events unfold with wonder, Mr. Thomas was obviously morbidly
uncomfortable at having been drawn into the proceedings. Latesha and Mary
listened with a sense of severe anxiety, and the actors, fascinated, crowded around
closer so they wouldn’t miss a thing.
“Here’s
the wager,” Peter said. “Whoever loses has to take all the materials left over
from the renovations to the curb for pick-up.”
“That
all?” Tin Man asked. “I thought there might be some cash involved.”
“Bragging
rights are better than money.”
Tin
Man glanced at Mr. Thomas. “True enough.”
Peter
nodded. “How about we do it the day after the play? Sunday.”
“Four
o’clock and you got a deal,” Tin Man said. “We’ll go over the rules before the
game.”
“Agreed.”
“Candy
from a baby,” Tin Man declared. He smirked at Mr. Thomas. “Be seeing you
around, Wheels.”
The
three men walked outside and started throwing the football again, now working
on patterns and discussing strategy. Mr. Thomas looked dumbfounded and was in
no mood to talk about the impromptu game.
Latesha
gestured to Peter and walked with him into Mary’s office. “What the hell were
you thinking?” she said when they were alone.
Peter
leaned over and put his lips next to her ear. “They’re ripe for the picking,”
he whispered.
“You
shouldn’t have done that,” she scolded.
“Why?”
he asked, not backing down.
She
looked around, saw the coast was clear, then assumed the most serious
expression imaginable. “Dad and Tin Man were best friends in high school, but
Tin Man got cut from the football team and Dad became the star running back.
His nickname was Hands because he never fumbled and if the ball was thrown in
his direction he always caught it.”
“Tin
Man taunts him because of that?”
Latesha
looked hard at him. “That’s one reason. The other is that Tin Man asked my
mother to the prom, but she went with Dad.”
“Oh.”
“Tin
Man never got over it. He’s been nasty ever since. But it looks like you played
right into his hands. This game of yours is a surefire way for him to humiliate
my father.” She threw up her hands. “You’ve painted him into a corner. Either
he backs out and looks like he’s afraid, or he plays and, and,” she looked
incredibly frustrated, “and Tin Man gets to humiliate him even more.”
“We’ll
win the game,” Peter guaranteed, “and your father will have the last laugh.”
“Not
likely,” Latesha warned. “Deon has no discipline and my father has a
disability.”
“Deon
is a gifted athlete and your father has challenges. Besides, I’m the great
white hope.”
Latesha
shook her head. “You’re the great white nut.”
He
laughed. “Tell me more about Tin Man.”
She
was exasperated, but found it hard to be angry with him. “Tin Man was a painter
in the city, that’s how he got his nickname, but he lost his job because of
drinking. He’s living with his mother until he gets on his feet. Ronnie and
Blake are his cousins.”
Mary
walked into the office. “Oh, Peter, great idea about the game. They’ll never
cover Deon, I can tell you that.”
“Latesha’s
father told me Deon is an outstanding athlete.”
“Star
receiver,” she said with admiration. “His coach said he has the potential for a
good college program in the States.”