Slice of Life

The weather is excruciating. We’ve been waiting for a day with no rain and warm enough to sweat, but this is ridiculous. There are gnats everywhere and my 3 ½ year old complains. The park we’re visiting is new to us, right down the street from Bright’s tennis camp. The baby enjoys swinging in the baby swing that seems too high off of the ground. My nine year old races her smiling because he can finally beat someone at something. He is happy. My youngest son has had enough of the gnats and asks ever so sweetly to go home. Everyone is sweating profusely, so I oblige. I start to pull the baby from her swing, coercing the winner of the swing race to stop. He uses his bare feet to slow down, scraping them against the red dirt. He stops then laughs a hearty “I won” laugh at his baby sister. She cares only about sucking her right thumb and putting her left hand in my shirt. Bright is waiting in the car. The first day at tennis camp whooped him, and he hurt his knee. “Come on y’all,” I say. “Let’s go.” As I carry my daughter on my hip, and lead the two smallest boys to the van, I notice two young brothas walking into the park. They seem surprised to see people actually at the park during the hottest part of the day. I nod a “Wuzzhaninbrothas” nod and continue to the van. Once I got the children all settled in their car seats and seat belts, I look up and into the park. The young men had settled into the benches right under the only shelter in the middle of the park. The older one, maybe 17 was obviously teaching the younger one, maybe 14 how to do something. The oldest had all the youngest’s attention as he spoke. It seemed the younger one hung onto every word, nodding as his elder spoke. The older one was milk chocolate skinned, thin and tall. He wore dreds and a basket ball jersey with a white T underneath. His jean shorts were way too big and almost touched the ground as he sat at the shelter. The younger one sat directly across from him. He was very dark chocolate and short. He was sporting a “faux hawk”, the half punk rocker and half B-boy style hair do. He wore way too big shorts and a too big white T. I sat with the van running and AC cranked, witnessing their exchange. The children were all glad to feel the air, so I got no complaints to start the ride. I was engrossed in this slice of life. The elder pulled out from his pocket two Styrofoam cups. I did not notice as we passed each other that they had anything with them, but I was preoccupied with 3 year old chatter about gnats. The elder also had beside him a 2 liter Sprite bottle, but it wasn’t clear like the lemony-lime caffeine free soda usually is. It was pinkish-purple so I knew it was that lean. The elder began pouring for the both of them as he steadily spoke. The younger ones eyes were fixed on the cup, and as I witnessed this ceremony, my heart began to break for them.