Soul Brothers Chapter 2

Soul Brothers 

(Copyright 2009)

By Jennifer Lightburn

Chapter 2

Cruise sat on the locker-room bench with his head in his hands.  Getting the starting point guard spot was gratifying, but he knew that he didn’t deserve it.  Not with his performance compared to Eddie’s.  What made it worse was the effortless way that Eddie schooled him on the court. 

Cruise hated Eddie.  He didn’t hate the Afrocentric sportsman because Eddie beat him in every sport since tee-ball in kindergarten.  He despised Eddie because of his arrogant response to victory.  That last dunk Eddie made on Cruise in practice didn’t compare to the drama Eddie displayed after he made it.  One would have thought, with that dunk, Eddie saved the human race. 

“I hate him,” Cruise said into his hands.

“Don’t hate the player.  Hate the game,” Vinny said, passing his locker with a towel around his waste.

Déjà vu.

Don’t hate the player.  Hate the game.  Those were his mother’s words, which were usually followed with, “Practice makes perfect.” 

For a moment, Cruise drifted in thought.  He remembered his mother trying to console him in the very same men’s locker room that he was sitting now.

“You can’t get mad that someone is better than you because there’s someone who is better than them.  You can’t be mad that someone is giving himself praise because sometimes gloating is what the human spirit needs.  Just be happy you have a chance to play with such good talent,” his mother had said.

Be glad that you’re starting and take this time to show everyone how good of a player you really are, Cruise thought.   

He sat up, grabbed his towel from the locker, headed to the showers, and ignored the player’s taunting and loud talk. 

“Mom would never make a decision that affects me without telling me first!” Cruise vented. 

            “Leave your mother out of this, Cruise.  I’m not your mother.  I’m your coach and she’s not here anymore,” Cruise’s father replied. 

Cruise noticed his father’s awkward expression, as if his father jammed his foot completely in his mouth.

What an ass for saying that, Cruise thought.  

Cruise stood up and walked to his father.  “What happened to word is bond?” he asked sated with irritation.  Then he swung the door open violently, as if it wasn’t made of glass.

“You said I would start!” he yelled outside his father’s office, as he punched large dents in several lockers that lined the wall in the locker room.

His reaction startled several players, and they grabbed their backpacks so Cruise and the coach could have a moment. 

With his father on his tail, Cruise retrieved his backpack, after carelessly turning the lock to the correct combination, and he left the locker room abruptly, kicking closed locker doors as he made his exit. 

The assistant coach bear-hugged Cruise’s father, as the teenager’s flagrant disrespect was more than the coach could tolerate. 

            “He’s been through a lot this year.  Just let him be.  You can deal with him later tonight, and tomorrow he can take a hammer to the dents.”

“That’s if he lives to see another day,” the coach replied. 

On his way to first period, Cruise saw Eddie leaning against the wall and talking to Vinny and a couple other guys that Cruise called the ghetto squad. He wanted to say something smug to Eddie, but Eddie was standing around his gum smacking homies and Cruise felt too outnumbered to speak his mind. 

He watched as Eddie grinned, showing far too many teeth, as Cruise walked by. 

            “How does it feel to be sitting on the sidelines of one of the most important games this season,” a school reporter asked Cruise from behind. 

Cruise turned to face his assailant. 

“The same way you would feel if I jammed that tape recorder up your butt,” Cruise responded.  

The reporter yielded further questions and walked away, at the same time that Sharon Halley jumped in front of Cruise’s strut. 

“You could always pull a Tonya Harding,” she said with a smile that would ordinarily make Cruise’s body respond in uncontrollable ways.  This time her ill humor was only a source of humiliation. 

            “Harding was a fool to jeopardize her sports career by hurting someone else.  If I can’t play in a basketball game because of my own skill then I don’t want to play!” he said, walking away before Sharon uttered more ignorance. 

            The rumor, that Cruise failed to make the starting lineup, spread throughout the school like wild fire.  Even the pocket protecting, tri-focal-wearing geek-squad eyed him down as he took his seat in the far back row of history class. 

            When Eddie walked into the class, Cruise literarily felt ill hearing all the congratulations.  In the arrogant way that marked his personality, Eddie took his bows and thanked everyone for their continued support, as if he was accepting a lifetime achievement award.  Cruise could feel the unabashed taunting upon him, even though; he buried his face in his arms. 

The classroom was noisier than it typically was when Cruise was the ringleader, and the pitch only seemed to magnify until Mr. Simms’s presence stunned the class to silence.  

Mr. Simms, a former NFL player turned History teacher, didn’t have to tell the class to settle down.  He had a reputation of not taking any mess, and therefore, his students didn’t give him any.  He started and finished role within a minute and then wrote in all caps: HARLEM RENAISSANCE across the chalkboard. 

            “Who can tell me the significance of the Harlem Renaissance in the American culture?” Mr. Simms asked. 

            No one raised his or her hands. 

            “Wake up Mr. Russell,” Mr. Simms said, walking up and down the aisle.  He stopped at Eddie’s desk.  “Mr. Mitchell, can you please tell the class the significance of the Harlem Renaissance?”

            “No, Mr. Simms, that’s your job.  Can you please explain it to the class,” Eddie replied sarcastically.

            “Yes, it’s also my job to give grades for class participation.  Did you read your homework assignment last night?” Mr. Simms asked rhetorically. “Why don’t you at least try?  I’m sure you can come up with something.”

            Cruise looked up to see once and for all the great Eddie Mitchell choke under academic pressure.

Eddie’s eyes followed Mr. Simms, and he saw Cruise watching him.

            “The Harlem Renaissance is a period of time between World War I and World War II when there was a great rebirth of the African American spirit, and blacks expressed their joy through many forms of art,” Eddie said.

            “That’s a very good answer for someone who didn’t know the answer, Mr. Mitchell,” Mr. Simms said, writing Eddie’s name on the board.

            “Name one of the greatest writers of the Renaissance,” Mr. Simms asked the class.  Again, no one raised his or her hand.  “Mr. Russell?”

            Cruise looked up at Mr. Simms and the class as a whole turned around to gawk at him, adding anxiety to an already stressful situation.  Cruise looked at Eddie and Eddie flashed a Colgate grin. 

            “Richard Wright.  Some of his controversial writings include Uncle Tom’s Cabin and Black Boy,” Cruise said. 

            “Very good Mr. Russell,” Mr. Simms said, adding Cruise’s name to the board with a checkmark beside it.  “You get an extra point for giving me two titles.” 

            Cruise’s basketball heartache took backstage when he took the lead in African American trivia.  He had even answered questions that neither Eddie nor any other student in the class could answer.  He began hitting his desk as if it were a buzzer, with sound effects coming from his mouth.  “BONK! Isa B. Wells.” 

“BONK! Marcus Garvey.”

“BONK! Elizabeth Taylor Greenfield.”

“BONK! Zora Neal Hurston”

The score was twenty – seventeen Cruise and there was thirty seconds left on the clock and one final question.

“For three points and a chance to tie the game, name the Supreme Court Justice that Herbert Hoover nominated and who said, “Participation of the Negro in politics is a source of evil and danger to both races.”

Cruise could not prevent Jeopardy’s game show theme music from intruding his mind, and it blocked his ability to extract facts.  He remembered that the Justice’s aim was to drive blacks out of Republican politics and that his name started with a J. 

“BONK!” Eddie said, mocking Cruise’s sound effect and receiving applause from the majority of the gifted and talented class.  “Who is John J. Parker,” Eddie said.

Cruise’s heart sank as Mr. Simms announced that it was a tie game.  When the class bell rang, Mr. Simms shouted out the reading assignment and short paper due the next day.  Everyone scattered to get out of class in order to get to their next class within the allotted ten minutes.  Everyone, that is, except Eddie and Cruise.  Impressed by Cruise’s knowledge of African American history, but wanting to rub the non-victory in Cruise’s face, Eddie sauntered over to his classmate.

“Good game Cruise,” Eddie said.  “Better luck next time.”

Cruise left his class wishing the great divine would stop testing him.  At this point he’d become the ultimate player hater, for he not only hated the player but he hated the game.   It was bad enough that Eddie embarrassed him on the court, but to be neck and neck in academics too...  Cruise’s self-esteem reached an all time low. 

The next thing you know, Eddie will be on ice skates, Cruise thought. 

“Can a white man have a sport?” he said, walking out of class.

“Hockey,” Michael Luz, Cruise’s best friend, said waiting for Cruise outside the history classroom.  Michael was a member of the “rich click” by luck, as his parents won millions in the Virginia lottery. He was short for his age and developed a case of Napoleon syndrome that warped his sense of humor.  

“Black people don’t like the cold, so they won’t advance in hockey until engineers create heated ice-skating rinks that won’t melt the ice,” he said.

Cruise chuckled, even though, he didn’t really consider the joke funny, and he and Michael walked down the hall to their lockers amongst the throng of students who were rushing to exchange books.

“There aren’t too many in wrestling either, but I think that has something to do with all that straddling physical contact and being perceived as gay.”

Cruise stopped walking and forced Michael’s immobility with his hand twisted around Michael’s Hilfiger sweatshirt. 

“First off, I’m not gay and don’t have anything against gay people, but if you try to insinuate that I am gay again, I’m going to take it personally.  And secondly, you need to get your facts straight.  There are plenty of black wrestlers.”

“Get the heck out of here, dude.  Can’t you take a joke?”

“No, I can’t – not today!” Cruise said loudly. 

Michael covered his mouth after an Asian girl sneezed in front of them.

“Can we keep moving before we get bird flu?” Michael replied. 

The Asian girl said a few profane words, which only made Michael laugh.

Cruise released his grip, and the two hurried to their lockers and then to class right before the bell rang. 

Eddie was seated in the front row and he and Cruise exchanged sour looks of acknowledgment. 

Sharon Halley sat in the back of the class.  When she saw Cruise, she took out her cell phone, which was already muted and she texted: 

I’m sorry about earlier.  I was just trying to be funny.  I’ll make it up to you tomorrow night if you want. 

A minute later, Cruise turned around and Sharon blew him a kiss.  His body naturally responded.  He turned back and glared unseeingly at the chalkboard, and in the middle of his exotic daydream he said, “Here!” when his name was called.

Cruise listened as best as he could to the boring science lecture on sediment and volcanic rocks, wishing he could push time by.  His teacher’s lecture was as boring as listening to scripture on Sunday afternoon when a major football game was on.  

His head bobbed up and down as he fell in and out of sleep.

The bell awakened him.

“You need to go to bed earlier,” Michael said.

“Was I snoring?” Cruise asked.

“Do Mexicans sneak across the border?” Michael replied sarcastically.

“I could sleep all night long and still pass out in this class.  How long was I out?” Cruise asked.

“Cruise Russell, come see me please,” Mrs. Franklin said.

“That long, huh?”

“Uh, yeah, I’ll see you at gym.  Don’t forget to get a pass.  You know your father is twice as hard on you.”

Cruise strolled into gym with the notion of failing science on his mind.  He had one shot to bring up his science grade, and that was a long shot from the pits of hell.  If he didn’t get a B on his test tomorrow, he’d get an F on his report card. Though Cruise appreciated the heads up from Mrs. Franklin, he wished she could make science more exciting.  Only the gawkiest geek cared about how rocks were formed and the chemical make-up of various elements.  With no intention of being a scientist or a doctor, Cruise could care less about science.

When he walked into the gymnasium fully suited up, he gave his father his tardy pass. 

“I didn’t appreciate your behavior this morning.  We’ll speak about it when you get home,” Cruise’s father said bitterly under his breath in a tone that Cruise recognized but dismissed.

Sharon Halley was leaning against his archenemy, Eddie, looking pretty in pink and hopelessly devoted. 

Cruise walked away from his father who was steadily talking and jogged across the basketball court, near the pads where the two were stretching. 

“Leave her alone,” Cruise said.

“He’s not bothering me, Cruise,” Sharon said, tossing her dirty blonde hair over her shoulders and smacking on a piece of watermelon Bubblicious.

Eddie stood up.  “First of all, she came to me, and I can talk to whomever I want to.  And besides that, I don’t know if you got the memo, white boy, but slavery days are over, so step before you get stomped,” Eddie replied, stretching his neck so he could look down at Cruise, even though, they were both six feet tall. 

Cruise’s bolo punch caught both he and Eddie off guard.  He was about to follow through with an uppercut when his father grabbed his arms. 

Eddie fell to the mats below. 

“Oh, you want to sucker punch me!”  

Eddie got up but was held back by several students.  

“Let me go!  Let me go!” Eddie shouted unable to break the students’ grip.

The coach grabbed Cruise with the same bear hug he’d received earlier that morning and dragged his son out of the gym.  “Go the Principal’s office!”

The coach walked back into the gym, red faced, angry and cursing under his breathe.  

Still confined in a tight squeeze, Eddie yelled profanities at the guys who prevented his vindication and at Cruise who was long gone. 

“Let him go,” the coach said.  “Everyone get back to what you were doing.  Eddie, come here.  What happened?” the coach asked.

Eddie walked closer to the coach. 

“I was minding my own business, and your son assaulted me.  I have several witnesses who can validate this.  He started mouthing off to me… telling me that I needed to leave some chicken head alone.  I wasn’t even tripping on that girl.  I told him to step and he punched me.” 

“So you threatened him.”

“I didn’t threaten him.”

“What were you going to do if he didn’t step?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?  Go the principals office.”

“Why?  What the hell did I do?”

“I don’t get paid enough to deal with this teenage, psychological BS.  That’s what the principal gets paid for,” the coach said.

“She didn’t even see what happened.  I need my witnesses.  Where’s the justice?” Eddie mouthed, as he walked out of the gymnasium. 

Detention was inevitable and suspension was likely, Cruise thought, as he sat in the quiet office filled with scholastic plaques of recognition.  He listened to the water running out of the ceramic sculptures while trying to not think about his full bladder.  He hoped that whatever punishment he would receive would not be recorded in his transcripts.  He wished he could start the day over, and realized that the moment he awoke and saw a black star dart from his face to the ceiling, that his day would be marked with disaster. 

After waiting several minutes, Cruise became impatient and was about to walk out of the office and head towards the bathroom when the door opened and Eddie walked in. 

“Have a seat, Eddie,” Mrs. Sheppard said from behind Eddie.  The principal walked around her desk and took a seat.

Eddie pulled the chair next to Cruise a few feet away, sat down, and looked up at the principal.  

“Eddie, I spoke to Sharon and people who saw the incident.  You need to stop provoking situations by spewing slanders and making threatening comments.  You could have used better judgment and prevented this situation.”

The principal, who wore glasses that were a half an inch thick, then turned to Cruise.  “And at the same time, you need to start learning how to control your aggression or you’ll end up a very lonely person because no one will want to hang around you.”

Cruise swallowed. 

“I’m not going to suspend you two; though I should.  But I want you to leave the campus immediately.  Any work that should have been submitted today will be counted as zeros but you will have the opportunity to work for extra credit,” she said making sure each teenager received an adequate amount of her rehearsed stern look. 

“I called your mother at work, Eddie, and you know how she feels about that.  She wants you to go home and stay there.  The same goes for you, Cruise. Now, I want you both to stand up, shake hands and apologize.”

“And after we say sorry, will Barnie come out and sing a song?” Eddie said sarcastically, thinking about the purple dinosaur that his sister adored and he could not stand. 

“I could suspend you, and you’ll miss tomorrow’s game,” the principal said.

“Sorry, man,” Eddie said to Cruise, knowing that as soon as they got outside, it was on. 

“My apologies, dude,” Cruise said, ready to finish the beat-down he started in the gym.  

Both teenagers gathered their books from their locker and left the building. 

Their umbrellas barely kept them dry, as rain fell from the sky like a Bermuda storm.  

When Cruise’s door did not immediately unlock, he remembered that he needed a battery for his door control, and he continued pushing the button to his remote as lightning crashed against the pavement.  From his peripheral vision, Cruise saw Eddie jump from behind an SUV.  Startled, he sprung into a fighter’s stance.  Just as they both swung an uppercut to the other’s chin, they saw an old an elderly woman glide across the parking lot as if she were wearing power-operated skates.  They heard her wicked laugh and the clouds part.  They felt lightening strike them.  As their bodies fell to the wet pavement, their spirits raced upon the sky, dashing in and out of clouds, passing the moon and several stars, forging towards the light. The light gave them no entry so the spirits fell back down to earth.

            They awakened with a new outlook that nearly rendered them unconscious.  When their eyes met, it was as if they were looking in a mirror.  Though, the only mirror around was the rear view mirror in Cruise’s car.  Trembling and soaking wet, they stood and hollered until they were nearly hoarse.

            “I can’t believe this is happening,” Cruise said in the voice and body of his archenemy, Eddie Mitchell.