The guys look at each other again. It’s so quiet you can hear someone’s stomach growling. Despite it being after school and the elementary-aged kids are slowly making their way onto the playground next to us, all wired and ready to go after seven hours of sitting on their asses.
“Why you tryna play us?” DeMarcus asks. “I think you know his name is Kenny. Just like I think you know that your sister kicks it here with him from time to time.”
I blink a few times at him. Nic. He knows Nic. Enough with the bullshitting then. Good thing, because my balling skills are on the same level as my self-defense skills. “So, you know Nic?”
“Of course we know Nic,” DeMarcus says. He looks at his boys and they nod in agreement. Even Rico. Not before curling his lip at me, though. “And we know you all are from the same hood. So what’s up with this ‘pick me, pick me’ shit. You trying to ball with us for real? Trying to pick up some more game for the ladies?”
“Little dude probably ain’t got no game,” Chip says, and it’s the first time I heard Rico laugh since I’ve been out here. Didn’t even think he knew how.
“Okay, so if you know all of that, you know that Nic and Kenny faded about a week ago,” I say. The cordiality drops from my tone. If they wanted me to get to the marrow, I will. “You hear from either of them?”
DeMarcus scratches his chin as he studies me. A few seconds later, he points at me. “Matter of fact, I did. Kenny hit me up about two days ago.”
“He did?” I ask. Two days ago? That recently? Holy shit! If Nic’s with him, that means they’re good. That means when I visit MiMi I’d actually have some good news for her. Some answers. “Where is he? What he say?”
“I’m trying to remember . . .” DeMarcus rubs his forehead, concentrates. “I think . . . I think he wanted to tell me what he had for breakfast that day. Cheerios, I believe.”
“Original or Honey Nut?” Xavier asks.
“Nigga, is that even a question?” DeMarcus scoffs at him. “Honey Nut. Then he told me that he needed to get some more gas for his ride. Then, the most important part of the call, he asked if I could come over and wipe his ass later that night.” That does his friends in. They hang all over each other, laughing at me—the loser who can’t ball and points at his sneakers and walks dogs with skin diseases.
Heat rises to my face and it takes everything in me to not snatch that ball from DeMarcus’s armpit and hurl it at the back of his big head. But there’s four of them and one of me. I didn’t need a hospital bed right next to MiMi’s.
“I’m serious,” I say through gritted teeth.
“I am, too, bruh,” DeMarcus insists, wiping tears from his eyes. “Kenny’s cool and all, but I don’t keep dibs on him like that. Ever since he got all tangled up with Javon we see him when we see him. We don’t ask any questions. Got too much riding on our futures to know the answers, know what I’m saying?”
I know exactly what he’s saying. They all got free rides out of here just because they know how to toss a ball into a hoop. Maybe if I didn’t spend the past few years stressing about everyone else, I could’ve picked up a skill, too. Do something with my hands that’d make me stand out in a crowd. But MiMi needed me and Nic as much as we needed her. And as long as Nic keeps playing this vanishing act, I’ll be anchored to the Ducts until I’m able to get MiMi out of there.
I glance one more time at the guys on the court. The laughter has died down again and they all stare at me, eager for me to say or do something else to give them their next round of chuckles. I’m not anyone’s clown, though. I head back the way I came. These guys didn’t know shiz, anyways. Too busy chasing their own dreams over Kenny’s nightmares.
“Hey! Sherlock Homeboy!”
Like an idiot, I turn around. I expect more laughter, but DeMarcus stares at me like I’m a little kid wandering the hood after the streetlights come on. One eye filled with worry, the other one telling him to mind his own business. “Your sister’s good people,” he says. “Smart as all hell. She’ll find her way back home.”
I let his words sink in and nod. I hope so. But I’ll do everything I can to guide her back in the meantime.
“Here, MiMi. I got it,” I say as I take the applesauce off her tray and pull the chair right next to her hospital bed.
“I can feed myself,” she says, the words leaving her mouth in tiny clots. “I’ve been feeding myself for almost sixty years. Heck, I even fed you your first solids.”
“Well, relax. Let me return the favor.” I spoon some of the unsweetened applesauce and place it to her lips. She gives me a tiny smirk and I raise my eyebrows at her. Finally, she gives in and lets me feed her. “See? Not so bad, right?”
“Hmph.” She twists in her bed. I hand her the remote and she adjusts the bed setting, gets it right where she wants it. “I bet you’re not eating applesauce for dinner.”
“Imagine it’s a juicy steak,” I say as I feed her a bit more. “With a side of mashed potatoes smothered in gravy. Your greens on the side, pieces of ham all swimming in it.”
“Turkey,” she says after swallowing. “I gave up pork a while ago.”
I pause midair with her next serving. “Since when?”
“Since forever ago. You’re just so busy inhaling whatever I put in front of you that you don’t stop to ask what you’re eating.” At that, she looks at me, eyes in full-on grandma mode. “You have been eating, right? What you have for dinner tonight?”
“I’m good, MiMi. I’m good,” I insist. No point of telling her that my last few meals have consisted of whatever wasn’t sold at Taco Bell at the end of my shift. And that’s when I remember to actually put something in my mouth.
“Okay then.” She settles back against her pillow. “I already have one grandbaby to worry about.” She closes her eyes and I hold my breath. I was hoping we’d get through at least five minutes without talking about Nic. I told MiMi about Nic running off with Kenny. I thought she’d be relieved that it was Kenny and not Javon, but all she knew was that Nic was there (wherever there is) and not here. Here is safe. Here is home. She reopens her eyes and they’re dotted with tears. “You have to find a picture for Deacon Irving. A nice one, now. Not one of them silly ones with you and her making faces in your phone.”
“I know,” I say. The good Deacon called me yesterday. Talking about he’s praying for my family. Talking about the members of the congregation wanted to put out flyers and get Nic’s face out there. The gesture would be more genuine from a man who didn’t ditch his sick wife in another state to do whatever’s he’s doing with MiMi. And now that MiMi’s sick, I’m not sure if he stepped one foot in this hospital to see her.
“Now you got to put something in your stomach. We’re almost done,” I say as I feed her more applesauce.
“Can’t wait ’til this place gives me some real food,” she grumbles. The doctors say MiMi’s doing better, but not great. The stroke was pretty severe and they want to keep an eye on her to see if it’s done anything to her fine motor skills. Even swallowing might be a new challenge. Hence, the applesauce.