Page 53 of Saints & Sailors

“Apology accepted,” he said.

I had been a little shit to him from the beginning. “Right, I’m sorry.”

He bobbed his head. “Truce?”

“It’s not like I have a choice, you’re my ride,” I teased as I got in the car.

Dreux got in beside me and kept with his stance on not changing from the rap station.

This time as we began driving for school, the atmosphere was less charged and I felt less trapped.

“Who is your favorite musician?” I wondered above the rap that was still playing.

“It’s a tie between John Mayer or Jeff Buckley,” Dreux answered.

It was such an original answer, I wasn’t sure if he were bullshitting me or not. “For real?”

Dreux shrugged. “I like how John plays guitar and the sound of his voice. Jeff was just elite without saying.”

I liked his answer. Especially when I thought of the fact that Dreux had a guitar at home too.

It was when he glanced at me that I realized I was staring.

I looked away and noticed the fuzzy basketballs hanging from his rearview mirror.

“You play?” I asked.

Dreux shook his head. “No, but my dad always wanted me to.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Truth?”

“Yeah.”

“Not tall enough and no interest.”

“How tall are you?”

“Six-foot-two, give or take an inch or two.” We were back in town and near the school when Dreux pulled up to a red light. “When I was five my dad gave me a ball, and my mom gave me a book.” He got this look on his face as he peered off into the distance. “All the other guys around here, they took up sports right away, and here was my mom offering me something different. It’s like Robert Frost and the road less traveled, you know?”

I was beginning to like his little literary knowledge. “So why baseball?”

“My dad loves basketball, football, and sometimes soccer too during the World Cup. Baseball isn’t his thing.” Dreux began driving again. “Scott taught me, and I liked it enough to play in middle school. When you’re Black, it’s sort of a rite of passage to play football or basketball. Not much choice either. I honestly wouldn’t play anything if I didn’t at least enjoy baseball.”

It was an interesting background, one that made me question some of the guys I knew from back home. Did White guys have this same feat of being forced into sports from the time they were young?

All my friends were into music.

Even still, I felt bad for Dreux.

I snatched the basketballs from the mirror and tossed them out the window as Dreux pulled into the student parking lot.

He chuckled beside me. “Better be happy Rick isn’t around to see that.”

Deputy Rick St. Julien, his cousin. “Right. That make you the narc Bonham says you are?”

Gone was Dreux’s humor. “Nah.”