Fish: A Memoir of a Boy in Man's Prison (19 page)

I remembered walking to school the next day and in the window of the corner drug store, seeing a big cutout of a Tiger with a dead Cardinal hanging from its mouth. It was the same drug store that called Sharon a couple of weeks later to tell her they had seen me stealing on their new closecircuit cameras they had just installed. They weren't sure what it was that I had stolen, but they clearly saw me sticking something inside of my pants. They thought it might have been a Baby Ruth bar. I swore I didn't steal a candy bar, but Sharon wouldn't believe me.

"You know," Delmar said. "Slide Step used to play in the Minors."

"Oh Yeah," Earl joined in. "He's quite the player."

I was sure they had heard what had happened to me the day before. I looked over toward the baseball field, on the opposite side of the yard. I belonged to Slide Step now, and I didn't know anything about him. He was so quiet. The way he sat back against the wall, looking at me and gently smiling.

"He played with LeFlore in Jackson," Delmar said.

"Ron LeFlore?" I asked, sitting up.

Ron LeFlore was the center fielder for the Detroit Tigers. He was considered the fastest man in baseball. Tiger manger, Billy Martin, recruited him out of Jackson Prison. It was probably the only good thing Martin did for the Tigers.

"I can't believe he knew Ron LaFlore," I said, looking back toward Slide Step. "Was he as good as him?"

"He was pretty good," Delmar said.

Earl nodded in agreement.

"No kidding," I said.

Cisco walked up with a six-pack of Mountain Dew, two packs of Pall Malls and a Hostess Twinkie. He kicked off his shoes and sat down on the grass. "I'm a bushed woman," he said. "Now don't you dare, either one of you, ask me to do nothin' else."

"Oh I've got something for you to do later," Earl said. He reached inside Cisco's overalls and grabbed his nipple. "We were just talking about fantasies before you came over here, Tim."

"Tell 'cm what your fantasy is," Delmar prodded Cisco.

"OK," he said, smiling. "I want to be gangbanged by a gay motorcycle gang."

"A gay motorcycle gang?" I tried to hide my horror.

"A gay motorcycle gang," Earl echoed. He and Delmar chuckled.

"That's right honey," he said. "They have them in California." He laid back on the grass and threw his legs up in the air. "Heaven's Just a Sin Away."

Delmar poured turpentine into his cup and Earl popped open a can of pop. Still feeling nauseous, I got up and excused myself. Cisco was going home in a couple of weeks. I wished it were me, but I still had six hundred and eighty-tour days to go.

I walked across the yard toward Slide Step. He raked the dirt on the infield with his back to me. The letters REC were stenciled on his dark green jacket. His shoulders were broad, and his thighs were thick and muscular. I thought about my heroes of '68. And now it was spring and the start of a new season. Perhaps it was time, once again, to take an interest in baseball.

I never told anyone what it was I had stolen from that corner drug store. It wasn't a candy bar. But what it was, I took to my new school that day and placed it on top of any desk. When the teacher came over, she picked it up and examined it.

"Is that your mother?" She asked, holding up the small, three-and-a-halfby-five-inch frame. "She's really beautiful."

"She's the most beautiful woman in the world," I said.

When I reached Slide Step, I was struck with a sudden panic. I didn't know what to say to him. With rake in hand, he looked up at me and smiled. "Hey, Squeeze!"

15

Lessons in Streetball

On a hot summer night, somewhere between the sixth and seventh grades, Igrew almost six inches taller. It seemed like my body had sprouted faster than I could catch up to it. In my mind, I was still shorter than my newfound height of six foot two. My body weight wouldn't match up for several more years. It left me feeling uncoordinated, and I was constantly tripping, stumbling, and knocking things over.

"You clumsy idiot," Sharon shrieked when I spilled her coffee on the livingroom carpet. Her cup had been sitting on the floor, next to the sofa. I ran andgrabbed something to clean it up, but then she screamed at me, "Not mygood towels!" She stormed into the kitchen and returned with a rag. "Forget it,"she said, "Just get out of here!"

Fortunately, my dad ran a carpet cleaning business on the side, so there wasn't a stain that would serve as a constant reminder of how awkward I had become.

It was also my first year in junior high school and the beginning of my problems in gym. I was always the last kid picked for teams, and the one who drew the most moans when I was finally chosen. I was as klutzy on the field, baseball diamond, and basketball court as I was in my own living room. To make matters worse, I had to shower with everyone afterward. I was nearly sixteen before I sprouted pubic hair.

I was shooting hoops by myself, when he snuck up behind me and took the ball. He did a quick lay up and tossed it back to where I was standing fifteen feet from the basket.

"What's you doin' out here?" Slide Step said playfully. "You don't know nothin' about this game."

"Sure I do," I said smiling. "Just 'cause I'm not very good-doesn't mean I don't know nothin'." I took a shot, and to my surprise it landed in the basket.

Slide Step looked up, grabbed the ball as it swished from the small chain link net, and tossed it back. I used to play Around the World in my driveway back home. We had a hoop over the garage. I took another shot, and it landed again!

"Oh, two in a row!" Slide Step said, smiling. He tossed the ball back to me. "Watch out now!" This time I missed, and he grabbed the ball and slowly bounced it as he walked behind me another six or eight feet from the basket.

He took a shot and missed, the ball hit the rim and bounced back. I grabbed it, dribbled forward and did a quick lay up. He came behind me and grabbed the ball as it dropped from the net. He passed it back. I was smiling, because the three out of four shots I just made-was about six times my normal average.

I bounced the ball forward, and he moved in to block me. That's where I usually got flustered. I could make a basket or two if I just took shots from anywhere around an imaginary arch in front of the hoop-but I didn't play well when someone was coming after me, checking and blocking. I turned my hack to him and nervously leaned forward, so he couldn't take the ball. He got behind me and reached around, as I tried to go right and then left and then right again. He wasn't giving any; his hips were right on my butt.

A couple of guys going up the stairs to 10 Building stopped to watch us play. I leaned forward, backed my butt into him and then quickly turned to my left, taking a wide hook shot with my right arm. The ball swished through the net! The guys on the stairs laughed. So did Slide Step. It was a lucky shot, but I wasn't sure they knew it.

Slide Step retrieved the ball and passed it back to me. He stood just inside my imaginary arch, shadowing me as I moved right and left again. He quickly reached around and snatched the ball, bumping me in the process.

"Foul," I yelled. He took the shot and easily landed the basket, slipping around me grabbing the ball as it bounced from the net. I reached out my hands, but he ignored me. "Foul," I repeated.

"What?"

"You fouled me," I said.

He took the shot and landed it. "That wasn't a foul," he said. He looked up and smiled at the guys on the stairs. He tossed me the ball, "but you can have it, anyway."

My brother taught me to bounce the ball in between my legs to transfer it from my right to the left hand. It was the only trick I knew. I took a stride back and then bounced it perfectly between steps, smiling broadly. I was starting to feel cocky. Slide Step's eyes twinkled with delight, and the guys on the stairs laughed. A few more had joined them.

"Uh oh," Slide Step said playfully, "You better be careful, Little Squeeze, or I'm gonna have to haul my dogs out here in a second."

I jumped up in the air and pushed the ball with both hands toward the basket. The ball missed the basket entirely, and the guys behind me howled. Slide Step caught it in the air, before it ran loose in the yard.

He dribbled behind me, turned and then moved backwards toward the hoop. I tried to block him, but he just kept backing into me, like I wasn't even there. "Don't foul me," I said, but he kept on pushing. "You're fouling me," I said.

"No I'm not," and he moved right, faked left, and in a flash was behind me dumping the ball into the basket.

He came out and did it again, leaving me standing there, looking foolish. The guys laughed again and the crowd had seemed to grow. Slide Step stepped out, moved in, and easily slipped passed. This time, the ball hit the rim and bounced behind me. I went to grab it, but as I turned around, he was already on my tail and easily recovered it, grabbing it in midbounce from my feeble attempt at dribbling.

After making the basket, he let me take a shot or two, but then he started backing into me again. I tried to hold my ground, but I was no match for his weight. He stopped, turned, and bounced the ball between my legs-retrieving it behind me and then slamming it in the basket. The onlookers howled.

I stood there for a moment, staring. He came up and rubbed my head. This made everyone on the stairs laugh even more. I could feel my face getting red and I walked off, angry as hell. How could he do this to me in front of everyone like that?

No one had explained to me that Streetball had as much to do with theatrics as anything else. It wasn't winning so much as it was about humiliating your opponent.

"Oh Lord," Slide Step said, shaking his head. "Come on back, Timmy."

I wasn't having it. I marched up the stairs and the guys moved out of my way, but their amusement was only intensified. I stopped at the top landing and turned to face him. I could feel my rage boiling up from the new sneakers Slide Step had just bought me.

He looked at me and his face got serious-his eyes darting, for an instant, to the guys who were standing there. His look said, "No, don't do it!" But it was too late; the rumble was already causing my head to vibrate. I struggled for the words.

The inmates were silent.

"You ... you ... black bastard!"

Slide Step dropped his head, and shook it.

I turned and stormed into the building. I couldn't help it. It just slipped out of me. When I first said "You ..." a hush came over the crowd of convicts standing in the gallery. And as soon as I said, "Black Bastard," there was a ricochet of "ooooohhhs" from the balcony. "Someone's got an ass whippin' coming now," I heard one of then say.

I ran up the stairs and down the hall. At the officer's station I turned left down the corridor that led to the individual cells. Mine was the last one on the left. The guards had moved me after Slide Step and Red beat up some guy who was messing with me in the dorms. I don't know how the guards knew about that-but they did. I wondered why they didn't do something, after I was raped, but there was no way I could talk to them about it.

I slammed my cell door and sat in the chair, opening the locker to block my view from the hall. I knew I was in big trouble, but I didn't care. I had disrespected him in public, and now he had to do something about it. If he didn't, his own manhood would be called into question.

There was a knock at my door. I jumped at first, but chose to ignore it. I was surprised he got up there as quickly as he did. He knocked again.

"Open the door, Tim," Slide Step said. "I know you're in there."

"No," I said.

"Open the door!"

"No!"