Long Division(64)

“But you were perfect,” I told him. “You know what I mean? You were better than them. You were better than me. You coulda won that whole thing. For real.” He just looked at me. “I mean, if they gave you a real chance, you coulda won. You know that.” He started tearing up again so I put my hand on the top of his back. “You know I hate you, right?”

“I know that,” he said.

“But I can’t even lie to you, man. You’re the smartest person I ever met in my life, other than my grandma.”

“But I didn’t win, City.” He was grimacing and gritting his teeth like someone was giving him a shot in his neck. “All things considered, the point was to win, to beat them.”

“You weren’t running for president,” I told him. “Look, I’ma show you this white man after church, okay? It’ll make you feel better about yourself when we free him. Say something.”

LaVander Peeler wouldn’t say a word.

“You gotta promise that you won’t let me drown at this baptism, though. I have a weird feeling about it. Wait. Can I ask you a question?”

“If you want to.”

“What did you see before the contest that made your eyes water up? It’s like you knew what was gonna happen before it happened.”

LaVander started scratching his chin and looking at my chappy lips. “I don’t want to say.”

“Why not? It’s over now. Just tell me.”

He looked up and over at Grandma’s chinaberry tree. “I heard the woman who ran everything tell someone on her headset…” He started trailing off.

“Tell someone what?”

“She told someone to change the final order and let the tall one beat the Mexican girl because the fat one was going to be difficult.”

“Wait.” I thought about what LaVander Peeler said. “So does that mean that they were—”

“City, all things considered,” he interrupted me and wiped his nose. “If you don’t know what that mean, you really are dumbest, fattest homosexual on earth.”





CANCELLATION.


Uncle Relle, LaVander Peeler, and I met Grandma two blocks from the church. The sun was beaming and the grills of Cadillacs, Impalas, and Bonnevilles made the usually dusty Ryle Boulevard look like a conveyor belt of cubic zirconia. Grandma commenced to rubbing gobs of Vaseline all over my forehead. She said I didn’t need to look tired and ashy on the most important Monday of my life. Then she kept saying not to be scared, that Jesus would make sure everything would be okay if I just believed.

When we got to the church, Grandma took me to a special room and told me to change. Hanging on the back of the door were three plush maroon robes. I’m talking about long fluffy towel-type robes, with the plushest belts imaginable. One had a piece of masking tape on the chest part with “City” written on it in black marker. The other two had pieces of tape that said “Ren” and “Reygord.” I figured those roguish jokers had found some way to skip out on this whole baptism thing.

My dashiki, shirt, and slacks were off when all of a sudden the door opened. In walked the rogues, Ren and Reygord, eating thick slices of cucumbers.

I was glad that I was out of my dashiki before seeing them. Not only because I looked straight crazy in the outfit Mama made me wear, but also because those jokers were wearing dirty camouflage shorts and yellow V-necks that had their names airbrushed on them.

“Y’all ready?” I asked them, and covered my thighs and skin-sacks with my robe.

They just kept eating on those thick slices of cucumber.

“Y’all ready for this dunking?”

They both looked at each other and started taking off their clothes. It was like they were having a contest to see who could take his clothes off the fastest.

“Y’all know about the white man behind my house?”

They both laughed. I liked that they were laughing, but it pissed me off that they wouldn’t talk to me.

“Hey, y’all. Hey.” Still no answer. “Hey. You know how we can get out of this, don’t you?” They looked at me and kept taking their clothes off. Both of them were down to their drawers. A heavy dose of Mama Troll’s organ slid under the door. The twins looked at me, looked at each other, and took off out of the room and out of the church.

I was all by myself.


Deacon Big Shank knocked on our door. When I opened it, he said that when Reverend Cherry said, “Let us have our young candidates for baptism,” I would walk out with my head down and my fists couldn’t be balled up.

While Big Shank was talking, I faded out, still thinking about Long Division and all that had happened over the past few days. I tried to think about it all as if it had unfolded like slow-motion scenes in a movie or soap opera, but it didn’t work. Then, I tried to think of another kind of movie music that would cover the slow-motion scenes, something like grainy guitar strums or light toe-taps.

That didn’t work either.

The only music that fit the scene was Big K.R.I.T.’s single, “Something,” or the whiny stuff being spat out by Troll’s organ.

Then something else happened in that hallway. Deacon Big Shank kept talking, telling me how much he liked watching Family Feud with Steve Harvey on his new flat-screen TV. Deacon Big Shank was always talking about TV. That was one of the best things about him.