The Crossover

At the End of Warm-Ups, My Brother Tries to Dunk

Not even close, JB.

What’s the matter?

The hoop too high for you? I snicker

but it’s not funny to him,

especially when I take off from center court,

my hair like wings,

each lock lifting me higher and HIGHER

like a 747 ZOOM ZOOM!

I throw down so hard,

the fiberglass trembles.

BOO YAH, Dad screams

from the top row.

I’m the only kid

on the team

who can do that.

The gym is a loud, crowded circus.

My stomach is a roller coaster.

My head, a carousel.

The air, heavy with the smell

of sweat, popcorn,

and the sweet perfume

of mothers watching sons.

Our mom, a.k.a. Dr. Bell, a.k.a. The Assistant Principal,

is talking to some of the teachers

on the other side of the gym.

I’m feeling better already.

Coach calls us in,

does his Phil Jackson impersonation.

Love ignites the spirit, brings teams together, he says.

JB and I glance at each other,

ready to bust out laughing,

but Vondie, our best friend,

beats us to it.

The whistle goes off.

Players gather at center circle,

dap each other,

pound each other.

Referee tosses the jump ball.

Game on.