Page 79 of Love & Streetball

“I was gonna let you walk your mama⁠—”

“Stay right here.”

She nodded and stepped closer.

The church was packed. I recognized teammates, coaches, people from the neighborhood, relatives I hadn’t seen in years. A few faces turned as we entered, but I kept my eyes on the aisle beneath my shoes.

Then Mama made a sound that forced me to look up. My father lay at the front of the church in a navy suit. His favorite one.

“Fuck,” I whispered, forgetting that quickly where I was. Slim squeezed my hand.

We stopped in front of him, and Mama leaned forward, touching his sleeve.

“You look so handsome, baby.”

Her voice broke on the last word.

I looked away, pressing my lips together so hard they hurt. The flowers beside his casket blurred behind my shades.

“Kane?” Mama touched my arm.

I realized everybody was waiting for me to move.

“Go ahead, Ma. I’m coming.”

Slim helped her and my grandmother to the front pew, then glanced back at me. I nodded so she knew I was okay enough to stand there by myself.

For a few seconds, I just looked at him.

“I was still mad at you,” I whispered.

Saying it out loud made my stomach turn.

“I ain’t know the last time was gon’ be the last time.”

My hand settled against the edge of the casket. I wanted him to open his eyes so bad I caught myself watching his face for movement.

Behind me, somebody coughed. The organ played softly. Life kept making noise while my father lay there.

“I love you, Pops.”

I had to walk away after that. By the time I sat down, Slim already had a tissue waiting. She put it in my palm without looking at me, giving me what little privacy she could in a room full of people.

Halfway through the service, the pastor asked if I still wanted to speak. I had told him yes yesterday. Yesterday, I was sitting at Mama’s kitchen table staring at a wall. Standing up in front of my father’s casket was different.

“You don’t have to,” Slim whispered.

“I know.”

I rubbed my hands over my knees, then stood before I could talk myself out of it.

At the podium, I pulled a folded piece of paper from my pocket. I’d spent an hour writing on it the night before. Now the words looked stiff and wrong. I set it down.

“My daddy used to tell me I dribbled too damn much.”

A few people laughed softly.

I looked toward Mama. She was smiling through tears.