“Come! Come!” Shouts came from the Tigr, presumably from an officer. The soldier dropped the basketball in the driveway, and they trotted to the truck, hopped into the rear and it sped away. The basketball rolled along the side of the driveway and stopped just shy of Med’s head. Winston had forgotten the basketball tucked away somewhere in the barn. Reinstalling the old basketball hoop was a project he kept putting off since rebuilding the barn, mainly because there were no longer any children who lived on their road to play with, but also because he was getting too old to shag the balls when he missed shots. He had managed to install a new backboard shortly after he painted the barn. It faced the driveway, hanging just above his head where he now stood in the apartment. The basketball hoop lay on top of the pallets that hid their septic system, never to be enjoyed again. And thoughts of playing basketball with the Mayor clouded his mind.
Basketball
Winston stood at the front-facing slit for the next couple of hours, peering out through the small hole until his eyes were red and weary and his back ached. May released her clasp around his legs and was now seated upright, her back against the cold aluminum hurricane panels. Every now and then, May asked Winston if it was still clear outside and he replied, yes, it’s still clear, every time. It was remarkably quiet — too quiet. Winston prayed that they had seen the worst of the invasion — that the enemy was swiftly back on the march to Atlanta and another town north of them would soon be dealing with the same horror that the PLA had briefly brought to Johnsonville. He sat down next to May and took her hand into his.
“I can’t believe they killed him, Winston.”
“I have a feelin’ we lost a lot of our neighbors today.”
May burst out in tears, her emotions getting the best of her.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Ya don’ haf ta apologize for feelin’.”
“I just feel so helpless in here, Winston. Like we could a done something for him.”
Winston didn’t tell her that he had tried to get Med’s attention, which nearly cost them their own lives, too.
“I been thinkin’ a lot about the Mayor lately,” he said.
“Oh?” May replied, “why?”
She was happy that Winston had changed the subject.
“First time I ever met ’im was right here in this driveway a few months after you and I met at the Gone With the Wind film festival. It was summer break and I wanted to, you know, tell ’im my intentions.”
May laughed through swollen eyes. “That man made us walk with all of our luggage from the bus depot to this very house.”
“There’s a reason for that, May.”
“I remember my feet tellin’ my head there weren’t no reason for the Mayor to let us walk that distance. I was so angry with him.”
May laughed that laugh when you’ve forgiven somebody for something that happened so long ago, that all it was now was funny.
“Now, jes’ stay with me, May. I been thinkin’ a whole lot about a whole lot a things lately. That walk was one of ‘em, but it’s not why I been thinkin’ a ’im today. And you hit the nail right on the head.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean ta say that the Mayor was tryin’ ta teach us a life lesson — that love isn’t a sprint or a race; it’s a long, slow walk, and sometimes it takes a long spell ta get ta your final destination. But, you gotta walk that walk together. It was a test.”
“We’ve walked that walk, Winston. For nearly fifty years now.”
Winston leaned over and kissed May’s temple.
“Yes, we did. And I’ve enjoyed walkin’ by your side. But that basketball today reminded me a something else he taught me that day.”
“You never did tell me what you two talked about that day.”
“I’m a tell you now. Jes’ stay with me. When we walked down this here driveway, you remember what he was doin’?”
“Of course — playing basketball with the boys from the neighborhood, like he always did on Saturday afternoon. He said to me, ‘hey, Medusa,’ and I said, ‘Daddy,’ and kept walkin’ right on past him. Ooh, I was so angry.” She laughed again.
“Yeah, you were. He hailed me ta stop and we both watched you huff your way into the house. He smiled at me, stuck out his hand, and said, ‘Maybel’s told me a lot of good things about you, Winston.’ I was so scared, but he put me at ease right away. His handshake was firm, like a man who tol’ the truth. Then he dug his hand into a pocket and gave each a the three boys a quarter and said, ‘go on now. Get yourselves some ice cream. Tell Mr. Calef hello for me. Same time next week.’ The boys thanked him — I ‘member the looks on their faces, like they not used to having a quarter in their pockets. Anyway, the boys left, leaving us standin’ alone in the driveway. He hands me the ball. ‘You play?’ he asks. Yes, Sir, a little, I said. I prefer football, meaning, of course, soccer. ‘Let’s practice some free throws,’ he says, ‘an’ call me Mayor.’ And so we stood out there on the free throw line he drew in chalk on the tarmac. I threw first and missed. He said, ‘visualize the ball goin’ in the goal.’ He called the hoop a goal, which I guess is proper. I liked that, but I still call it a hoop. Anyway, he hands me the ball again. I shoot and miss. I keep missin’ and he’d shag the ball wherever it went, bring it back, and say, ‘try again,’ until I got the ball ta go in. Must a been my tenth shot I reckon. He never once said, ‘good job.’ Now it’s his turn. He puts the ball in easy on the first shot, then said, ‘now, over here,’ and we shifted to ninety degrees a the hoop — a three-point shot position. No backboard ta help ta get the ball in the hoop. ‘Go on,’ he said, ‘jes visualize the ball going in.’ I shot that ball and on the third try I got it in. I was so proud a myself, but I didn’ wanna show it in front a him. Again, the Mayor didn’t say anythin’ encouragin’. He only asked me, ‘how did you do that?’ I didn’t know how to respond, or what he meant, so I said that I just pictured the ball going into the goal. He placed a hand on my shoulder, smiled widely, and said, ‘no, that’s not it, but someday you’ll figger it out.’ And we went in the house together.”
“And that was it?” May asked, “what was the reason the ball went in?”
“Not very pedantic, I know, so stay with me May, but in one lesson, shootin’ baskets in this here driveway, the Mayor shared with me his secret ta life. Mental attitude, which had nothin’ to do with visualizin’ a ball goin’ through a hoop — that was the reason. Sure, I didn’t give up. I just corrected what I was doing wrong in my head and tried it again and again until I got it right. And I been doin’ that since the day I met yo’ daddy. Mother, I know people are born the way they’re gonna turn out — leopards can’t change their spots — but I hope I corrected and changed when I needed to.
“Where is all of this coming from?” May asked.
“I dunno. I just wanted you ta know.”
“You are the best husband I could have ever asked for, and you will be for a very long time. We may not have agreed on everything, like the color of this barn, but we have made a good team.”