Kwame Alexander - The Crossover

Storm

Like a strong wind, Dad

rises from the clouds, strikes

down the stairs, swift and

sharp and mad as

lightning. Flagrant foul, ref!

he yells to everyone in the

gym. Now he’s hail and blizzard.

His face, cold and hard as ice.

His hands pulsing through

the air. His mouth, loud as thunder.

He tackled JB—

this ain’t football,

Dad roars in the face

of the ref, while JB

and his attacker do

the eye dance. I want to

join in, offer my squall,

but Mom shoots me a look

that says, Stay out of the rain,

son. So, I just watch

as she and Coach chase

Dad’s tornado. I watch

as she wraps her arms

around Dad’s waist. I watch

as she slowly brings him back

to wind and cloud. I watch

Mom take a tissue from

her purse to wipe her tears,

and the sudden onset of

blood from Dad’s nose.

The next morning

at breakfast

Mom tells Dad,

Call Dr. Youngblood today or else.

The name’s ironic, I think.

I’m sorry for losing

my cool,

Dad tells us.

JB asks Mom

can he go to the mall

after practice today?

There’s a new video game

we can check out,

I say to JB.

He hasn’t spoken to me in five days.

Your brother has apologized

profusely for his mistake,

Mom says to JB.

Tell him that I saw the look

in his eyes, and it wasn’t a mistake,

JB replies.

pro·fuse·ly

[PRUH-FYOOS-LEE] adverb

Pouring forth

in great quantity.

As in: JB gets all nervous and

sweats profusely

every time

Miss Sweet Tea walks

into a room.

As in: The team has thanked

JB profusely

for leading us

into

the playoffs.

As in: Mom said

Dad’s blood pressure

was so high

during the game that when

he went into a rage

it caused

his nose

to start bleeding

profusely.

Article #1 in the Daily News (December 14)

The Reggie Lewis Wildcats

capped off their remarkable season

with a fiery win against

Olive Branch Junior High.

Playing without suspended phenom

Josh Bell didn’t seem to faze

Coach Hawkins’ undefeated ’Cats.

After a brief melee caused by a hard foul,

Josh’s twin, Jordan, led the team,

like GW crossing the Delaware,

to victory, and to their

second straight playoff appearance.

With a first-round bye,

they begin their quest

for the county trophy

next week

against the Independence Red Rockets,

the defending champions,

while playing without

Josh “Filthy McNasty” Bell

the Daily News ’s

Most Valuable Player.

Mostly everyone

in class applauds,

congratulating me

on being selected

as the Junior High MVP

by the Daily News.

Everyone except

Miss Sweet Tea:

YOU’RE MEAN, JOSH!

And I don’t know why

they gave you that award

after what you did to Jordan.

JERK!

JB looks at me.

I wait for him to say something, anything

in defense of his only brother.

But his eyes, empty as fired cannons,

shoot way past me.

Sometimes it’s the things that aren’t said

that kill you.

Final Jeopardy

The only sounds,

teeth munching melon and strawberry

from Mom’s fruit cocktail dessert

and Alex Trebek’s annoying voice:

This fourteen-time NBA all-star

also played minor-league baseball

for the Birmingham Barons.

Even Mom knows the answer.

Hey, Dad, the playoffs start in two days

and the team needs me, I say.

Plus my grades were good.

JB rolls his eyes and says to Alex

what we all know: Who is “Michael Jeffrey Jordan”?

Josh, this isn’t about your grades, Mom says.

How you behave going forward is what matters to us.

I loooove Christmas.

Can’t wait for your mother’s

maple turkey, Dad says, trying

to break the tension. Nobody responds,

so he continues:

Y’all know what the mama turkey

said to her naughty son?

If your papa could see you now,

he’d turn over in his gravy!

None of us laughs.

Then all of us laugh.

Chuck, you are a silly man, Mom says.

Jordan, we want to meet your new friend, she adds.

Yeah, invite her to dinner, Dad agrees.

Filthy and I

want to get to know the girl who stole JB.

Stop that, Chuck! Mom says, hitting Dad on the arm.

What is “I’ll think about it”? JB replies,

kissing Mom, dapping Dad, and not once

looking

at

me.

Dear Jordan

without u

i am empty,

the goal

with no net.

seems

my life was

broken,

shattered,

like puzzle pieces

on the court.

i can no longer fit.

can you

help me heal,

run with me,

slash with me

like we used to?

like two stars

stealing sun,

like two brothers

burning up.

together.

PS. I’m sorry.

I don’t know

if he read

my letter,

but this morning

on the bus

to school

when I said,

Vondie, your head

is so big,

you don’t have a forehead,

you have a five-head,

I could feel

JB laughing

a little.

No Pizza and Fries

The spinach

and tofu

salad

Mom packed

for my lunch

today is cruel,

but not as cruel

as the evil look

Miss Sweet Tea

shoots me

from across

the cafeteria.

Even Vondie

has a girlfriend now.

She wants to be a doctor one day.

She’s a candy striper

and a cheerleader

and a talker

with skinny legs

and a butt

as big

as Vermont,

which according to her

has the best tomatoes,

which she claims

come in all colors,

even purple,

which she tells me

is her favorite color,

which I already know

because of her hair.

This is still better

than having

no girlfriend at all.

Which is what I have

now.

Uh-oh

While I’m on the phone

with Vondie

talking about

my chances of playing

in another game

this season,

I hear panting

coming from Mom

and Dad’s room,

but we don’t own

a dog.

I run into Dad’s room

to see what all the noise is

and find him kneeling

on the floor, rubbing a towel

in the rug. It reeks of vomit.

You threw up, Dad? I ask.

Must have been something I ate.

He sits up on the bed, holds

his chest like he’s pledging

allegiance. Only there’s no flag.

Y’all ready to eat? he mutters.

You okay, Dad? I ask.

He nods and shows me

a letter he’s reading.

Dad, was that you coughing?

I’ve got great news, Filthy.

What is it? I ask.

I got a coaching offer at a nearby

college starting next month.

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