The Moves Make the Man (15 page)

The man bounced it to Bix again. This time he was more ready, waking up a little each time, putting on this look now that said Hey, I am the purest and the greatest and truth shall prevail. Then he dribbled straight left and went straight up for that pretty jumper but he showed too much ball and did not even twitch it on his way up so his stepfather slashed it right out from between his hands and was off for another lay-up while Bix hung in the air with his hands up but missing a little something usually required for the successful honest jump shot.

Three-zip, I said. Boy is this fun. Come on, Bix, make it a game, man.

Bix was pretty much ready now, but what he was waking up to was not what he had dreamed. It was sad. He was looking stern, he was playing straight, he was doing his motion just right, but he was getting his ass handed to him in a sling. Every time he wrinkled his forehead and stuck out his chin and puffed up his chest like full of every which kind of truth and justice, and every time his stepfather slapped it away or blocked it or deflected it or faked him off balance or beat him for a bound. Bix woke up enough to play a little D, even made a steal once when the dude thought he was asleep enough to let him cross his dribble in front, but I knew that was the last time Bix would get THAT chance. Most times, the simplest fake threw him out of position. Like I said before, you learn about D from playing yourself on O, and Bix never played against his own fakes because he had none.

After ten more minutes the score was 7–2. Bix hit one jumper his stepfather did not go up on, probably because he thought Bix would be spooked for once by NOT having a hand in his face. The other shot was a lame hook Bix threw up in desperation from fifteen feet after stopping his dribble when the man pretended he was taking a swipe at the ball and Bix grabbed it to keep it safe, like a fool. He hooked it like a girl and the dude got a hand on it and was lucky for Bix because it deflected in.

During this time you could see how Bix became more and more hip to what was happening. Up to 5–1 he could not quite grasp the facts. He knitted that forehead and gritted those teeth and you could almost hear him saying to himself, But, but, I am playing honest ball! I MUST be allowed to
win! not knowing that just isn't the way it goes. But he started to see. And once he realized, once it hit him at 7–2, there were two ways he could go with it. One, he could get mean and crafty and fight back, start playing a little jive of his own, for he could pull some moves just by nature of his motion if he let himself. Or two, he could give up and slink and feel so sorry for himself, the world's last honest dude beat down by a crooked old deceiver.

I watched, and saw which he was going to take. He was going to do the weak-ass slinky noble bit. He slunk, he sulked for a minute, then he straightened out and sighed and smiled to himself, lips tight, like he alone knew the score in the world. His stepfather threw him a quick first step and Bix did not budge but stood up and crossed his arms as the man dashed by him and scored.

Eight-two, I said. Hold on a minute.

Bix looked over at me. He was not forlorn now, he was standing tall and looking amused and superior. His little smile said one thing: See what a cruddy game you have? See how unjust? Frankly I am above it all. That is exactly what his look said, standing there with his arms crossed.

Bix, you can't pull this….

He's pulled it before, said his stepfather, panting. The dude was tired, had been getting slower every shot, and standing around was not going to do anything but stiffen him up. He's pulled it every time something isn't pretty and needs doing, he said, looking at Bix. He's the all-time champ at being too good for ugly business.

He pushed the ball onto Bix's arms. Bix grinned at him and left his arms crossed and the ball just fell.

I'll take possession if he refuses it for ten seconds, the man said. He was close to finished for wind and wanted to
get it over with.

Go ahead, said Bix. Go ahead and beat me with your crappy old moves.

Crappy enough for 8–2, said the man and drove for a lay-up from the left side with a nice little hesitation in there.

No bucket, I said. There's time out. We got to solve this right now.

Oh come off it, said the man, slamming the ball and letting it bounce this time. You don't know what you are talking about, kid. This boy has no guts and he never has had any and he is not going to get them now just because you give him a pep talk. He's too smart for pep talks, aren't you, Braxton? I ought to know. I've been giving them to him for five years.

Rah rah, said Bix, go team. When the going gets tough the assholes get going. Rah rah. He was staring at me and grinning.

Jesus, said the man, looking away and waving at Bix like giving up forever. Then he turned back and pointed his finger at Bix and said, You can mock it, son. You can make fun of the tough getting going, you can stick your nose in a book and your hand in a baseball glove once in a while and try to feel like a real boy, but someday YOU'RE going to have to get going, and if you aren't tough then it is bound to hurt a lot worse and laughing won't make it better.

He waited for Bix to say something but Bix just grinned at me, eyes frozen, and the man went over and got his jacket.

I consider this game a forfeit, he said. Any objections to that?

Come on Bix, I said. Jeez, man, think about your momma.

Hey, said the man. I looked over. He put down his coat and the flashlight and walked over to me very serious. Hey,
listen to me, kid. I do not ever want to hear you mention that woman, you understand? You do not know who you are talking about and what you are talking about or what you are saying when you mention her, and I won't have it, okay? Okay? He was shaking his big finger in my face like a poker. Understand?

No, said Bix, and we both looked at him for his voice was suddenly very different. He was standing straight and looked funny still, but now his eyes were blazing again.

No, he said. No, he doesn't understand, and I don't understand when you give the same shit to me. What about it? What about when I mention her? You don't like that any better, do you?

Braxton, the man said, this is hardly the place and the company to bring up your—

Why not? Bix said, taking a step towards the man and putting his arms down to his side and leaning his chin out. Why not? She's why we are here. You NEVER think it's the right time to mention her. You NEVER like it when I try to talk about her, or talk TO her, ever since you married her. She is yours alone, isn't she, and you are the only one who knows her, isn't that right? Nobody is allowed to know her but you. You're the big husband, the big old boyfriend before she ran away and married my father in college while you played your little ball at old East Carolina down the road. Man, it burns you up you got to share her with me, and you know what is the worse thing for you to take? I am even closer to her than you are. I came out of her body, man, and that's how close we are.

The stepfather just stared. I could not tell if he was too mad to speak, or just trying to keep control and be the adult who could take Bix's jive and keep cool about it. After a
few seconds he smiled. I thought this meant he was going to do the cool adult number, and I was relieved, for it was getting ugly out there. But I was wrong. The smile was just meanness, and when he spoke in a nice cool voice it gave me shivers.

Maybe I'm wrong, he said. Maybe this IS the place and company to bring all this up. Maybe if you're so proud of yourself we ought to let you show off in front of your pal and hear how it all sounds when someone else is listening.

He stared at Bix but Bix said nothing. Then he nodded at me as if to say You're in on this now, see what YOU think. Then he spoke: So that's how close you are to your mother, huh? Well, it did her a lot of good when she needed to know, didn't it?

Bix's eyes went a little bad but he stood his ground. I…I…he stammered but could not quite think of what to say so fast.

The man turned his head at me, leaving Bix just gaping there. Did Braxton ever tell you that he does not lie? he said.

This took me by surprise, and I said, Well, actually…

Sure he tells you that. He tells everybody. Why, Braxton is the most truthful little soul on earth, aren't you, Bix?

Bix was just frozen. He still looked mad but his cheeks were pale now and the blotch was on his forehead. His stepfather looked at him and then said back to me. No sir, that Bix has never told a lie. Especially not to his mother. Didn't tell her a lie that last night she was here, did you, boy?

Lies are bad, Bix said, frowning, very quick. Lies hurt people.

Oh, do they? I guess you're right. But the truth never hurts, does it? No sir. We always tell the truth, and if by some chance the truth hurts somebody then that's just too
bad, we are safe because we just did the right thing, didn't we. Didn't we, Braxton?

She asked me, said Bix.

Yes, said the man, and you told her, didn't you? He waited for Bix to answer but Bix just looked right between us and frowned without his eyes focused. The man turned back to me. He was holding his ball, the ball Bix had played bounceball with, very easy on his hip. Some of his sweat had dried on his forehead and it was powdery. It made him look old but his eyes were really hopping.

Let me tell you a story, he said to me. I just watched him. About Bix's momma, he added.

She's my momma, said Bix, still staring weird.

Bix's momma was…she was having some bad times. A little personal trouble, we might call it, some doubts about things, insecurity. You know what that is, insecurity?

I nodded.

It can start getting to a person, making them pretty ill. Let's say that was happening to Bix's mother. Lots of things start going bad when somebody gets down like that. She worries a lot about anything, she gets very nervous, she can't sleep, roams around the house in the middle of the night, all kinds of things.

Couldn't give her sleeping pills anymore, could you? said Bix all of a sudden. He sneered. Took too many once, didn't she? Tried to kill herself because she couldn't stand living with you, that's what.

The man glanced at Bix and then just went on. So she's feeling bad, worse than we know, and she gets worse every night, in secret sort of, when everybody else is asleep. She sits and frets and walks and gets all screwed up. Maybe even during the day she is, oh, you know, doing a few funny things,
but they aren't so bad that you can tell she feels as bad as she does. Until you see her at night. Then you understand. Braxton got to see her at night first, didn't he? And he understood the truth, didn't he? That's all Braxton ever looks for, isn't it?

She asked, Bix said.

She wandered into Bix's room one night, the man said. Maybe she watches him sleeping for a while. She loves him. She loves to watch him. She worries about him because he's a little strange, a little messed up sometimes, but when he is asleep she likes to look at him and think maybe he will be okay soon. But this time she needs a little something extra, and when Braxton wakes up she decides to ask him for it.

Boy, you just hate it she didn't come to you, Bix said, that just eats you to pieces, doesn't it?

Well, said the man, looking at Bix, it might have worked out better if she had, don't you think?

Bix said nothing. The man went on.

So he wakes up, and he sees her there, and she reaches out to touch him but he is a little spooked, just coming awake and finding her there, and he pulls away.

She was naked, Bix said. Her skin looked all blue because of the moon and she was cold. And she had a knife.

Maybe she had a fever and took her nightie off, okay? Maybe she was making a sandwich down in the kitchen and drifted off to come upstairs and forgot to put the knife down. Who knows? She was acting funny, feeling very bad, okay?

A sandwich, Bix snorted. You're dreaming. But he shivered bad.

So, the stepfather said, looking back at me, so she asks Bix one question. Here she is, obviously upset, very insecure, and she asks him, his mother now, asks her boy, she loves
him very much and she asks him. Do you love me? Simple question. Do you love me? Well, not so simple. Not for our truthful Braxton.

She was weird right then, said Bix, shaking worse though he was still sweating, and whining a little now. She was very weird. You would not have liked it, you would not have liked her very much right then, not naked there and cold and with that knife, so weird….

So her Bix sits up and thinks about her question for a few seconds, sitting there in his bed, studying this matter from every angle so to be quite truthful. And then he declares his answer. He gives her the truth, right, Braxton? Just the truth—nothing wrong with that, surely.

You would not have liked her very much right then, said Bix, his teeth chattering and the sweat coming off his nose. Right at that time, you would have not.

And you didn't, did you? So you told her. She said, Do you love me Bix? and you said, No, Mother. He tells his mother he does not love her. But he forgets to explain that he is just being truthful, speaking the truth about that one particular moment. See, he could not be expected to think back one hour to when she tucked him into bed laughing with him, nor think ahead to the morning when he knew she would wake him up all smiles and have breakfast ready, nor any other time in his life. No, for the sake of the truth he had to pin down how it was exactly at that moment. And I guess she was supposed to figure out that a little thing like loving her could change at any moment and maybe if she calmed down and put on her bathrobe and acted nice he might just love her again for a while.

The truth, said Bix, shaking his head, it's just—

So she believed him. Everybody knows Bix does not lie.
She was half ready to believe him anyway, feeling very insecure like she did. She nodded and repeated the word he said, No, like she expected it and it was perfectly okay. Then what do you think she did?