ARMAND
Sportscaster one: “The biggest news coming from the NBA this week is the mid-game Armand Daniels trade from the Pistons to the Cyclones.”
Sportscaster two: “Yes, Dave, and although Stevie Wonder probably saw this trade coming, it’s been reported that Armand Daniels’ reaction to the news was, in one word, explosive.”
Sportscaster one: “Well, Bill…I’m not sure reported is the best word since there’s recorded footage of his reaction. Let’s take a look.”
The scene on the screen shifted from inside the Black Sports Network studio to the Pistons’ locker room. The blue carpet with the centered Pistons logo coming into view first, then me sitting in the chair at my locker, my eyes focused on the room’s entrance. Whoever filmed me zoomed in on my face, and the expression on it actually scared me. I was pissed, like pissed pissed. Just watching myself brought back feelings that still pulled at my sanity. This video captured me moments after Coach called me a fucking disappointment and chronicled a pocket of time I honestly had no recollection of. But there I was, plain as damn day, standing from my chair, throwing my phone first, then my chair, then other chairs, making them hit the wall under the screen, which at that moment, was showing the second half of the game. While I wrecked shit, I could be heard yelling all kinds of stuff like, “Fuck this team!”
Or “These motherfuckers can kiss my ass!”
Or “A disappointment?! Fuck him!”
It was uncomfortable to watch, but I didn’t feel bad for doing it. I was tired of being traded. I couldn’t lay down any roots like this. I couldn’t find any equilibrium. I couldn’t build anything. I just wanted some got damn stability.
The video ended, and just as Bill’s and Dave’s bitch-ass faces reappeared on the screen, Nathan Moore reached for the remote, turning the TV off. The room fell silent until I finally looked over at him sitting in a chair in my living room in my temporary-ass apartment in this temporary-ass city.
“Go ahead,” I muttered, “say what you flew all the way here from Tennessee to say. Say you told me this was coming, that I shouldn’t have been shocked, that I racked up a fine for tearing up that locker room for nothing, that I’m lucky they didn’t have me arrested instead of just having security drag my ass off the premises.”
He leaned back in the chair, straightening his tie before lifting his hands. “You’ve said it all, which begs the question: what the fuck is wrong with you?” His response came with thunder in his voice. Shit, he almost startled me.
Almost, but I ain’t no punk, so…
“Ain’t nothing wrong with me,” I shot back, leaning forward on my sofa and shaking my head. “You can’t see how fucked up it is for me to keep getting traded?! Miami, New Orleans…hell, this is my second go with Detroit! These motherfuckers are trading me for a second time! And now the Cyclones? The fucking Cyclones?!”
“The Cyclones are a good team. Your volatile ass is lucky they want you.”
Waving my hand, I said, “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m one of the best players in the league. I know it. You know it. The Cyclones know it. They ain’t doing me no got damn favors.”
“Yeah, they are! Look, Armand…you’re talented. You are. I’ve said this tons of times before, but I’ll say it again—you have the potential to be one of the greats if you don’t fuck your own chances up. You’re unlikeable, unstable, and uncooperative as hell. All these years in the league and you’re still a ball hog?”
“I miss one damn shot and—”
“It ain’t about that! You don’t know how to be a teammate! You don’t know how to have anyone’s back but your own, and you aren’t exactly doing a good job of that. To be honest, I’m tired of your shit.”
“Man, fuck you! You don’t wanna represent me anymore, then step. I don’t need you. I don’t need nobody!”
“Here you go with that you against the world shit. The only person doing you wrong is you.”
I was done talking because this was the same shit he always said when trouble hit. Wasn’t nothing for me to say, so we both just sat there for like ten minutes. Finally, I asked, “You quitting?”
“You for real this time? You want me to quit?”
“I don’t wanna be on no damn team with Leland McClain. We cool but not that cool,” I said, ignoring his question.
“Well, I can look into some overseas teams, or maybe you wanna go semi-pro.”
I looked up to see him wearing a smirk.
In response, I grinned and shook my head at this man who’d been putting up with my shit longer than most ever would, and said, “Man, fuck you, Nate,” making him laugh.
“The first thing you’re going to do when you get to St. Louis is find a therapist. No more bullshit about you not having enough time and no more quitting after one or two visits. This is a deal breaker for me. If you don’t resume therapy, I’m going to drop your ass as a client for real, Daniels.”
I stared at him before reclining on the sofa and blowing out a breath. “I hear you.”
ELLA
I hugged my stepmom, Jo, and my siblings, Nat, Lena, Lil’ Ev, and the twins, Ever and Jonah, blinking back tears as I watched them file out of the house—one twin on Jo’s hip and one on Nat’s although they were both toddlers, rambunctious toddlers. Then it was just me and the big guy.
He’d been leaning against the foyer wall watching me say my goodbyes. Now, he was approaching me, a heavy sadness clouding his face as he took mine into his big hands.
“You can come visit whenever you want. You can call me anytime, day or night,” he said.
“I know, Daddy,” I replied, still fighting tears.
“You don’t go anywhere without security. Anywhere.”
“Daddy, I am twenty-three years old. I’ve lived separate from you before. I went to college; then I stayed in New York for a whole year. I’ll be fine.”
Ignoring my statement, he continued with, “You didn’t have to move, Princess. I wouldn’t have been in your business. I know you’re grown and deserve your privacy.”
“I appreciate that, but I…I just needed a change. I’ll be okay, I promise, and if at any moment I don’t feel okay, I’ll let you know. Plus, I have Mother Erica on speed dial, and Uncle Leland is just thirty minutes away. Remember? You insisted that if I moved out of LA, I had to still be near a relative, just like in college.”
My daddy, the Big South, nodded before planting a soft kiss on my forehead and pulling me into a tight hug. Leaning into the protection and comfort I’d always felt flowing from him to me, I shut my eyes tightly and inhaled his scent. I loved my father more than anyone else in the world, and if I was honest with myself, I’d have to admit that I didn’t want to leave him or the rest of my nuclear family, but I knew I needed to. I needed to prove to myself that I could stand on my own two feet, that I could cope and thrive without the umbrella of sanctuary my dad willingly and enthusiastically held over me.
When he finally released me, I saw that his eyes were wet. Giving him my bravest smile, I reached up, pulling his head down so that I could kiss his forehead. “You’ll be okay,” I said.
He chuckled before kissing my cheek and exiting through my front door. I stood there watching as their SUV left my driveway, shut the door to my new home, and then collapsed into tears.