Was it really six years since he had held Squeaky Monroe by the throat, after they had fought on the fire escape of his apartment building? It was all as if it were- no, it was still happening. That piss ant punk had stolen his lunch money for the last time. He chased him all the way up Saint Nicholas Avenue, to where he couldn’t run no more- the alleyway near Schuster’s Athletic Shoes. Damn, if that boy couldn’t run like a man with his ass on fire. But, he was just as quick, with better endurance. Yeah, Squeaky made his leap at the low hanging ladder, pulled himself up, and thought he was on his way to the rooftop and gone. But he didn’t take into account that Henry K. Collins finished third in his gym class in the high jump. It was no less than a minute before Squeaky was in his grip, his air sputtering, his eyes bulging like-
‘PASS DE DAMN BALL, NEGRO!’ is what Rimshot shouted, as they made their way up court. Henry K. Collins, better known as Heaver, heard him and got the rock moving: Heaver to Rimshot to Tiny X and jam! ‘Damn,’ Heaver thought, ‘dat boy be makin’ Dr. J look like a senior citizen in a few.’
-Squeaky looked back at him, flailed as he was ready to pass out, his stray fingers hooking between Heaver’s chest and necklace- the small lighter he had attached to it. The chain snapped. Squeaky Monroe passed out, his limp frame thudding to the steel fire escape. Heaver watched as his golden talisman fell into the bowels of some dumpster far below. It would take him over an hour and forty-five minutes of sloshing through trash before he’d recover his-
‘And yo’ mama!’ shouted Specks, one of the other Skins on his team. As the Shirts made their way back upcourt the crowd at the 98th Street courts was expectin’ somethin’ fly. ‘Fuck.’ shouted someone, as the 104° heat of the blacker than skin asphalt finally got to another rock. On the down dribble the air just farted out of the damn thing.
‘Motherfucker!’ shouted Easy D, the ref, ‘Well, that’s the third ball in five days that’s been goin’ south. I think that’s a sign from de Lord that we should Chilly Ray for lunch. What say we come back here at 1:30? I gets some balls from my boy’s crib and we resume then- ok?’
Everyone assented and the game broke for an hour or so. As he toweled off Heaver saw an old brother, stooped and withered, make his way toward him. He was vaguely familiar. Yes, yes- it was the motherfuckin’ Goat! The Goat of legend. The man who these here parks on 98th Street were named for! The man who had given him the lighter that-
As he approached Heaver and Tiny X the Goat extended his crip to the youngbloods.
‘Whass shakin’ Mr. Man?’ said Tiny X.
‘Not much.’ said the Goat.
Heaver replied, ‘Didn’t know you’d be makin’ face today.
Goat said, ‘Yeah, yeah. Got word from me an’ mine that my main man here (meaning Heaver) was makin’ a comin’ out for the scouts today. I heard that the Knicks, Nets, Sixers, and Celtics all be scoutin’ our fine streets today- even some college types from Villanova and Saint John’s. Even heard The Rock be sending emissaries.’
‘No? You mean John Thompson be comin’?’, said Tiny X.
‘De man hisself. Says he be needing someone real soon to be replacing Patrick Ewing.’
‘Ow, baby- New York Knicks. Dat big buck our ticket to the title. He make Willis Reed look like a faggot.’ said Tiny X.
‘Now, now,’ Goat cautioned, ‘don’t be sayin’ dat ‘bout my boys. When you be slidin’ like Clyde, and handin’ de pearl like Earl you can dish that shit, but- ’
Heaver interjected, ‘Goat, why’s you never made it? I hear Kareem say you be’s the best player he ever go up against- better than Doc, better’n Wilt, Magic, Bird- even this new kid from Carolina- Jordan.’
Goat said, ‘Well, iss like I told you few years ago at the CETA-
’‘De Seeder? What’choo be doin’ homey. Become a farmer? Youse plantin’ seeds?’
The Goat laughed as Heaver explained, ‘No, fool. Not seeder. CETA. C-E-T-A. It means Comprehensive Employment and- ’
‘Comprehensive Employment and Training Act.’, said the Goat. ‘You see, a few years ago I was doin’ some work down at the soup kitchen at the Y. I lived there now and again. Den de gov’ment made this Act that let all young kids like Henry here- ’
‘Excuse me, Goat. But that be HEAVER! You wouldn’t like it if I be callin’ you by your name given by yo’ mama, now would you?’
‘Matter of fact, I wouldn’t give a damn, Heaver. I’m proud of my heritage. Ain’t you seen ROOTS? My Christian name is Earl Manigault.’
Tiny X said, ‘You mean yo’ slave name.’
‘Ain’t been no slaves for over a hunnad years. Anyways, they called me the Goat cuz I was mean and ornery. I owned the skies. I once had Connie Hawkins hisself guard me- or try to. I done whipped his ass one-on-one- de motherfuckin’ Hawk from the N of B of A.’ He’s a Hall Of Famer, an’ I smoked him.’
Tiny X scoffed, ‘ Then why he a Hall Of Famer and you some ol’ fool bullshittin’ Negro?’
‘That gets back to the story about me meetin’ Heaver.’
‘Yeah,’ said Heaver. ‘See, Goat was livin’ and workin’ there an’ I got me a job with CETA, for disadvantaged kids. I was there to wash dishes, take out the garbage, and all kinds of other bullshit. I never even really thought about bein’ a B-baller. Then I meets the Goat. He tells me all his shit and I be thinkin’ like, wow- this some BS. Den, one day after I’m done he invites me back to his room.’
‘Ow,’ shouted Tiny X, ‘I always knew you took it up the ass. Motherfuckin’ faggot!’
‘Fuck you, Shineboy!’
Goat interceded, ‘Now, it ain’t nothin’ like that. I just show him some pictures.’
‘Yeah,’ said Heaver, ‘I seen The Hawk, Bill Russell, Kareem-
’‘Alcindor is his proper name. Don’t buy into that fool Black Muslim bullshit. Look what it got Malcolm.’
‘And all those boys. And I’m thinkin’ if this old man, who I know, could outplay all those NBAers, then I got as good a shot as any.’
Tiny X said, ‘Ok, Dog- no need to rope me. But, that still ain’t explain why the fuck the Goat never made it.’
‘Demons,’ said the old man, ‘nothing but pure demons. I was a bad child. The drugs and women. Mmmm- look at me, boys. I ain’t even fifty yet, not close, but I wobble around like them old chess playin’ fools in Harlem. Twenty years ago I outdid the NBAers, and even Helicopter Knowings. Damn, I was the best. THE BEST, and I ain’t a man prone to exaggeratin’. I was All-Rucker every year. I was MVP. Hell, I was makin’ so much on the sly, back in ’66, I turned down an offer from Red Auerbach- de man who made the Celtics THE CELTICS, ya dig. I was like, fuck no. I ain’t gonna play whitey’s game and pay his taxes. Shit. I lived like a king. I was untouchable.’
‘And?’ said Tiny X.
The Goat laughed and said, ‘Den I got touched- and not by de Lord! Y’see, I was Showtime before the Lakers invented it. Then I went smack. Smack, I tell you boys. Dat damn heroin. I became a slave to no man, but some fool drug. I ruined my life. Dat’s why I work with kids, and in de Y. I don’t want you boys to ruin it all, like me. I done flew through the air, and I touched the asphalt- dig?’
Tiny X shook his head, ‘Yeah, yeah, Goat. I dig.’
‘Good.’, said the Goat, as he shambled away. ‘Gonna get me a dog and cheese. I see you boys later.’
As he slowly limped away Tiny X turned to Heaver, ‘That old fool sure knows how to talk the shit.’
‘Ain’t no shit Tiny- you gotta listen to the man. He be the first person to set my ass straight. Remember when I be smokin’ all that pop, wastin’ my time with them Puerto Rican skanks down on- well, you remember, Tiny. You be no better.’
‘Fuck that. I don’t listen to no one but my moms, and that’s only when she make somethin’ good for supper. Damn, Henry- what’choo a fuckin’ choirboy? You know what that gets you- a sore ass from those faggot priests. The way I sees it is this. I get one fuckin’ scout go fly on me, I go to college, get all the bullshit classes handed to me like Marvin Barnes, sign me a big ol’ wit’ de motherfuckin’ white man’s league, then be chilly all day, fuckin’ me some sly whores and even some fly white chicks. Mm-mm, I got me a plan, Heaver, trust me. I see you in a bit.’
As Tiny X faded into the midday Heaver laid back against the chain link fence, and closed his eyes. He remembered those days, not too long ago, when he met the Goat, workin’ for CETA. Thems were days when kids could stay outta trouble. Heaver thought that if you got poor people you gotta give’em somethin’ to do to take their minds offa bein’ poor. CETA weren’t no goldmine, but at least he met interestin’ people like the Goat, and Larry Newell- but that’s another story. It makes a man learn things about himself to be steppin’ into another man’s shoes. To do a good day of hard work is- well, it’s just good. Heaver understood that but younger punks like Tiny X (just two years younger) never got that. That’s cuz CETA was cut once Ronald Reagan became President. Heaver read that rich folk got tax breaks while poor folk got Nancy Reagan and Gary Coleman jus’ tellin’ them to JUST SAY NO! What bullshit. Yeah, go work at Mickey D’s and be a ‘Good Citizen’, while the man be like a priest and your wallet be like a boy’s asshole.
As he opened and closed his eyes Heaver’s head seemed to swell in the heat. Sweat was more than an involuntary reaction, he thought. He tried to not lose his precious bodily fluids- to take control, be a man. Then, he thought about Angela Navarro’s olive body- last Thursday night, suckin’ on them big titties of hers. Then he thought about Squeaky Monroe, again- his grip, the chain, the dumpster, his....But it all came back to the Goat. He remembered that day, a few weeks after he met the Goat, and heard all the preachin’, and took it all in, when he went out back to chuck all the old celery hearts and shit, where he saw the Goat shootin’ up with Lamprey Morgan, and how he knew the old man was still in the shit. He remembered he cried. Then, later that day, he saw the Goat stirrin’ the pot full of peas and broth, talkin’ to the old men who had nothin’ else to talk about but bein’ served peas and beef broth by a livin’ legend like the Goat, bullshittin’ about how they seen him do a triple dunk, or smoosh his Converse sole into the face of Pegleg McGee, his uncle, on his mother’s side. Except, there was one day it was all different. The Goat was shakin’ violently, out back by the garbage, on a cold December morning, a while before Heaver was scheduled to start. He went up to the legend, whose eyes didn’t seem to recognize him until-
‘Heaver- what’choo lookin’ at?’
‘Nothin’, Goat. You be ok?’
‘Just a bit of the shakes.’
‘Man, I know it ain’t my business, and you be my elder and all, but you should really stop doing all that shit. I mean, it’s killing you.’
‘I know, but even if I stop it’ll get me soon enough. I ain’t long for this world. I know it. No sense in bullshittin’ the Almighty.’
‘But, you tough, Goat. That’s why they call you Goat. You let nothing get to you. That’s somethin’ to be proud of.’
‘Yeah, yeah. Y’know, Heaver, jus’ cuz I don’t listen to my own words don’t mean they’re wrong.’
‘I guess.’
‘No guessin’ about it. I’m just a weak man. You be better than me- at least try.’
‘Yeah, Goat.’
‘Now, don’t you walk away,’ he motions for Heaver to come sit with him on some dirty, greasy steps, ‘Lemme ask you something, Heaver.’
‘Sure, Goat, ask away.’
‘What makes you happy, boy?’
‘That’s it? I thought you be askin’ me some deep bullshit about politics or algebra or shit.’
‘Or religion?’
‘Yeah, shit like that.’
‘No. ‘Fraid I ain’t a deep man. But what makes you happy? Really happy?’
‘Girls,’ said Heaver, starting to blush and grin. Then, he caught his smile and thought that most everyone else he knew, when he first met them, or first had a real talk with them, would ask where he worked, or what he wanted to be. The Goat didn’t. Whether this was good or not Heaver couldn’t tell, but the Goat’s smirk made it seem silly to ask why he was struck by such.
‘Well, in that way. But I mean, if you could have some super powers and change things so that your life would be easier, nicer- what would it be?’
‘Damn. I never thought about such bullshit. I know my cousin Melon says he wish he was white- but I ain’t never knowed a white person to really be happy. Yeah, they got more money and stuff than your average nigger, but....’
‘See, that’s what I’m gettin’ at, Heaver. You not even halfway done with High School and you able to recognize things like that.’
‘So?’
‘So? It means you far ahead of me when I was your age, and far ahead of most of these other sad ass Negroes who gonna be wastin’ their lives away on the blacktop cage.’
‘Blacktop cage?’
‘Yeah. Y’see, it’s part of the white man’s- well, lemme show you I learned some shit in my years. Most white people ain’t happy- but not cuz they racists or other bullshit, but cuz they humans. And humans are a miserable, what’choo call?- species. That’s the scientific word. But it goes to somethin’ far deeper, shit philosophers study. I don’t know all the words, but a man has got to do what a man’s got to do. Nah, that’s bullshit. What I mean to say is- ’
‘I think I know what you be meanin’, Goat.’
‘There’s just somethin’ more, and that’s what I mean by the blacktop cage. Most of these kids nowadays think there’s only one way out of the shit- be like Michael Jackson or be like Reggie Jackson. That nigger owned New York a few years back, but- I mean, Heaver, black folk can be more, and I want you to think in shootin’ alot of rocks at alot of hoops, dig? Don’t just be a one-dimensional player. What I was on the court a man needs to be off the court. Yeah, life is all about luck, in a way- that’s why I’m here, illin’, and Magic Johnson be Magic Johnson. Still, luck sometimes be just another rock, and if you don’t chuck it, well- Bein’ the Goat meant alot to me, but now I’m just Earl to folks who meet me new and proper. The Goat is a ghost from the asphalt, stuck in his own prison cell- the blacktop cage. Yeah, that’s it.’
It wasn’t long after that that the Goat and Heaver really became more than just friends. The Goat wasn’t really like a father, or older brother- none of that Waltons tv episode happy ending bullshit. But, the Goat was important, and never strayed far from Heaver’s life after that. At least not more than a few weeks went by without them seein’ each other. He wasn’t sayin’ that it was the Goat, nor even CETA, that stopped him from bein’ a dealer, but- Yeah, the old man was a hypocrite, but who wasn’t?
The goddamn President wasn’t the man who gave him that lighter, nor the small locket with a photo of Rick Barry drivin’ against David ‘Skywalker’ Thompson. Nosirree! So what if a man has his vices? It still don’t mean that what he was sayin’ ain’t true. It just means he’s as weak as those he speaks against. Don’t that mean he should know what shit he’s speakin’ about? Ain’t that make sense?
Heaver could hear the crowd comin’ back from N’Awlin’s Manny’s Ribs, ready to pick up the pick up. He knew Tiny X was bullshitting with Alfredo Alfonseca. He knew the Goat was walkin’ back with a mustard stain on his Bermuda shorts, and a chain not unlike the one that fell into the dumpster when he and Squeaky- The chain just glimmered on the old man’s gray and hairy chest, like a piece of the sun. He knew it, like he always did. And he wondered why he got his ass all dirty for a chain that was not as important as the Goat. Then he smiled. There ain’t nothin’ in this world that’s perfect- least of all man. That’s what he was. As the clouds of early afternoon made their way in front of the sun Heaver was suddenly gone. Henry K. Collins didn’t even have to open his eyes to know what moved under this.