Page 70 of On Merit Alone

Turning to her on my knee I met that small brown gaze with just as much anger and indignation and determination, and said, “Tyla, I’m going to tell you a secret okay?

Sometimes people get jealous of the things other people do and they say mean things to try to make them feel better about their own life.

When people say things like that, you have to ignore them, okay? ”

She blinked at me, looking worried. It was possible I was a little more angry than her at this point. I swallowed, trying to calm down so I didn’t scare her. “We’re all different, but we can all do great things, the same as each other. Boy, girl. Big or small. Does that make sense to you?”

Slowly she nodded, giving Merit a cautious look over her shoulder before turning back to look at me. When she met my eyes, I smiled.

“Good.” I croaked. I wanted to say so much more. To do so much more, but she was so young, I’m not sure my lecturing would be beneficial. So breathing out a big sigh, I fixed her with a more mocking serious look, asking. “Now what are you, like three?”

She, once again, looked appalled. Guffawing in a little baby stutter. “I'm six!”

I waved that off like it was nothing. “Exactly. You’re a baby. You have, like, a million years left. So remember, you can do whatever you want to do as long as you work for it, Puffy.”

“ Tyla! ”

“Oh, same thing,” I said.

She gaped at me, her little jaw basically touching the floor. I smashed my lips to suppress a laugh even though there was still anger coursing under the surface.

But not around the children. Not. Around. The children.

“Now, since you’re sooo good, think you can beat me?” I asked. Passing another questioning look behind her, she waited until Mer nodded before turning back to me and nodding herself. I grinned, extending my hand for a fist bump. “Let’s see you try.”

It wasn’t until we were cleaned up that we got to talk again.

With a dozen fired up kids running circles around you at all times, it’s pretty hard to get a word in edgewise.

Between finding ways to make basic drills fun and clearing up scuffles as small as an untied shoelace and as big as hysterical crying, it was an interesting one too .

But somewhere between the silly game of Simon Says and watching Shy Tyla who didn’t want to come to basketball camp turn into Badass Tyla who dominated basketball camp, I felt something deep in my heart click into place.

More.

“Who’s Melinda?” I asked when we were finally done and alone.

Merit had just finished lacing up her actual basketball shoes as we both sat on the court in front of each other.

She had begged to shoot around before the sun went down since we were “already out here” as she liked to put it.

And now that we were alone, I couldn’t contain my curiosity a minute longer.

Judging by the way Merit stiffened, I was right to keep this quiet until we were no longer around little ears.

Looking at me, her eyes looked stricken but not surprised as she surveyed my face. She hadn’t asked me what Tyla whispered in my ear the entire day of camp, but I could tell by the long looks she gave me that she wanted to know. And now I could tell she had the inclination that it wasn't good.

Swallowing, she looked away from my searching eyes. “That’s Tyla’s foster mother.”

I nodded, the information like a confusing flare across my mind, surging up more questions than answers. I cleared my throat. “Right, yeah. And, who is Tyla?”

“She… she’s a friend. A mentee, I guess you would call it,” she answered.

“And she’s in foster care?”

“Yes.”

“And she plays basketball?”

“Yes.”

I looked at her, wondering if she was going to give me any more about this little coincidence. The set of her jaw said that she wasn’t planning on it. The deep sigh she let out right before she lifted sheepish eyes up at me said she would try anyway .

Hesitating, she started, “There are… programs in the city. They help kids who can’t help themselves. I find a lot of value in that.”

I let my hand encircle her calf, squeezing encouragingly. “That’s amazing, Six. I didn’t know you did that.”

She shrugged like it was no big deal, her eyes dropping for a moment before she lifted them back up to meet mine. “What did she say to you?”

I felt my frown and I looked out over the park as I remembered the small voice of the little girl as she told me why she didn’t want to play that day. She was so good, even at six years old, and that is what they were saying to her?

The words felt sticky and slow in my mouth, and I had to force them out, not even able to look at her as I repeated them. “She said that Melinda told her girls don’t play basketball. Girls… do other things.”

“What things?” she asked, her voice immediately angry just like I thought it would be.

I shot her an apologetic look. I would not be repeating it. It already broke my heart that a little girl could even repeat it to me. Instead I asked, “Do you get to see her often? As her mentor?”

For a moment she looked so angry, I swore she wasn’t breathing.

Her entire face was taut, her shoulders trembling a little, and for the life of me her chest was not moving with air intake.

I shook her knee, calling her name reproachful and soft.

Slowly, she let out the frustrated breath until she was once again controlled and looking at me with a tired sort of expression that almost made me miss the angry one.

“Yes, I see her every week. And this isn’t new from Melinda.” She sighed. “It’s not a terrible home or anything, it’s just not…”

She trailed off, looking out over the park like she’d been talking this into the ground for a while already.

I tried not to be selfish with my want for her to talk with me about it from the beginning, because it was all new to me.

I stayed quiet, letting her find her feelings.

Just like she’d waited all this time for me to find mine.

Shaking her head she finally looked at me, and suddenly her eyes were burning with anger and hurt so deep that I just knew it spanned way longer than the events of this morning.

Maybe even longer than she’d known Tyla.

“It’s just not fair, you know? These kids already have to fight everyday against the reality of their circumstances.

Does societal bullshit really have to go on their plate before they even hit middle school? ”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

She shook her head, her words cutting as she refused to look at me, her voice gritting. “ Girls. Play. Sports. They become doctors, and lawyers, and scientists and walk on the fucking moon. Little girls have more to look forward to than what their appearance can one day get them. They are more.”

“Hey now.” Reaching for her, I grazed a hand below her cheek so she would look at me.

When she did and I saw that her eyes were watery, I felt a protective surge move over my body.

A sympathetic one too. Wiping her tears, I felt her frustration through every droplet of salty water.

She shook with anger and I croaked in a half-mewing half-pleading tone, “Hey, hey. I know that, Six.”

She turned her head. I hated that she looked away from me but understood that she needed her time.

Eventually she brought her gaze back around to meet mine, more composed but no less angry.

Her voice now scratchy, basically a whisper.

“I know you understand, but so many people don’t.

I think about my daily fight as a grown woman in this world and I just can’t help but wonder how many girls let the ignorance of people telling them they can’t do something actually shape their lives.

I can’t help but think about where I would be today if my situation had changed any earlier in life.

If it was me that was told that ‘girls don’t play basketball.

’ I can’t help but mourn all the dreams that die just like that. And I hate it. ”

I wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to wonder what she would do if that happened.

That I knew. I could tell that the Merit I knew would never let the opinion of others shape the way her life would go.

She would never adjust her dream to fit into somebody else’s mold.

But I don’t think she needed that right now.

She wasn’t crying for herself after all, but for Tyla and for all the other little girls like her.

So I just shook her knee again, gentle yet persistent. “Well. It’s a good thing she has you to make a difference for her then.”

She gave me a meaningful look. One of those questioning glances that held full trust. “Think so?”

“Know so,” I assured her.

She smiled, her sigh tired. I could tell nothing was fully resolved in her mind about it, and I doubted it ever would be, but I could also tell she was done with it for now. Raising a look to me, she said, “And you?”

“Me?”

“How do you feel?” she elaborated as she lay down beside me on the court, ignoring her earlier plans to practice in a surprising twist of events.

I looked at her, raising a brow. “Fine?”

“Just fine?”

“Yeah, why?” I asked. Testing her, even though I had long ago formed my suspicions.

More .

I watched as she bit her lip. Tilting her nose in the air in a silent little harumph she murmured, “I don’t know, you look happy.”

I smiled then. I couldn’t help it. I also couldn’t help reaching over and scooping her hand into my own, lacing our fingers until we were palm to palm and interlocked together as I rested our joined hands on my stomach.

“I am happy.” I said. “Today was a lot of fun.”

She peeked up at me. “You liked it then? Coaching them? ”

I scrunched my nose. “It was alright.”

Her silence was so pointed it made me burst out into happy laughter. The huffs coming from deep within myself, right where this sense of contentment was nestled. Looking at her, I raised my eyebrows pointedly. “You are a trip. You know that right?”

“Me?” she asked, voice soft and confused.

“Yes you,” I whispered, my happiness sobering into something that felt so good it hurt.

I didn’t know you could make somebody so happy to the point of pain, but if Merit had hurt me once before when I thought she didn’t understand me, she was killing me now as she became the person who understood me most—who understood me even before I understood myself.

Clearing my throat that had suspiciously closed, I asked, “How did you know?”

Turning, she brought her eyes down to look at me, her irises moving all over as she read the language of my face. Slowly, carefully, she smiled, her body visibly relaxing next to mine as if she’d already gotten the answers she needed.

To me she just said, “Sometimes it isn’t ‘more’ we’re looking for, it’s just different.”

“You’re a witch.” I said and she immediately laughed “A seer, a fortune teller, on some real voodoo shit I swear to God.”

Draping herself overtop of me she stopped my ranting with her lips. Kissing me sweetly until I slid a hand behind her neck and touched my tongue to hers. The sweetness turned hot in an instant.

Between the press of her lips she panted, “I'm not a seer, or a fortune teller, or a witch, or a voodoo master or whatever?—”

I pulled back and glared at her. “Check your ego, I never said master.”

She grinned, her entire face smiling from her lips to her eyes.

Breath tickling my smile she said, “I'm not psychic Ira. I just know you. Not all the way, but I know enough to be able to do this for you. Enough to be able to walk with you while you attempt to find your next moves. I hope I didn’t overstep today. ”

I looked at her for a long moment. So long that that pain began to resurface, once lower and more buried than before now this thrumming pulse that was spreading over my entire heart.

“You think I helped her?” I asked. “I know I couldn’t do much, but do you think anything I did helped Tyla?”

Smiling, she said, “I think you helped her a lot, Ira. What you said will stick with her.”

More .

Something I had tried and failed to explain to Kimmy popped into my mind and finally made sense. This was my context.

My entire career has been about being somebody for myself. Showing myself that I could do the things that ran deepest in my heart. But now all I think I wanted was to be somebody for someone else. To help, to guide, to encourage. To be more.

Looking over at the girl beside me, I couldn’t help but wonder if she knew. She had been the one to put me in charge of all this. The one to so easily call me coach. The one to come to me when she needed help. What was I even asking for? Of course she knew.

More .

That’s what she was. My very own more.