Playing The Game

New Friendship and a Cat

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*

   Jessie has an old tire swing hanging from the biggest oak in his back yard. I have many fond memories of us pushing one another and daring Austin to leap onto the ground. Childhood, the carefree stage in the battlefield of life.

   I gently sway on the tire, Duke casually leans against the tree trunk. I try to keep my eyes anywhere but him.

   Over the years, I've hidden away from Duke. I don't trust myself, especially lately. I'm on a reckless streak and Duke cant get caught in the mess I made. Damage I'd rather not fool with.

   "So..." I say absently.

   "It was a great game earlier. Austin definitely stepped up to the plate, he blew away everyone." Duke smiles. And there goes my heart thrumming in my chest.

   "You were the one catching the ball. You're really fast, like the wind except solid." I say softly.

   He looks at me with eyes I didn't understand, "You don't mean that."

   " 'Course I do. I wouldn't said it otherwise." I declare. Jesus, I'm hitting on him. I need a drink, or maybe I don't. No, I do.

   Talking with Duke was effortless, I didn't have to pretend to be a perfect lady. I could be me, Avery Skinner, whoever that is. We talked and talked and talked. About football, the school, my dad, the music we like, the food we eat, our families. Just about everything it felt.

   "You know Avery, you're alright." Duke randomly states.

   I furrow my brows, "You barely realize that?"

   He threw his head back and laughs, "I thought you hated me, that I was just another nigger to ya."

   "Why would you think something so awful of me?" Unlike most folks in Stonehenge, I don't judge based on color, wealth, race, religion, sexual preference, or any ridiculous fuddy-duddies. I judge them on the person they are and what they project in the world.

  He shrugs, "True for most of the gals you talk with. That, and you've treated me like the plague since when I first came here from Texas."

   It stuns me that he's noticed my intention of avoiding him. Not in a million years did I want to hurt his feelings.

   "My mother-"

   "I've seen her. I know."

   I wish he didn't. Mother can be the most racist women if you find her in that mood. She made her opinions on black and white mixing clear. Nine years old we were shopping and saw a white girl holding hands with a black boy. From what I saw, they were in love.

   Mother took my hand and dragged me away, out of their ear shot she whispered, "What is she doing? Pretty little thing like that could have any good white man. But no. She has to waste her looks on such trash. Shame."

   Of all the things I heard that woman say, for some reason, that stuck with me all these years.

   "I apologize if she said anything to offend you." I mutter, not able to meet his gaze.

   "Don't worry your beautiful head about it. Not the first slur a white woman has thrown at me."

   Lord, that's horrible how people say rude things to him- wait.