Becoming Muhammad Ali Page 5
I let Riney
take it for a quick spin,
then I hopped on, rode around
the block
four times,
and had Cobb time me,
since he was the only one of us
with a watch.
On my last trip,
Teenie strolled over,
her lips shooting me
a smile big as the sky,
her teeth white as clouds,
then she took her keys
off her purple rabbit-foot key chain,
hooked it
to the spotlight clamp
on my handlebars,
and said, For good luck, Gee-Gee,
so you don’t fall,
so I let her ride
on the handlebars
up and down
the block twice,
then I rode
the night wind
by myself,
popping wheelies
and showing off
my smooth-as-butter
fire-engine royal-red
Schwinn bike
with its shiny spotlight
crowning the front.
After School Started Back Up
in the fall,
Teenie didn’t come around
as much
and when she did
her eyes didn’t light up
like stars
no more,
which was okay with me
’cause between
runnin’ with Rudy,
getting tutored by Miz Alberta,
and cruising
around town
on my Schwinn,
I didn’t have time
for much else.
Mystery
One day
I was flying home
with Rudy
on the handlebars
trying
to outride
the dusk
and get home
before the streetlights
came on
when I swore
I saw Corky Butler
running from
the alley
behind our house.
The lights
on my bike
worked like
the hot water
in our tub—sometimes.
Today, they didn’t,
so we hustled
in the near dark,
hoping we could sneak in
the back
before Daddy stumbled
through the front,
when BAM!
we hit
something
and Rudy and I went flying
onto the gravel.
We got up, bruised,
inches from
what was not a something
but a someone
lying stone-cold dead
on the gravel.
We ran inside,
both of us wondering
to ourselves
who the body belonged to,
whether it was really dead,
and neither of us saying
a single word
to each other
or anyone else
about it
ever.
ROUND FIVE
Growing up, Cassius couldn’t understand why white people had it better than black people. It didn’t make any sense to him. He knew they weren’t any better than black folk, just different.
But whenever he asked his momma about it, she’d get real quiet and tell him to be careful. She told us that there were things you could say in the house that you couldn’t say outside. And there were ways we could act around other black folk that we couldn’t act around white people. Even how we walked, how we talked, and who we looked at. It sounds crazy, but it was true. We had to be one way for ourselves and another way for the rest of the world. We couldn’t let white people see what we really thought or how much we really knew. It was the only way to stay safe. Mrs. Clay told us other things, too.
She told us that back in the days of slavery, plantation owners would kill the smartest slaves, because they knew they were the most dangerous. I knew I was smart. But maybe deep inside, that’s why I didn’t want to show it. Maybe I didn’t want to look dangerous.
Cassius didn’t buy any of it. Said he didn’t care, that he was always gonna be Cassius Clay, no matter where he was, or who he was with.
When I got to seventh grade, my momma made me apply for a scholarship to the Catholic school across town. It was where all the smartest kids went. When I got the letter saying that I’d won the scholarship, I cried. Sad tears, not happy. I told my mother I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to be one of those kids. Too dangerous.
But when Cassius heard about it, he wouldn’t let me cry. He said, “Lucky, don’t you ever be afraid of being smart. Don’t be afraid of anything!” And on the first day I came out of my house in my new Catholic school uniform, Cassius was right there on the sidewalk waiting. He walked me all the way to school to make sure nobody bothered me. Then he ran all the way back to his own school. He was probably late. But he didn’t care. “That’s what friends do,” he said. And Cassius was always a great friend.
Looking back, I remember that everybody liked Cassius. Most teachers liked him because he was quiet and polite. “Never gave me any trouble,” said Mrs. Lauderdale, his English teacher. And outside of class, he was really funny—always cracking jokes and breaking us up. Cassius was like a magnet. You wanted to be around him. But I don’t think anybody knew him the way I did. Nobody else really knew what was behind that big smile and loud laugh. I saw the serious part of Cassius—the part of him that was determined to go places, be someone special, and make a mark in the world that would last forever. He was gonna make the world notice him.
Back then, in the 1950s, boys didn’t talk about loving their friends—especially guy friends. But Cassius did. One night when we were sitting on his front steps watching fireflies, Cassius told me he loved me because I understood him. Today, he’d probably say, “Lucky, you really get me.” And I did. I was proud of it. I still am.
The Day I Was Born Again
It was a Friday,
hotter than noon
on the 4th of July.
The one fan we had
was blowing
on Momma,
who was sitting
in the living room
reading the Bible,
probably praying
that Daddy would stop
galivanting
like he did
most Friday nights
till Saturday morning.
Sitting on the porch,
showing my
latest card trick
to Lucky
and showing off
my new white Chuck Taylors,
the heat
was punching
me in the face,
and the sweat dripped
like a waterfall.
I couldn’t take it
no more, so
we hopped on our bikes,
Rudy got on
my handlebars,
and we took off
chasing
the breeze
and my destiny.
We Stopped In
Aunt Coretta’s bakery
on Virginia Avenue,
split a sweet pecan honey bun.
Rode by Percy’s barbershop,
saw Cobb
through the window
in the chair.
Passed the downtown YMCA
on 10th and Chestnut,
heard the loud projector
coming from the backyard.
Bulleted past two gangsters scrapping,
one with a knife, outside
of Dreamland nightclub.
Rode by Louisville Gardens,
home to Cardinals Basketball.
Cruised Fourth Street,
hollering and laughing
to the moon
like we owned the world,
when the heavens opened up,
reminding us
that we didn’t.
The Thunderstorm
emptied so fast, it
was like somebody unzipped
the sky onto us.
Shelter
So the three of us
drop our bikes
outside
Columbia Auditorium,
then dodge
a million raindrops
as we run up
its fourteen stairs
to escape
the monsoon.
The first two things
we see inside
are:
Thousands of folks
checking out the latest home
and kitchen gadgets
on display at the annual
Louisville Defender Expo
and
Chalky, aka Corky Butler.
Crazy Eyes
Corky Butler didn’t
so much walk
as he did lumber
in our direction,
clearing his path
like a grizzly bear
on his hairy toes.
He was in
a dingy, too-tight
warm-up suit with
tattered black Chuck Taylors
covering his paws
that he probably bullied
some kid
half his size for.
When he got to us,
he stepped
on my sneaks,
and bumped Lucky
with just enough force
to make him lose
his balance
and knock Rudy backwards
like a domino
into an old couple
checking out
a Hoover vacuum cleaner.
Then he stopped,
his dusty-looking face
so close to me
I could see the gumline
of his gigantic gray teeth,
could smell
the stream of sweat
crawling down
his dull, bald head.
Corky closed
his mouth,
curled up his crusty lip,
lifted his chin
like he was studying me,
so I balled my fists
in my pockets
just in case
this was a test.
Nice sneakers, he said,
then, before walking out
the front doors,
he pointed
his two stubby
V-sign fingers
at his eyes
and mine.
I got my eyes on you, Cassius. Corky Butler’s watching you.
After
he left
we roamed the Expo
tasting samples
and not talking
about what happened
even though
we were all thinking
the same thing—I might have to
fight him someday—when
I ran into
Teenie Clark again
while waiting
for Rudy
to come out
the bathroom.
Before That
Rudy said he felt
like throwing up,
so we ran
to the toilet.
Before that
we ate too much
Kentucky peanut brittle.
Before that
we said hello to Miz Alberta,
who was teaching people
how to vote
on a cardboard voting machine that
all the kids
in our neighborhood
helped her build
last summer.
Before that
I told Gorgeous George,
You may be gorgeous
but I’m pretty,
which made him laugh,
then come at me with,
Kid, you may be pretty
but I’m exquisite,
resplendent,
an ivory knockout.
I’m so beautiful
I should kiss myself,
and then he closed his eyes
and poked his lips out,
which made EVERYONE laugh.
Before that
we waited in line
for almost thirty minutes
to get an autograph
from the boxer
and sometimes wrestler
Gorgeous George.
Before that
Lucky pretended
he was blowing a saxophone
while we listened to
Billie Holiday sing
“Too Marvelous for Words.”
Before that
we marveled
at the mahogany record player
spinning “Lady Sings the Blues”
at the RCA booth.
Before that
me, Lucky, and Rudy shared two bags
of toffee popcorn.
Before that
I saw Teenie
eating popcorn
and talking
to Miz Alberta.
Before that
we stood drenched
in the front
of the auditorium,
patting ourselves dry
with paper towels
and right before that
Corky had just stepped
on my sneakers
and walked out
the front door
when Teenie Clark
passed by me
with her parents
and her little brother.
Conversation with Teenie
Hey, Gee-Gee.
Hey.
Whatchu doing?
Rudy ate too much brittle, I said, pointing toward the bathroom.
Oh.
…
How’s your jet-plane bike?
Still good.
I can’t wait for school to be over. I’m going to camp. Gonna play tennis and swim and whatnot. What you doing this summer?
Nothing, I don’t know.
Cassius, you don’t like me.
What you mean?
What I mean is you never have words for me. Always “Yup” and “I don’t know” and “Oh… Uh”!
Oh… Uh.
See, I swear you can be so aloof.
I don’t know what that means, Teenie, but it doesn’t sound polite to me.
Cassius, everybody knows I like you.
I like you, I mean, you’re nice and all.
Just nice?
I don’t know.
How about agile?
Huh?
As in quick. You don’t know, Cassius? I’m the fastest runner in our school.
The fastest girl, maybe.
I could outrace you.
You’re dreaming, Teenie Clark.
If I’m dreaming, then bet me.
You don’t want no parts of me, Teenie. I’ll run circles around you. I’m so fast that last night I turned off the light switch in my bedroom and I got in bed before the room was dark.
You may be funny, but won’t be no laughing when I outrace you.
Name the date and the time, and meet me on the line. You may be fine, but I’m faster than an airline.
How about now?
It’s raining now.
You scared you might melt?
NAW!
Then get your buddies, and meet me outside. I’m gonna catch my stride, and you gonna lose your pride. Poor Gee-Gee.
It’s on, Teenie Clark.
Bet.
Bet.
Shock
When we get
to the front door
Teenie’s momma
comes running up behind us
and pulling her
by the arm
while her daddy
You all better get
’fore I get you look,
so we do,
flying out the door,
back under
the night rain
to get our bikes
to go home,
but MINE
ISN’T THERE.
Tragedy
This year…
The last new episode of Rudy’s favorite show,
The Lone Ranger, aired on the radio. And he cried.
We had to hide under desks with books over our heads because the principal said the Russians had a hydrogen bomb.
80 million locusts swarmed the desert in French Algeria.
An earthquake struck Southern California.
Hurricane Hazel hit North Carolina.
And the University of Kentucky wouldn’t let
Cobb’s older brother, Arthur,
the best running back
in the state of Kentucky,
play for their school
’cause of the color
of his skin.
There’s been natural disasters and wars,
all kinds of human failings and tragedies,
but right now
none of it feels
lousier
than my royal-red and white
Schwinn Cruiser Deluxe
with chrome rims
not being
where I left it.
The sixty-dollar bike
my daddy bought me
isn’t there.
It’s GONE
like The Lone Ranger
and somebody STOLE it.
Lucky Said
he saw a security guard,
so after I ran
around in the rain,
crying and
hunting
for the thief,
we went back inside Columbia
to report the crime
but the guard
was too busy eating peanut brittle
and flirting with every lady
that walked by
to care about my misfortune,
so we just asked him
if there was a real cop
anywhere around,
and that’s when he pointed
downstairs.
Downstairs
was a basement
with a gym
that smelled