Dub
Sunday afternoon, Dub ran down the basketball court at the YMCA, faking left, then dribbling right. But his moves weren’t quick enough. Trent, one of his foster dads, slapped the ball away and took off in the other direction. Dub turned and ran after him.
When Trent reached the basket, he performed a slam dunk followed by a celebration dance involving goofy knee lifts and arm rotations. Show-off.
Dub jogged up to the basket. “I didn’t think gay dudes were supposed to be good at sports.”
“And I didn’t think black boys were supposed to suck at them,” Trent said, chuckling as he ruffled Dub’s dark curly hair.
“I’m only half black.”
“Then you should only suck half as much as you do.”
Wesley, Dub’s other foster dad, finally caught up with them. His face was red and sweaty. He bent over to put his hands on his knees. “You two are going to give me a heart attack.”
Trent scoffed. “You’re going to give yourself a heart attack. I’ve tried to get you to work out with me and you always say no. You’ve got no one to blame for your big ass but yourself.”
“And Mrs. Butterworth,” Dub added.
Wes raised a hand from his knee and pointed a finger at Dub. “You leave her out of this. She’s the only woman I’ll ever love.”
“Her and Aunt Jemima,” Trent said. “I caught you having a three-way with them in the kitchen this morning.”
Trent and Wes might be a couple, but like all men they gave each other crap. Three months ago, Dub had been released from McFadden Ranch, a halfway house for juveniles. He’d thought going to live with a gay couple would be totally lame. But it turned out to be dope. Trent was an architect who drove a Hummer, worked out every day, and, like Dub, liked to watch sports on TV. Wesley taught biology at Tarrant County Community College. He had more fat than muscles, but he was really smart. He helped Dub with his homework. He didn’t even mind when he had to explain things two or three times before Dub got it.
Dub had three burglary convictions and a felony drug offense on his record, and he knew the men had taken a chance taking him in. Both were in their late thirties. With no kids of their own eating up their money, they’d been able to buy some nice things. A house in the historic Fairmount neighborhood. All kinds of exercise equipment, including an adjustable treadmill and a universal gym, which they’d set up in the converted attic. An enormous high-def television and a state-of-the-art stereo, a thief’s wet dream. They even had season tickets to Bass Hall and the Dallas Mavericks basketball games, plus matching sapphire-studded cuff links to go with the tuxedos they wore to charity dinners.
The two had once dragged Dub to one of the dinners. Before they’d left, Wes had schooled Dub on manners and the right way to use silverware. Salad fork on the outside, dessert fork up top. Wes had learned all of this stuff when he was a kid at something he called cotillion. The only things Dub had learned as a kid were how to pack up and flee in the middle of the night, and to never, ever cry, no matter how bad you wanted to. Oh, yeah. He’d also learned never to talk to cops or lawyers. They only heard what they wanted to hear.
“You stink, kid.” Wes wiped sweat from his ruddy face with a white hand towel, then used it to snap Dub’s butt. “So do I. Let’s hit the showers.”
Dub followed them to the men’s locker room, bouncing in his brand-new basketball shoes. They’d come with a $130 price tag, by far the most expensive shoes Dub had ever owned. Trent said Dub needed good footwear so he wouldn’t end up with blisters or bunions or fallen arches. Dub didn’t even know what a bunion was. And Trent hadn’t stopped at the shoes. He’d also bought Dub the latest iPhone, a closetful of new clothes, and a laptop computer. He signed them all up for a YMCA membership so Dub would have a place to play basketball, too. What more could a fifteen-year-old boy ask for?
It was the first time in Dub’s life that he wanted for nothing.
Well, almost nothing …
Wes said he and Trent had been “blessed.” Until now, Dub had been nothing but damned. But he was beginning to feel blessed, too.
Despite all the money they’d thrown around, Dub knew Trent and Wes weren’t trying to buy him off. They were only trying to make his life easier, help him fit in at Paschal High School and focus on his schoolwork. Not that it was easy to do, especially with girls like Jenna Seaver around. Dub had been held back once and none of them wanted that to happen again. But flunking sixth grade hadn’t been all his fault. It had been a really bad year …
After showering at the rec center, Dub put on jeans, a blue sweater, and his basketball shoes. He slid his wallet into his back pocket and clipped the attached chain to his front left belt hoop. He probably didn’t need to secure his wallet like this. After all, he no longer lived in the ghetto where someone would be looking to jump him or pick his pocket. But, you know, old habits and all that. Besides, he liked the badass look of the chain wallet.
The three of them packed up their gym bags and headed out to Trent’s Hummer.
“Can I drive us home?” Dub asked when they reached the car. He gave Trent what he hoped would be a convincing smile. “You’d be the coolest dad ever if you let me drive this.”
Wes had signed Dub up for driving school and taken him to get his learner’s permit. He’d even taken Dub out for practice sessions every afternoon in his Honda Civic. But the Hummer? That car was Trent’s baby. Dub knew his chances of ever getting to drive the Hummer were low. But no harm in asking, right? The worst Trent could do was say no.
To Dub’s surprise, Trent turned to Wes. “Whaddya think?”
Wes looked at Dub before turning back to Trent. “He’s been doing real well, doesn’t go too fast, obeys the rules. If he practiced here in the parking lot first, got a feel for the car, I think he’d be okay.”
Dub’s heart began to pound in his chest. Could this really be happening? It is!
Trent pulled his keys from his pocket and tossed them to Dub. “Don’t make me regret this.”
“I won’t!” Dub said. “I swear.”
A minute later, Dub sat behind the wheel of the Hummer. He started the engine and put his foot to the gas.
For the first time in his life, he felt in control.