Page 27 of Inside Out
“I have to commit by January fifteenth.”
“It’s only September and the season has just begun,” I reminded him. “The first response that comes to my mind is that you tell people you’re focused on winning football games and the conference championship. Anything beyond this season isn’t relevant right now.”
“That’s the approach I’ve taken with coaches and reporters, but I can’t seem to get my brain to agree with that logic.”
“Marc, what do your coaches think?”
“Let’s put it this way,” he said, turning to look out the window, “my coaches have already been contacted by scouts who are interested in seeing what I can do at the combines in February.”
“There’s obvious interest on their part, but areyouinterested in playing football professionally?”
“Depends on the day of the week,” Marcus said with a snort. “When I’m playing, I can’t see myself doing anything else. When I’m tired and sore after a grueling practice or physical game, I can’t imagine putting my body through this for any longer than I have to. It just depends which Marcus Shepherd shows up.”
“You have plenty of time,” I told him. “I have every confidence you’ll make the best decision for yourself.”
“Thanks, J. It means a lot to hear you say that. Can we talk aboutyounow?”
“I composed music for the school play the drama club is going to put on next spring. The play and songs were written by three of the kids in the school. It’s calledInside Out,and it’s similar toThe Outsiders,except the students don’t just explore the difference between social classes. They look at race, gender, and orientation. I’m telling you, Marc, these kids are so ahead of their time. The lyrics this boy started writing in eighth grade are just…stunning and heartbreaking at the same time. No kid should know that kind of hurt and rejection.”
“He’s in a good place now?” Marcus asked. I liked that he cared about a kid he didn’t even know. Maybe it was because of the shit we heard growing up. We were too black, not black enough, too white, or not white enough. We didn’t fit in any of the molds people wanted to shove us in. Or maybe it was because our parents taught us to be compassionate and giving people, even when we weren’t on the receiving end of it ourselves.
“It seems that way. I haven’t met his parents yet, but he seems happy unless it’s time to take a test. I’m sure I’ll get to know him better once the play gets started. I’m nervous for him to hear the music, but I’m going to play it for him during his lunch period tomorrow.”
“I bet he’s going to be blown away by your talent. Is the music on your phone? I want to listen to it.”
“I thought you didn’t like that classical crap?”
“I do when it’s something you play, bro,” Marcus said.
I handed my phone to Marcus and instructed him where to find it so I could keep my attention on the road. It wasn’t long before the first song with its haunting melody began to play. When the songs finished, I glanced over to see Marcus wiping his eyes.
“I don’t even know the lyrics to these songs and I’m moved to tears. That’s so powerful and beautiful.”
“I hope Curtis likes it.”
“How could he not?” Marcus asked.
“It might not be what he had in mind, but I’ll find out soon enough.”
Marcus replayed the songs a few more times before we reached Gram and Gramp’s house. Our father’s parents wouldn’t be considered wealthy, but they were a bracket or two higher than middle class. The lived in an older neighborhood with bigger yards and well-maintained brick homes, unlike the new subdivisions where the houses were practically built on top of one another and you could mow the back yard in three passes. It was a lovely, safe neighborhood to raise a kid, and the photos adorning the walls showed our dad had a happy childhood. He carried that same infectious smile into adulthood, and it was often followed by a booming laugh. God, how I missed his smile, his laughter, and his hugs.
“You okay?” Marcus asked.
“Yeah, bub. I’m good.”
Gram was already waiting for us on the front porch by the time we got out and rounded the hood. Marcus reached the porch first and scooped her up in a hug. “Hello, Gram.”
Gram held Marcus tight then pulled back to look into his eyes. “How’s school going?” I gave her credit. She didn’t start every conversation with football like everyone else did with Marcus. She was more interested in his grades and the things going on in his personal life. Later, she’d get around to talking about football, but not until she established that Marcus was more to her than a standout athlete.
“It’s going pretty good so far. I’m going to have some tough classes this year, but I’m looking forward to the challenge.”
“You sound just like your father. He never shied away from something because it was tough.”
“We learned it from our mother too,” I said softly.
“Of course you did,” Gram said. “How is Sherice?”
“Mama is doing well.” I stepped forward and reached for her, opening my arms.