Markus

Once again, it was hot. And when you added a whole pile of ragged nerves into the mix, the sweat rolled off Markus in sheets. He had already taken two showers hoping to cool down, or at least appear cool, but the thoughts racing through his mind kept taking their toll. It was the fault of the phone call he received about an hour after Aunt Sadie had left for the hospital. Could it be possible? Coach Drew Holmes had called. Drew Holmes! And he wanted to stop by and "have a chat." That would be great Coach Holmes. When did you want to stop in? Oh. This afternoon? Great. While pleased at the quick response to his call, the pending visit forced him to view his neighborhood and house from the eyes of an outsider. He grimaced at the trash along the street and the breakfast dishes piled up in the sink.

Deciding to prioritize and realizing he couldn't do anything about the entire neighborhood, he had better make sure things looked good inside the house. So he filled the sink with piping hot water and piled in the dishes. Two additional infusions of cold water allowed his hands to tolerate the scalding dishwater and he was left wondering how Aunt Sadie could ever stand it. He scrubbed away and rinsed at the breakfast dishes with water he was sure would raise scorn from his aunt should she discover how tepid it was.

It was then the voice of his mama decided to speak up. Markus? Don't tell me you doin' all this for another white man. You done know they can't be trusted. You just gonna get hurt all over again. He did his best to put her concerns aside, which became easier when walkd into the living room and realized how shabby everything looked. The tattered sofa sat on an ancient rug, one still bearing the stains of his childhood spills and accidents. It wasn't that the room hadn't been cleaned. He knew his aunt did her best to keep every possession spotless, but no amount of cleaning was going to remove some of the wear and tear he had inflicted on their belongings over the years.

He kept glancing at the clock, hoping Aunt Sadie would return and be able to work a miracle in turning the furnishings into something vaguely respectable. Hearing the sound of a vehicle outside, he rushed to the window full well knowing it wasn't the Buick. Instead, it was Abbie's father. The door of the pickup swung shut and his neighbor stopped in his tracks when noticing the movement in the window. Fatigue marked the man's face and he looked barely able to remain standing, yet Markus felt the his eyes upon him. Without understanding why, Markus shuddered as a feeling of guilt and embarrassment drifted over him. The man had stopped in his tracks, wavering slightly, just gazing through the window, and then, almost as an afterthought, nodded in acknowledgement. Not exactly friendly but definitely not hostile. Markus was stunned. What was that all about? Especially after the events of last night and the heated accusations hurled at him from that very man, livid and bent on revenge. It so shook him, his mother spoke up again, voicing concerns in her own vitriolic manner. Don't be thinkin' that cracker's gonna be your best friend now, just 'cause he didn't call you a nigger or a spook or somethin'. You gotta watch them whiteys. You listenin' to me Markus?

He was listening and it concerned him.

Hours passed and he filled the time by vacuuming the rug, then flipping the rug over in hopes of exposing a side less stained, then turning it back to its original position. He showered, then tried rearranging the furniture in an effort to hide the worst of the rug stains before realizing in most households a sofa is not generally placed a mere two feet in front of the television set. He pushed everything back to its starting point with a look of disgust on his face. He walked out to the front yard trying to envision what the coach would first see when he arrived. After ten minutes of plucking trash from the yard that had blown over from across the street, his attention was drawn to the front door. Aunt Sadie had been all over him the whole summer to repaint it and he had procrastinated, telling her it was too hot and the paint needed cooler weather to cure properly. That excuse had been fabricated by Jay C and together they had a good laugh over a dull task that had been successfully postponed.

Now, in a virtual panic, he raced to the basement and scrounged around for the paint Aunt Sadie had purchased weeks ago. He shuffled through the contents on the shelves but grew increasingly distraught when he was unable to locate it. Disgusted with himself for his procrastination, he turned back to the stairwell only to knock a can off the shelf in the process. It hit the concrete floor and the lid popped free, spewing its contents everywhere, coating the floor, his shoes, and his jeans in a lovely shade of "Artesian Sapphire." At least he now knew where Aunt Sadie's paint was.

It was the second pair of shoes ruined this summer.

More sweat, this time combined with a splatter of paint, dictated another shower. After dressing, he glanced around the house and decided nothing further could be done to transform the house into the Taj Majal in the remaining few minutes before Coach Holmes' arrival. He poured himself a huge glass of lemonade in the hopes it would help keep him cool and reduce the prodigious amount of sweat he was currently producing. The house was turning into an oven with the early afternoon sun beating down, so he sat on the front stoop in the shade nervously watching each car that ventured down the street. One of these cars, he knew, would be driven by the man who would decide his future: a future he now clearly saw heading down one of two paths: one of basketball success or one of flipping burgers.

The ice in his lemonade hadn't time to melt before a white sedan sporting the logo of the Wheeler Tech Vikings pulled to a stop at the curb. The door opened and a man stepped out of the car with a smile on his face. Having seen several of his games on television, Markus immediately recognized the man as Drew Holmes. Although Wheeler Tech was a smaller school, it had a stellar reputation and had at least three former players currently playing pro ball. Markus intended to increase that total.

Now the coach approached with the smile still on his face and his hand extended. Markus rose to greet him. The coach had a grip of iron, not the kind of handshake that intentionally tried to crush, but one indicating a man in peak physical condition.

"Markus Williams? I'm Drew Holmes. You probably don't know it, but I've seen at least four of your high school games. Two against Valparaiso where you scored twenty six points each game."

Shaking his hand, Markus couldn't help but return the smile. He could tell right away he liked this man. I told you Momma, they ain't all bad! "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir." Thinking back to those games against Valparaiso, Markus had to grin, impressed Coach Holmes remembered him so vividly. "Those were tough games, Valpo was a great team. We were able to pick apart their defense and I got some good help from my team."

Holmes gave a quiet chuckle. "Yes, you had some help, no question of that. But when combined with your defense, they didn't have anything or anybody who could stop you. You played some great minutes there."

Markus basked in the praise of a man who had been in the national spotlight on more than one occasion. After weeks of bearing the pain of rejection, it felt refreshing to hear something positive about his game. He suddenly realized the coach was standing on the sidewalk waiting. "Uh, Coach, we could go inside if you like, but this time of day it's hotter than a furnace in there. We ain't, er, don't have air conditioning."

Coach Holmes drew a deep breath and joined Markus on the porch steps. "You know Markus, it really doesn't matter. Whatever you're comfortable with."

Markus, still concerned over the stains on the rug, shrugged, "I guess this'll do just fine then. And thanks for coming."

The coach settled back against the railing, looking as comfortable here as he would courtside; calm, in charge, and decisive.

"I'm glad you called. I've heard of more than a few problems with Robert Samuelson over at Northern State. After you called I did some checking. It looks like the kid who replaced you may be the son of a big supporter. It's too bad Coach Sweet is gone, that kind of stuff is going to catch up with Samuelson real soon."
"If it's alright with you, Coach, that topic is still pretty painful to talk about right now." While it still rankled him, under normal circumstances Markus would have waxed eloquent for hours on the subject. It was the more pressing matter of his future rather than his past that currently concerned him and he wanted to get on with it.

"I apologize," said Coach Holmes. "Maybe someday we can talk about it, maybe even get something done about it, if you would wish to pursue it." He left the subject hanging, an unspoken promise of retribution left tantalizingly close like a gift wrapped with a big bow and a note with instructions to open only at a later date. "The fact of the matter is that Samuelson, if I got your story straight, could be in big trouble for doing what he did. There is no way he could renege on the school's offer based on what you told me."

He continued, "But what we really need to talk about is whether we think you would make a good fit at Wheeler Tech. Wouldn't you agree?" Again he smiled and Markus basked in the warmth that could be radiated only by one so sincere. "You probably know we're graduating five seniors this coming year. What you may not know is one of our other recruits was injured. Nasty head on collision. What I'm saying is that I'm sure you could fit into our program nicely. I would even go so far as to say you might have a starting role by your sophomore year if things work out."

"I'm all over that. In fact, I..." Markus's thought was interrupted by the thunderous roar of exhaust as a car rounded the corner. It cruised down the street, its driver studiously ignoring the gawking and attention his car attracted with its garish paint job and abundance of chrome. Markus joined in the gawking for several seconds until it became clear the car was going to stop at his house. A grinning Jay C sat behind the wheel.

The car, previously subdued in finish, had been decked out with a convertible roof, a wild glittery paint job, new wheels, and more chrome than an entire fleet of Mack trucks. Jay C pulled up behind the coach's sedan and with a final deafening rev of the engine, killed the ignition and jumped out of the car and over the door with a proud grin plastered across his face.

"Hey man! What's goin' on?" Catching sight of Coach Holmes, his expression flickered to neutral, betraying his curiosity at the presence of the white man. "I picked up the car yesterday. They got it all tricked out! I couldn't wait to show it to you."

Of all the times! Why now? Markus silently ground his teeth in frustration. Instead, he forced a smile, "Jay C this is Coach Holmes from Wheeler Tech University. He's here to talk basketball."

"Hey Coach! You best be signin' up my man here. This brother got some serious skills. He ain't gonna be hangin' around forever waitin' on you."

Markus was mortified. "Jay C, Coach Holmes don't need advice from you." He looked at the coach with a look of helplessness on his face.

Holmes extended his hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Jay C, and it's good to see Markus has a ready made fan club. That might help with tickets sales."

Markus didn't know if Jay C truly thought his contributions were of any actual help in swaying the coach or not, but he did know one thing: everything Jay C said seemed inappropriate and embarrassing. The contrast seemed extreme between the smooth, refined confidence of Coach Holmes and the brash, arrogance of Jay C. He shot dark glances at his friend, desperately hoping to convey the message to shut up and go away.

"You seen my man play, right?" continued Jay C, oblivious to the anxiety he was inflicting. "You know he got the skills to be playin' anywhere, so you best be treatin' him right, he could go anywhere he want to play."

"Jay C!" said Markus, now moving beyond embarrassment into anger. "I need to talk with Coach Holmes. Alone. Do you understand?"

Jay C stood with his mouth hanging slightly ajar. Markus realized he might have offended Jay C, but it couldn't be helped. He was convinced he had to make a good impression and that he would have just one chance; he didn't want anything to go wrong, and that included Jay C. horning in and making a fool of himself.

"Yeah, man," said Jay C in a quiet voice. "I hear you."