(1) Neon Bodeaux, Blue Chips vs. (4) Jesus Shuttlesworth, He Got Game
“You lucky my jumper’s kinda busted right now…”
This isn’t really a dream. It could be, but it’s more like a reflection. A reflection that’s real. If he wanted to, he could reach out and touch it, caress it or slide it through his fingers.
“You look like a cock-a-roach…”
Ooooh. It feels good to see this. He’s remembering it all now: that day someone had called him a name at school so he socked him in the stomach, the two of them rolling on the ground all the way until they nearly trampled Ms. Williams’ feet. He got sent home early for that and mommy wasn’t happy. So somehow, he snuck out… nah, actually it was through the front door. Whenever his mother was in the kitchen, the echo of the door couldn’t reach her. Booger followed him out and they started balling. Jesus still remembers looking up at the sun, dry and bright just above the backboard, and trying to stare at it for longer than five seconds. He could never do it.
“Cock-a-roach this then… cock-a-roch this…” He started going back and forth. Daddy taught him this, although he never said use it more than once in a row. Make a move and go, he always told Jesus. But Booger couldn’t stop him. This was where Jesus liked to practice, going up against Booger and his stupid glasses that always fell off when he tried to go in for a layup.
Neon doesn’t have any dreams like that. When he sinks into thoughts, only a few names come up, and a few places. Hell, he can’t even remember back to Algiers and the barn shack, the place he used to send grown men home crying. For some reason, it’s all faded as if someone else lived it. I was meant for this only. God put me here to do this. Nothing else.