Cameron Coursey

The Spirit of Kobe

That was the year Little Braun hid drugs inside my basketball. Not just any basketball, but the Spalding signed by Kobe. How he pumped powder into the ball was a mystery, like Mama getting the Holy Ghost in church and speaking in tongues every Sunday. Papa says creativity runs in the family. If that's the case, then Little Braun's creativity tended towards the illegal, like something you'd see on one of those Oceans movies with George Clooney, except he never was that lucky. Maybe Little Braun was hoping some of Kobe's luck would rub off on him, even though it was a fake signature on the ball and we both knew it.

The Christmas that Papa gave me the ball and my brother his first electric razor, my brother said, “That's a forgery, Sizzle,” and I said, “You oughta know.” Sizzle's not my name but that's what I'm called because I sizzle on the basketball court, and because Kobe's been my favorite player since I could use a remote and he's named after the Japanese steak. So my brother got all mad and grabbed the ball from me and that's when I called him Little Braun for the first time because he had less use for his new razor than Mama. Little Braun ran out of the house with my new ball and I knew he was going to Morgan Park with it because that's where trouble went to party.

Like the trouble that found us when me and my best friend Jerome walked to Morgan Park on the Independence Day before I got the Spalding, back when I had this tattered red, white, and blue Wilson basketball that was always attracting the wrong kind of attention from the big boys. And those are the times when Jerome comes in handy because he's a foot taller than me and muscled up and the big boys don't bother him too much. So we stop at the roach coach outside the park and get some Yoo-hoos because I am a Yoo-hoo freak and Jerome isn't too fond but he'll drink them because I'm buying. The other reason I get Yoo-hoos is so we can use the bottles to whistle while we're waiting for a court. Sometimes one of the big boys takes offense at this, especially if he's shooting a free throw and misses on account of our music, and maybe he pulls a knife on us which even Jerome won't mess with. That's when we go to the playground and pass the basketball while we swing, or get the merry-go-round spinning and throw the ball onto it so it flies off in another direction. If little kids are on the playground with their parents we can't do that so we just walk around the park and avoid the public restrooms because stuff you don't want to know about goes on in there. But on the good days instead of chasing us off when we play our Yoo-hoos the big boys will say we can come join them on the court, especially if they've seen the Sizzle in action. Because even with that tattered Wilson I could dribble around the big boys and sink a jumper, as long as Jerome set the pick right.

So it's Independence Day and Jerome and me have my Wilson and our Yoo-hoos and we walk to the back of Morgan Park where a chain link fence surrounds the basketball court, and the gate is padlocked. Now padlocks, they don't bother me because I can squirm through small spaces, but Jerome is another matter entirely. Besides, there's a sign that says the court is closed so fireworks can be set up for the display that night, and something about violators will be prosecuted. But there is the court right beyond the fence and no one is on it, and it's beckoning the Sizzle, like the spirit of Kobe has come upon me.

Well, I leave my Yoo-hoo on the ground, wriggle through the gate onto the court, and make Jerome throw the Wilson over the fence because I could get old and gray watching him climb the thing. Jerome came in last place when we did the rope climb in gym, behind Clayton, the boy with one leg who rides the special bus to school. The PE teacher thought he was dogging it, but Jerome's muscles are more of the intimidating variety than for actual usage. Anyway, I spin the ball on my finger waiting for Jerome, and when he's finally at the top of the fence, lo and behold, he gets his baggy shorts stuck on the wire. There he is clinging to the fence with his Scooby-Doo underwear hanging out screaming for help like Shaggy, except he's yelling for the Sizzle instead of Scoob. He's yelling for me to get him out of there, like there's a ghost on his tail—not one of those ghosts from the Scrappy-Doo era that I laughed at because they looked like Little Braun's girlfriends, but the ones before that when I hid my head under the covers and peeked out with one eye at the TV.

So Jerome's screaming from the top of the fence, and I shake my head and remind myself he's no relation to my family. Because if it was me up there wailing then Little Braun would be throwing rocks at my sobby self telling me to shut up. Papa would be yelling that he'll buy me a dress if I keep it up, and Mama would shake the fence to kingdom come if she had to so I would fall off and quit making a scene. And a scene was what Jerome made, big enough to attract the attention of the rent-a-cop who patrols the park every now and then but never when you need him.

As soon as I see Barney—that's what we call the rent-a-cop, not on account of he's like the bumbling deputy in Mayberry as much as he's as big as the purple dinosaur—I hide behind a big box in the back of the court that looks to be for the fireworks display. The last time Barney harassed Jerome and me was on the playground when we were flinging the Wilson off the merry-go-round, and when Barney threatened to take the ball I threw sand in his face and we ran, so meeting up with Barney again was not on the top of my list. Anyway, Barney's pulling on Jerome's leg and Jerome is kicking trying to get away. Then Barney gives a big yank and Jerome springs off the fence like he's that kid on Jurassic Park who got zapped with ten-thousand volts, except his ears don't bleed.

Barney pulls Jerome up and holds him with arms behind his back, and now I'm mad because Jerome doesn't deserve to be criminalized. Like the time Barney saw me in the park and asked if I bought that Yoo-hoo and I told him I bottled it myself. Or when the math teacher asked how I made an A on the test and I said I wrote the questions. Or when that PE teacher yelled at Jerome for being too lazy to climb the rope and I told him Jerome had a rope allergy so he should call the nurse, and he did. Grownups are always criminalizing the kids, even when they're innocent. That's what I told Mama when the school called and said Little Braun forged her name on a detention slip. Mama told me to go to bed and then she made Little Braun sit in the church choir next to her every Sunday for a year.

Now Barney is holding Jerome next to the gate where the two Yoo-hoos are sitting, and Jerome doesn't have a basketball, so I'm figuring before long Barney's going to put two-and-two together and start looking for the Sizzle—that and the fact that Jerome is a blabbermouth. He'll start telling the big boys our secret plays until I hit him upside the head with the Wilson, and even then sometimes he keeps on talking. So I notice the box I'm hiding behind is wired up to these big tubes on the other side of the basketball court, the kind they use to shoot off the fireworks that bloom like a mushroom cloud. That's where the Sizzle's creativity comes into play.

I remember how Little Braun and me got bored one rainy day and had a shooting contest in our bedroom. We threw pennies at the mousetrap in the corner, and it snapped and hopped off the floor when we hit it—kind of like what the mousetrap did when a mouse took the bait, but without the mess. Now I'm not real fond of mousetraps because they always seem to go off when I'm sleeping and wake me up, and then I can't go back to sleep until I've thrown away the mouse carcass and reset the trap with peanut butter. And sometimes I don't get the trap set right and it goes off when I put it on the floor, and then I get peanut butter all over the place. Little Braun always has me set the traps because I have faster hands. One time he got his finger stuck in a trap and he yelled like Jerome on the fence. So on the day when we had the shooting contest, I reset the trap each time one of us scored. Of course, the Sizzle won hands down until that cheater Little Braun started using quarters.

So I get to thinking that hitting a tube with a basketball is no big deal compared to hitting a mousetrap with a penny, and if I punch the firing button at the same time the ball hits the tube, well there's going to be a distraction big enough to get Barney's mind off of Jerome and why he was climbing the fence and whose extra Yoo-hoo that is next to the gate. Jerome is tugging at his baggy shorts like he does when he's nervous, so I can tell he's about to pull a Judas on me. That's what Mama says when one of us boys tattles on the other one. Then I feel the spirit of Kobe come upon me again, like there's three seconds left in the game and the crowd's on their feet screaming and the ball's in my hand. Two seconds left and I square up for the shot. One second, and I feel the ball leave my fingertips, and it's arching towards the fireworks tube, but I don't have time to watch.

I punch the firing button like I've seen Papa do to the car horn on some occasions, the last one being when we were late to church on account of Little Braun poking around. Papa's doing fifty in a twenty-five zone with me and Little Braun in the back and Mama praying in the seat next to him, and Papa not worried about the cops because they're all at the donut shop he says. But still he has the hazard lights on and his story's going to be that we're headed to the hospital because Mama has pains in her chest, which he thinks might work because the hospital's two blocks from the church. And he tells me if we're stopped by anyone to start crying, because that will help, and I say I can't just turn on the tears like a water faucet, which is when Little Braun hits me real hard in the arm. Little Braun says that ought to make me cry, and I'm on the verge of it but I'm not going to give him the pleasure, so I butt my head into his stomach and he doubles over. That's when Papa turns around in the seat and tells us to straighten up or he's going to bang our heads together, and it's just a good thing Mama opened her eyes at that point or she wouldn't have seen the bag lady crossing at the intersection ahead of us. Well, she screams and we all look out the front window. That's when Papa punches the horn and swerves the car, and I've never seen a bag lady move so fast, but she dove out of the way just in time. Papa didn't talk much for the rest of the day, and he had this bug-eyed look on his face.

And that's the same look Barney has when my red, white, and blue Wilson blasts off from inside the basketball court. So while he's watching my flaming ball, I squirm through the gate and Jerome and me take off like Shaggy and Scooby running from that witch doctor.

We're headed for the park exit like it's a fast break when I see Little Braun coming towards us. And I know he's going to ask where my basketball is, because the Sizzle don't go nowhere without a ball, and besides he's nosey that way. Like the night he turned on the lights and caught me wrapping a dead mouse in Christmas paper and asked what I was doing. When I said the mouse was getting a proper burial in the back yard, he took the package and flushed it down the toilet. The toilet overflowed and Papa had to plunge it for an hour in his pajamas before it drained. Afterwards, our bathroom smelled almost as bad as the park restroom that me and Jerome ducked behind when we saw my brother.

There we are behind the restroom and my heart is beating out of my chest, not from running through the park, but on account of our current dilemma. On the one hand, Barney or Little Braun could catch us and we'd be criminalized. Jerome would go Shaggy on me, despite all those muscles, and I'd take the heat. Ordinarily, the Sizzle is good at talking his way out of the belt, but I'm thinking about that Violators Will Be Prosecuted sign on the gate to the basketball court and how Papa might react if I'm hauled home in a cop car. I'm remembering how Little Braun whimpered for a week every time he sat down at the dinner table after Papa learned about his forgery and Little Braun's backside learned about Papa's belt. And even if it was Little Braun who caught me and not Barney, I'm thinking of the pleasure he would have in ratting out the Sizzle. Then there's the effect on Mama of another child with a record, what with her heart and all. Mama had a fainting spell after Little Braun was caught in his forgery, like she did sometimes at church when the Holy Ghost got a hold of her, but then the spells became a regular occurrence. We knew for sure it wasn't the Holy Ghost after Mama's head landed in her plate at the dinner table one time while Little Braun was whimpering. I could see her rolling down the steps when they pulled me out of the cop car.

But on the other hand is the prospect of hiding in the fearsome restroom where there's weeping and gnashing of teeth, as Mama would say. Even the big boys who let us play basketball with them won't set foot inside because of the real life criminals who frequent it. They'd rather push the Sizzle into the girl's restroom and make me chase the girls out so they can have the stalls. One night I caught Papa watching an episode of Cops filmed inside the men's restroom at Morgan Park, and when he saw me he turned the channel real quick.

There I am next to the restroom with Jerome behind me and my heart beating like a mouse trying to decide to take the peanut butter on the trap or run back to its hole. I hear Barney yelling in the distance so it's time for the Sizzle to get the spirit of Kobe and take charge, but Kobe is nowhere to be found. I push Jerome into the restroom and follow him like we're setting up a play on the basketball court, except I'm holding my breath.

So we cram into a stall and of course it won't lock because this place has been there since Papa was my age and all they do is slap another coat of paint over the rust and gang signs once a year. And I am scared because people have gone into this restroom alive and left in body bags. That happened to one of Little Braun's friends earlier in the summer, and after the funeral Little Braun didn't bother me the next time I wrapped a dead mouse in Christmas paper. Anyway, I climb onto the toilet stool and Jerome does the same thing. He's stepping on my feet and I'm wondering if Kobe ever found himself in this kind of predicament. That's when someone bursts through the restroom door and runs into the stall next to ours like he has some serious business on his mind. I can't see over the top of the stall, but Jerome can and he makes a face like the one Papa was making when he plunged the toilet at home.

Now Jerome doesn't have the strongest stomach. The first time I gave him a Yoo-hoo he almost hurled, which is what I could hear the guy in the next stall doing. There's a thump like something solid hitting the floor, and a slimy packet rolls underneath the divider into our stall. That's when I remember overhearing Mama and Papa at the kitchen table after the funeral talking about Little Braun's friend being a drug mule, and how a mule carries the merchandise in his stomach to keep from getting caught. When Papa saw me peeking around the corner and listening in, he gave me a kick in the rear and told me to go play ball. And because I don't want the mule peeking into our stall, I reach my foot down and kick the packet towards the restroom door, with Jerome holding a hand over his mouth the whole time.

That's when the door bangs open—not the one to our stall but the one to the restroom—and I'm thinking this is Barney and I'll take back all the mean things I've said and done to him. I'll even learn his real name and put a Mister in front of it, if he'll get us out of here. Because that's what I do with the teachers when they're about to take me to the principal's office after I say something smart to them, on account of that's what Mama taught me, and it always works. But it's not Barney, and I know it when the mule in the next stall steps out and calls him Mr. Biggs. Calling him Mister doesn't work for the mule, because Jerome and me, we hear this strangling sound like Mr. Biggs has the mule by the neck and is squeezing. It put me in mind of what it must be like for a mouse when it takes the bait and the spring sends the hammer down on its little neck.

Jerome moves around to see what's going on over the top of the stall, and he accidentally pushes me into the lever that flushes the toilet. Then there's Mr. Biggs throwing open the stall door and hauling first Jerome and then me out and onto the restroom floor where the mule is holding his throat and gasping for air. Mr. Biggs has a big gun to go with his big name and he's pointing it at the Sizzle. After that, things start blurring and I get this feeling in my stomach like when Papa first told me that Mama had pains in her heart and I thought the world was about to end. And that's when I hear Little Braun's voice from the doorway yelling to Mr. Biggs that he has the packet of drugs and if he wants it he'll have to come get it.

Well, Mr. Biggs runs out of the restroom after my brother, with Jerome and me not far behind. And it feels like the day they let school out for the summer and Jerome and me got the water balloons out of our backpacks and threw them at the crossing guard who never let the Sizzle bounce his ball when crossing the street, and even though she blew her whistle at us she couldn't catch us. The only difference was that on this Independence Day my ball was blown to kingdom come, Barney is after us, and Mr. Biggs is after my brother.

We run past the playground and out of the park without looking back, and I am so scared that I crawl under the roach coach with Jerome almost falling over me to follow. My hair feels like it could jump off my head the same as when Little Braun made me watch The Sixth Sense with him one night when Mama was at the Sit 'n Spin laundry and Papa was working, and that little ghost girl in the movie vomited on account of her mama poisoning her. That's the only time Little Braun and me held hands without being forced, and then the next day I punched him as hard as I could in the stomach for making me watch that scary movie and he went on a hunting expedition to rid the house of poison. So in the dark under the roach coach I hold Jerome's hand and it is shaking as much as mine and I am praying silent like for all my might, and I think Jerome is praying too, either that or he is speaking in tongues. Then someone runs up to the roach coach and stops, and I cover Jerome's mouth so he doesn't give us away.

Now the Sizzle has been plenty scared before, like when one of the big boys broke my Yoo-hoo bottle and threatened to cut me if I scored on him again, but I always had my basketball and the spirit of Kobe to keep me safe. Except this Independence Day my ball is somewhere in the park and I feel like a mouse caught in a trap with no way out, just waiting for Mr. Biggs to lean down and shoot us. So my eyes are closed waiting for the end when the gunshot comes, and Jerome bites my hand since it's covering his mouth and he's got to let out a scream. I would scream too except I think if I open my mouth I might vomit like that little ghost girl in the movie.

So my hand is hurting and Jerome is kicking and I think he's been shot, except he keeps on kicking and there's no more gunshots so I open my eyes. I see Barney's chubby legs running away from the roach coach and into the park where the gunshots must have come from, and I feel like saying a Hallelujah! and jumping around like the folks in the church choir when the Reverend starts talking about the resurrection, except for Little Braun while he was up there with Mama and he sat with arms folded. I crawl out from under the roach coach and yell for Jerome and he comes out all white like the Reverend said Lazarus was when Jesus raised him from the dead, except he doesn't stink that much.

Jerome wants to hightail it home on account of he thinks the mule in the restroom is dead and he doesn't want to be next, and I am right there with him except for my red, white, and blue Wilson that is out there somewhere. I can picture Barney knocking on our door carrying my ball and Mama inviting him in and Papa listening to the whole story about the off-limits basketball court, all the time fiddling with his belt, and Mama saying a few Lawdies before falling into a chair and Little Braun whispering to me my backside is toast. I close my eyes and pretend I'm Kobe breaking free for a layup, and that settles me down enough to tell Jerome I'll buy him a hot dog if he helps me find my basketball. He agrees because hot dogs are like Scooby Snacks to Jerome.

I go to the window of the roach coach and slap down the five dollar bill that Mama gave me for helping her with the laundry, which she carts off to the Sit 'n Spin every Saturday morning all alone because Papa is working and Little Braun is allergic to work and I am watching cartoons. But after Mama started having spells with her heart the Sizzle volunteered to help, so I load the washer and dryer while Mama sits in one of those plastic chairs with her purse on her lap like in Sunday School. She reads a magazine about celebrities and comments on the spectacle they make of themselves, saying “Someone with that kind of money could afford underwear,” and “What's this world comin' to when a child posin' like that with their daddy watchin'?” And sometimes when I'm waiting for the laundry to dry I sit down next to Mama and flip through the magazines, except for the time I picked up one with Kobe on the front and Mama looked over the top of her glasses and told me to put it down. There's no messing with Mama when she peers over those glasses, so I dropped the magazine and checked the laundry.

I order a hot dog for Jerome and a Yoo-hoo for me because I need something to stop my hands from shaking on account of the predicament with Barney and Mr. Biggs, and the man behind the window at the roach coach is looking at the new bill on the counter like he's never seen one before and saying, “Son we don't take Monopoly money here,” and telling me to go away. Now by this time I am worn out with adults criminalizing us kids, what with Barney picking on Jerome and Mr. Biggs strangling people. So I am getting ready to crawl through the window and cook the hot dog myself when Jerome tugs on my shirt and points to the big oak tree in the middle of the park. Hanging high from a limb and swaying in the breeze like an American flag is what remains of my red, white, and blue ball.

I forget all about buying a hot dog and Yoo-hoo and sneak back into the park with Jerome in tow, and he's whining the whole way about needing energy in case we encounter that rent-a-cop or drug lord. I tell him he's using more energy complaining than it takes to walk and unless he hushes they'll be doing a piece on Cops about finding us in the park. The Sizzle is good at sneaking around when he needs to, like when Mama was snoozing in the chair at the Sit ‘n Spin waiting on the final load of jeans to dry and I crept over to the table beside her and found the magazine with Kobe on the cover and read about his troubles at home then put it back. Mama would never have known except the next week she asked Maurice, “How come you not playing basketball anymore?” That's my real name, Maurice. And I tell her about how Kobe messed up and she says “Well, it's not like he's God or anything.” And I guess that's true that people mess up all the time and have regrets, like Little Braun and his forgery. Or like Papa when he almost ran over the bag lady. Or like me throwing the water balloons at the crossing guard, because she was just trying to keep the Sizzle safe by not letting me dribble my basketball. Anyway, I forgave Kobe and started playing basketball again with my red, white, and blue Wilson.

Jerome gives me a boost and I climb that big oak tree faster than I ever climbed the rope in PE because I feel the spirit of Kobe growing stronger the closer I get to the ball. And the farther up the tree I climb the more it feels like a rope, swaying in the breeze, until it starts to sag from the weight of the Sizzle like the rim sometimes sags when one of the big boys pushes me out of the way, runs over Jerome, and dunks the ball. That's when I stop climbing and look around. Jerome is holding onto the trunk like he can keep the top of the tree from moving and his voice is lost in the sound of the leaves around me. The ball is split in two and hanging over a limb out of reach above me like sometimes when Little Braun holds it over his head and the only thing I can do to get it back is kick him, except I know kicking the oak tree is no solution. To one side is the roach coach and up the road from there is the Sit 'n Spin and I can see the steeple of the church in the distance. Straight ahead is the playground and beyond that the basketball court with all the fireworks laid out. To the other side are the restrooms with Barney creeping towards the men's room door, and behind the restrooms is a picnic area and Little Braun is on the ground between two tables with Mr. Biggs kicking him in the stomach, just kicking and kicking, harder than I ever punched him.

I scream at Barney but he's no better than the purple dinosaur on TV that never heard me. I yell at Jerome but he only hugs the tree tighter. I close my eyes to try to bring back the spirit of Kobe so I can reach the picnic area real fast and have enough strength to beat off Mr. Biggs, but the spirit is gone with the wind that blows around me. I say a prayer for help because it's not like Kobe is God or anything. I shake the tree hoping someone will see me so I can get Mr. Biggs off of Little Braun, but nothing happens. Not even my busted Wilson moves. And I'm crying the same way I did the first time Mama fainted and no matter how loud I yelled she stayed asleep, because Little Braun saved me from Mr. Biggs and I can't do nothing for him.

So a few months later at Christmas when Little Braun stole my new Spalding, the one with Kobe's fake signature, I climbed the oak tree in Morgan Park to find where Little Braun took it because I knew I could see everything from up there, even though I might not be able to do nothing about it. And lo and behold, there's Little Braun back in the picnic area, holding my basketball with one hand and taking a package from Mr. Biggs with the other. Seems they kissed and made up, like you hear about married people doing after one done the other wrong and comes crawling back, except if the one who got done wrong is like Jerome's mama who threw a TV at his papa last year and told him not to show his sorry self in their house again. After that, Jerome started whimpering about everything.

Mr. Biggs leads Little Braun into the restroom, and by the time they come out the Sizzle is feeling like a Popsicle on account of the wind. Little Braun is holding my basketball but the package is nowhere in sight, so I'm wondering if he swallowed the goods like the mule me and Jerome saw in the stall on Independence Day. What with no leaves to hide behind, I climb down the tree real fast and run to the Sit ‘n Spin because I know Little Braun will pass it on his way home. That's where the Sizzle plans to ambush him and call him out for being a drug mule and for stealing my basketball.

The Sit ‘n Spin is all tinseled up for Christmas and old man Palmer is the only one inside when I get there, sitting in a chair and sleeping like he does in church. He sits in the front pew and only wakes up when somebody yells Amen and then he raises the cane he walks with and yells Amen too and goes back to sleep. And one day when the Reverend was preaching on the prodigal son and how he left home to sow his wild oats, but before the good part where his papa runs to meet him when he returned home, Little Braun belted out an Amen from the choir loft and old man Palmer lurched in his seat and shouted it too. After we got home from church and Little Braun was feeling the effects of Papa's belt, I asked Papa why Mr. Palmer was like that. Papa said it was the only kind of cane Mr. Palmer could raise anymore, and Mama hit him. So with old man Palmer asleep in his chair at the Sit 'n Spin, I figure nothing's going to wake him since no one is fixing to shout Amen. I borrow his cane and hide by the front door waiting for Little Braun.

I get that tingle in my arms like the spirit of Kobe when I see Little Braun coming, so I throw open the door to the Sit 'n Spin and jump onto the sidewalk in front of him. Before he can do anything, I hit him as hard as I can in the stomach with the cane. He drops my basketball and doubles over, and that's when I start worrying that I busted one of those bags of drugs in his stomach and Little Braun is going to die right there on the sidewalk on Christmas Day. So I poke him with the cane and tell him I'm sorry I said what I did about his new razor and tell him we need to be getting home or Mama's going to worry, but he don't move except that his eyes are all buggy like one of those mice we find dead in the trap. I grab one of Little Braun's arms and try to drag him towards home, but he's too heavy and I fall down on the concrete next to my new Spalding.

Kobe's fake signature is blurry now and I wipe my eyes. I pick up the cane and start beating the ball with it. I beat it for Little Braun, on account of him being criminalizing after he helped Jerome and me escape, and because he's not going to make it back home like the prodigal son. That's when I see Little Braun's hand reaching out for the ball like in one of those horror movies. He paws at the ball until it rolls to him and he hugs it to his chest. And I know where the package from Mr. Biggs went because white powder is coming out of the hole where the ball is inflated.

Little Braun rubs the basketball and sees me staring. “I just need a change,” he says.

And I want to say something smart but for the first time I can remember I am at a loss for words.

There's a shuffling in the doorway of the Sit ‘n Spin and old man Palmer sticks his head out. “Amen,” he says.

Cameron Coursey put his love for writing fiction on hold to build a career with AT&T, but when the itch to write became too great, he took it up again.  He completed the Writers Studio online program and his first short story was published in Our Stories Literary Journal.  He lives in Defiance, Missouri, with his wife, two sons, and a barking beagle.