“You ain’t supposed to raise a father either,” Antwan inferred with a little bass in his voice.
Not a day went by that Antwan didn’t wish he’d done a better job at staying free.
Zaire looked up. “I’m not trying to raise you, cuh.”
“You trying to save me, though.”
Zaire didn’t deny it. “Somebody gotta.”
Antwan sighed into the receiver, gripping it tighter. “I know this place makes you feel like you failed me. But you didn’t. You didn’t put me in here.”
“But I’m the one out there,” Zaire’s voice shook just a little. “I’m the one with money. I’m the one with cameras in my face. I’m the one these people root for and talk shit about in the same breath. And none of it matters. I can buy a car with cash but I can’t buy you out of this. That’s what eats me.”
“I didn’t ask you to buy me out.”
“You don’t gotta ask,” Zaire snapped. “It’s all I think about.”
The hurt in his stomach crawled up until it sat right behind his ribs. He never said stuff like this out loud - not to nobody. But today he couldn’t swallow it down…not when every night he fell asleep wondering if the world would ever give him his dadback…not when he was twelve hours away from being on their turf again, just for them to pick apart every little piece of him like he wasn’t as human as their good ol’ boys.
Antwan straightened up. “Look at me, cuh.”
Zaire lifted his eyes.
“You became everything I wanted to be,” his father said. “You made it outta nothing. I don’t want my son tearing himself apart, trying to drag me into the life he built.”
“I want you there,” Zaire said. “Sometimes, I need you there,” he struggled to say the last part.
“And I wanna see you win,” his father responded. “Not watch you walkin’ around feeling guilty like you owe me anything more than your love.”
Zaire didn’t move...didn’t breathe. He felt the words hit him at every angle.
“I know you tired,” Antwan continued. “I know your head not right. I know you trying to play perfect for a world that don’t even clap for you with two hands. But you’re mine - you hear me? I don’t need you to save me. I need you to save yourself,” he stressed, pointing at Zaire through the glass.
Zaire leaned forward, gripping the receiver. “I’m doing everything I can.”
“And that’s enough,” his father said. “But don’t lose yourself behind this fight. Don’t let them break you before you get the chance to be free in ways I never got to be.”
Zaire pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek and nodded. “I hear you.”
“You sure?”
“No,” Zaire admitted, “but I’m trying.”
His father laughed softly. “That’s my son.”
They sat in silence for a little - just a father and a son having to love through thick glass. Zaire watched the way the guards hovered. He watched the clock hanging crooked above the CObooth. He watched the way his father’s hands rested on the counter — steady, unshaken — like he wasn’t the one with a life sentence.
“You playing tomorrow?” Antwan asked, already knowing the answer. He just wanted to break up the heaviness that sat between them, “your mind is.”
Zaire breathed in slowly. “Yeah.”
“Go clear your head,” his father said. “Don’t think about me when you on that course. Don’t think about nobody but that ball. You give these people all this talent… don’t give them your spirit too.”
A heavy soothing warmth moved through Zaire’s chest then, but it hurt at the same time. He hated leaving his father here…hated the sound of the gates closing behind him…hated the thought of walking out free while Antwan stayed locked in.
“I’ll be back next week,” Zaire said.
“I know.”
