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He just nods and we ride together in a comfortable silence until we pull into the bookstore’s parking lot.
“So, you collect author’s signatures?” he asks.
“Yeah, for my favorite books. I only have a couple. I got some from half-priced books by chance, but this is my first time meeting an author face-to-face.”
“If you could have any signed book, what would you choose?”
That’s such an easy question to answer.
“The Legend by Ama Baidoo, and Where The Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein”
“That’s the book your quote is from,” he says. Even though he told me he read it, I’m startled that he remembers.
“Yeah, it’s such a great story. It’s old, but still so relevant.”
“Why Shel Silverstein?”
“Because it’s the first book I ever owned, and it made me feel like there was someone in the world as weird as I am.”
“You keep saying that.”
“When I compare myself to everyone else I grew up with, I have all these dreams and passions that are a little strange...”
“At least you know what they are.” There’s an edge in his voice that wasn’t there a second ago. It’s subtle, but I’m an expert people watcher and I hear it. It piques my interest. I close my notebook and turn in my seat so I’m facing him.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he says cryptically and I feel my first prickle of annoyance.
“You’ve been asking me all sorts of questions. I’ve answered them.”
He glances at me and gives a resigned sigh.
“I play basketball and I love it. But…”
He gives a quick side glance and the corner of his mouth lifts in a smile.
“But what?”
“It just feels so… I’m starting to realize that I played more out of defiance than I did out of passion. And now, it doesn’t feel like the place I’m supposed to be. I mean, it’s great to be good at it, but…”
“But that’s not enough anymore?” I ask
“That’s it exactly,” he says with a smile. That smile makes me feel like I aced a quiz.
He sighs, deep and thoughtful and then shrugs again. “It’s not that I don’t like winning. In fact, I think I’m addicted to it. But, when I first started playing, I wasn’t really that good. I had something to prove. I practiced like I’d never made a three-pointer. I played like I’d never lost a game. Winning felt like the only thing. It’s what everyone expects. It’s what I expect…”
“What would you do if you weren’t afraid to fail?” I ask him.
“I would go to law school,” he answers right away. Without hesitation and for the first time since I got in the car he really smiles. Not like the ones he throws because he’s being flirtatious, but the ones he throws when he’s happy. Every time I see it I remember my mother’s warning about men who are so, so dangerous to a girl like me who’s a sucker for a smile.
“If saying it makes you feel like that, you should totally do it.”
He smiles wistfully “Between us, I’m really considering it. Besides my grandfather and my father, Thurgood Marshall is my hero. I read his biography in my freshman year history class and his story resonated with me in a way that felt like I was reading my future.
I get good grades, but studying doesn’t come easy. I’m not the smartest kid in my class, but I’ve got the highest grade point average because I work twice as hard as everyone else. Just like in basketball, but this… it’s all for me.” A muscle in his jaw jumps, but because he’s pulling the reins on his smile.
I feel chills just listening to his honest assessment of himself and his passion. I want that, just a little bit of it, for myself.
