Memos from the Middle

Playing in the Dark

“We’re nearing the end of the timeout with 1.6 seconds left in this championship game. Both big men have had huge nights tonight. Walker with his patient, methodical play, and Dunbar with his aggressive, hungry, take-no-prisoners style. It’s been a perfect matchup point for point, play for play. The fans could not have asked for a better game.”

***

“Strip,” Cherry ordered as Ashe, the requisite second, unlocked the cell.

Robeson’s jaw tightened at the thought of once again standing naked before men. Cherry allowed a treacherous smile to spread across his bruised lips as Robeson looked him over. You want it? Come get it, he thought, measuring the distance between himself and the two officers standing on either side of him. If he could time it just right, he could grab them both by the neck and smash their heads together. He possessed brute strength enough to do it, but the timing had to be precise.

“Don’t make this difficult,” Ashe added almost apologetically, knowingly placing one hand on the taser and the other on the club. Robeson stood there, all six feet eight inches and two hundred ninety three pounds of him, running the play.

Robeson had only been imprisoned five days this time, but he remembered that lowering his head was not prudent. He stepped out of his shoes and used his legs to move his pants and underwear to his ankles. He stepped out of them, too. He had learned to keep his eye on his opponents. Know the court. Even if your eyes are closed, you gotta know the court. He still needed to get his t-shirt off without his eyes losing sight of whomever stood gawking, but speed, he knew, was as good a tool as any. If you can’t see him, you gotta be faster than him. He deftly snatched the shirt off and threw it to the ground, leaving the pile for one of the guards to bend over and pick up. He backed into the cell, keeping his body poised for battle. 

Ashe sighed and shook his head as Cherry chuckled haughtily from behind. 

“Three days, Robeson,” Ashe announced before the metal door slammed securely in front of him, flooding the room with Darkness.

“Welcome back,” Darkness sang.

Robeson tried to ignore it as he carefully lined up his big toes at the bottom of the door.

“You already know the area, Robes,” it said.

“Robeson,” he corrected, and began counting, toe to heel until his left heel grazed the farthest wall. Nine, he thought.

“You knew that already, Robes,” it said.

Robeson reversed the journey, heel to toe. Nine.

“Save us both the time, Robes, and just admit that you already know what’s what.”

“Robeson.”

He turned to the side and inched his way to the wall, fingertips touching at just the exact moment he thought they would. Then he lined up his toes at the bottom of the wall.  Toe to heel, and again heel to toe. Six. Both ways.

“54 square feet, right Robes?”

“Robeson.”

Know the court, he thought. Even if your eyes are closed. Even if it’s too dark to see.

“It’s right there, Friend,” it said, as Robeson used his foot to feel for the cot.

“We’re not friends,” Robeson said, sitting down and reaching for the scratchy blanket and flat pillow.

“Don’t shut me out, Robes. Come on.”

“Robeson,” he said, searching for light.

***

The light from the front room let him know Mama was pissed. Robeson stood on the porch trying to decide if it was better to go in and face her wrath or stay out until she left for work in a couple hours. The wind sliding up the back of his too thin jacket gave him the courage to face down the onslaught.

When they behind you and in front of you, you just gotta push through. Can’t stay still. The goal is in front of you.

“Mama, before you say anything…”

“You either selling drugs or you crazy coming in my house at all hours of the night. Now, I told you I wasn’t going to allow you to keep coming and going like you please. This my house, Robeson, and I got rules. You supposed to be here looking after your brother.” Her eyes betrayed the fear she was trying to suppress behind sternness. 

“He was asleep when I left. I am looking after him.” Robeson began to sidle up to his mother, the only woman who did not bristle or clutch valuables as he edged her way. She turned her head away from him. 

“Mama, please, don’t be like that.”

Robeson stared down at his mother. Even with her graying hair she looked young and pretty. But time had been cruel to her, taking her husband and his steady income and leaving her with two sons, one of whom heard Darkness.

“I’m going to bed,” she announced, standing and turning toward her bedroom. “Got me up all night worried about your behind.”

“Don’t worry about me, Mama.” He knew that was stupid the moment he said it, so he apologized and stretched his long arms out to draw her into his embrace.

Bring the rock right to your chest. Elbows out. Hold it. 

Mama sank into his hug, returning it, knowing somehow that he needed it just as much as she did.

“Don’t oversleep,” she said. “Make sure your brother get to school on time.” When she made it to her bedroom, she added. “Turn off that light for me, Baby.”

Robeson eyed the chair where his mother had been sitting and reluctantly reached to turn off the light. The busted street lamp cast no yellow glow in the room and ushered in Darkness.

“What’s up, Robes?” it said.

“Robeson,” he whispered.

Plant your foot. Don’t walk.

“You want me to go, don’t you?”

Robeson stood there, contemplating what to do.

Plant your foot. 

“Walk out that door, down those steps, and turn right. Fifteen big man steps and poof! I’m gone.”

Plant your foot. Whatever you do, don’t walk.

***

“Strip,” Cherry ordered as Ashe eyed his watch.

Tepid water oozed from rusted shower heads making the task of thoroughly cleansing oneself a futile endeavor. 

“Lather up, Gentlemen,” Cherry jeered.

Robeson, irritated by his own stink, sauntered up to the sink and began lathering his towel in a steadier stream of water. 

“Back to the showers, Inmate.”

“It don’t make sense to be over there when there’s more water pressure over here.”

“I did not ask for your plumbing expertise. Move!” Cherry commanded.

Robeson rubbed his towel over the parts of his body most in need of soapy water. 15 seconds, he thought. That’s all I need. 

“Why you let him treat us like this?” Robeson asked an annoyed Ashe, trying to prolong time at the sink.

“Do as you’re commanded, Inmate,” Ashe countered robotically.

“You know this ain’t right,” Robeson said, counting down the seconds in his head.

Cherry spoke into the walkie clipped to his shoulder. “We need back up in the showers on A Block.”

Cool, Robeson thought. I’ll have time to rinse this off if I play it right.

“I’m not causing a disturbance. I’m just asking questions. I’m not a threat.” Robeson was conscious to take all base out of his voice and temper his own frustration. He rinsed the towel and was ready to wipe off as much soap as possible before guards in riot gear stormed the showers.

Turn around, Robeson willed at the backs of the others. He won’t make a move until back up comes. It’s too many of us.

No one turned, and Robeson hated them all.

Shuffling noises from the hall let him know time was up. He folded his towel and draped it across his head before getting down on his knees with his hands clasped behind his head. 

The charge of insubordination was enough to toss Robeson’s cell.

“When you find something,” Robeson shouted through the bars to Ashe, “your buddy there planted it.”

“Sounds like an admission of guilt to me,” Cherry surmised with mock sincerity.

***

“I’m gonna make varsity freshman year just like you did, Robes.”

Robeson sighed after stealing the ball. 

“Stop talking, and watch the three,” Robeson demanded.

“I’m just saying, I wanna do like you did.”

“Naw, be better than me.” Robeson hit a half court shot over his brother’s head. 

“See, that’s what I’m talking about, Robes. I wanna do stuff like that.”

“That’s easy when you don’t have competition. When your opponent keeps talking and not playing.”

The security guard cut the floodlights, and Darkness pounced on the park.

“When did they start doing this?”

“After you went in,” his brother said. “For safety reasons they say.”

“D-up, little brother.”

“Naw, let’s go. I can’t see.”

“We been playing in this park since you were a baby. What you mean you can’t see?”

“It’s dark, Bro. I can’t see.”

Robeson threw the ball toward the goal. Swish. He felt awe emanating from his brother.

“Know the court. Make the play. Hit the shot. Your ball!”

“Robes, it’s impossible.”

“How is it impossible if I just did it? Come on. Your ball!” Robeson pushed his brother hard in the chest. “Go get the ball!”

“How you doing, Robes?” Robeson felt cocooned in Darkness. “I know you hear me. Don’t ignore me, Robes.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Call you what?” His brother ran toward him, dribbling the ball.

“Not you. Run it.”

“Who you talking to, Robes?”

“Just run it!”

Robeson squatted down in the Darkness to hear the dribble. Robeson could smell his brother’s sweat and desperation. 

“Steady,” he said. “When you got the ball, you control the tempo of the game.”

Robeson reached for the ball, knowing that his brother would fake left and drive right. He whizzed past and Robeson waited to congratulate him on his blind layup. 

“I did it!”

“Aww! What a good brother you are, Robes.” Darkness surged in his ear. 

“See, you better than me already,” Robeson teased.

“Game winning shot, Robes?” 

“Absolutely!” Robeson replied. “Two seconds left on the clock. The game is tied 100-100. The pressure is thick as the crowd holds its collective breath.” Robeson jogs to the sideline with the ball and his sight fully adjusted to the Darkness. He slaps the ball and pitches it hard to his brother. 

“Two. One.” The ball clangs against the front of the goal.

“He sucks, Robes,” Darkness disparages.

“Run it, again,” Robeson shouts.

“I’m tired, Robes.”

“You can’t be better than me if you have no heart! Run it again, Dunbar!” 

***

“Strip,” Cherry ordered as Ashe walked up and down the line. The putrid smell of hygienic neglect coursing from the sweaty bodies of fifteen freshly convicted felons flooded the already stale air. 

“This, Gentlemen, is Lange Penitentiary, lovingly known as Languish. We will meticulously check you all for contraband, confiscating what we find. You better hope we find nothing because consequences for illegally smuggled items are enforced upon entry into Languish. Assuming there is nothing on or in your person that could pose a danger to you or other guests in our fair establishment, you will then be given your vestments for the duration of your stay and escorted to your accommodations. Here at Languish, you are entitled to three square meals of varying palatability, opportunity for six hours of mind numbing, repetitive work per day, and the finest of cost-effective entertainments.  Are there any questions, Gentlemen?” Cherry’s smug grin met the lowered heads of most of the line.

“Yeah,” Robeson confessed, eyeing Cherry suspiciously. “Why you wait until we ass crack naked to give us this speech? Couldn’t we hear all that with our clothes on?”

Cherry rubbed the red hairs sparsely covering his chin as if he were truly considering an answer to the question. “Speaking of ass cracks…” he declared before handing latex gloves to Ashe and the other officers.

At the end of the line, Robeson was left in intake with Cherry and Ashe.

“Bend over,” Cherry commanded.

Pain shot through Robeson’s body at an intensity that overwhelmed his senses. Robeson sprang to attention and spun around clasping Cherry’s neck in his hands. His smile faded as they locked eyes, but the jolt of electricity flowing into some spot on Robeson’s back allowed Cherry to wriggle free. 

Robeson saw the stick glide toward his face.  

When he woke up, Darkness hoovered over him.

“Where am I?” Robeson questioned.

“Solitary confinement,” it said.

“How long?” 

“Don’t know, but you’ll be here for a while. You tried to kill a guard on your first day. Might even be a record.”

Heavy clanging rapped on metal startling Robeson. A sliding sound preceded the glow of a perfect rectangular prism of yellow light into the cell.

“On your feet.”

Robeson attempted to stand, but his muscles ached all over. 

“I can’t stand up,” he whimpered.

“Nothing’s broken. We checked.”

“It hurts. I can’t do it.”

The sliding sound echoed in his ears and snatched away the yellow light.

Darkness poured over him.

“It’s probably best you couldn’t stand. No telling what they would do.”

“Probably best I can’t stand. No telling what I would do.”

“Oh, you plan to keep fighting, huh?”

“Of course. That wasn’t right.”

“Prison rules don’t care nothing about right, Robes.”

“My name is Robeson.”

“Aw, Man. Don’t knock a good nickname.”

“I don’t do nicknames. I’m a grown man. Robeson or nothing.”

“I like Robes. I’ll think I’ll stick with it.” 

***

Robeson dribbled as he answered the phone.

“Robeson?” 

“Yes?” The voice on the other end was familiar, but Robeson couldn’t place it. 

“This is Mr. Cox. Is your mother home?”

“No. She’s at work.”

“Why is it that whenever I call you tell me your mother is at work?”

“She works two jobs.” Robeson switched the phone to his right ear to begin dribbling with his left.

When you got to the ball, you control the tempo of the game.

“Did you give her my messages?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

Robeson waited, not knowing what else to say.

“I need to talk to your mother, Robeson. You’re failing.” 

“She’s not home, Mr. Cox. I’ll give her the message.”

Robeson hung up the phone and used his shins to move the furniture to the edges of the room.

“Can I try?” Robeson felt Dunbar approach from behind.

“I gotta practice,” Robeson said half seriously.

“Please,” he whined. 

Robeson kept his back to his little brother and said, “You want it? Come get it.”

The rush of his brother’s body toward him made Robeson laugh. Every time he got close to the ball, Robeson pushed him back hard. 

“Hey,” he squealed in complaint.

“Toughen up. You wanna play? This is how you play. You want it? Come get it.”

Robeson’s arms had lengthened right along with his legs in the last year. He was already tall, but now, even grown men tilted their heads up to look in his eyes. To his brother, he was a giant.

“Naw, shorty,” Robeson said, crossing him over in the living room. “Come on. D-up.” Robeson smiled at the pint-sized tenacity staring him down. “You watching the ball or you watching me?”

“I’m watching all three.”

“What’s the three?”

“The ball, you, and the court.”

“You watching the court?”

“Yeah, I’m watching the court.”

“You watching the court?”

“Yeah, I’m watching the court?”

“Then why mama ‘bout to beat both our asses!”

“Stop bouncing that ball in my house!” Mama came bursting through the door. Robeson palmed the ball over his brother’s head just out of reach. “Clean this mess up! And turn all these lights out!”

***

Mr. Cox sat on the edge of his desk and looked Robeson in the eye. Robeson, returning his gaze, waited.

“Are you listening?”

“Yessir,” Robeson replied.

“Well?” Mr. Cox wore one of those old-fashioned, fat-bodied ties. His collar seemed overrun by the width of it. Mr. Cox cleared his throat.

“I’d prefer you didn’t, Sir.” Robeson responded. “She’s busy working, you know? She has two jobs.”

Mr. Cox removed his wire-rimmed glasses and used the tie to wipe them.

Steady. Don’t force it.

“Robeson,” he said, returning the glasses to his face. “Your mother needs to know about your grades and your lack of focus in my class. You can’t just play basketball. You are a student athlete. Student is first.”

“Yessir.” 

Don’t force it.

“What time does your mother get home from work?”

Steady.

“10.” Robeson counted on the late hour. 

***

“Dunbar, you needed a big play to cinch the win. Half-court shot! How did you know you could make it?”

“I didn’t, but my big brother did. That’s for you, Robes. I love you, Bro!” Dunbar said, pointing to the camera.

Robeson was standing in front of the television with a proud grin beaming back at his brother.

“Ain’t that ‘bout the sweetest thing I ever saw,” Cherry sang at Robeson’s back. “You just a pussy cat, ain’t you?”

Game’s over. You got the win. Walk away.

“Just a big, fat pussy cat, huh?”

***

“Strip,” Cherry ordered from behind a busted lip.