The Crossover

Mom doesn’t like us eating out

but once a month she lets

one of us choose a restaurant

and even though she won’t let him touch

half the things on the buffet,

it’s Dad’s turn

and he chooses Chinese.

I know what he really wants

is Pollard’s Chicken and BBQ,

but Mom has banned

us from that place.

In the Golden Dragon,

Mom is still frowning

at JB for messing up my hair.

But, Mom, it was an accident, he says.

Accident or not, you owe

your brother an apology, she tells him.

I’m sorry for cutting your filthy hair, Filthy, JB laughs.

Not so funny now, is it? I say, my knuckles

digging into his scalp

till Dad saves him from the noogie

with one of his lame jokes:

Why can’t you play sports in the jungle? he asks.

Mom repeats the question because

Dad won’t continue until someone does.

Because of the cheetahs, he snaps back,

so amused, he almost falls out of his chair,

which causes all of us to laugh, and

get past my hair issue

for now.

I fill my plate with egg rolls and dumplings.

JB asks Dad how we did.

Y’all did okay, Dad says, but, JB, why did you

let that kid post you up? And, Filthy,

what was up with that lazy crossover?

When I was playing, we never . . .

And while Dad is telling us another story

for the hundredth time, Mom removes the salt

from the table and JB goes to the buffet.

He brings back three packages

of duck sauce and a cup of wonton soup

and hands them all to me.

Dad pauses, and Mom looks at JB.

That was random, she says.

What, isn’t that what you wanted, Filthy? JB asks.

And even though I never opened my mouth,

I say, Thanks,

because

it is.