She stares at me for a moment. Then walks towards the kitchen.
“Francine—”
“Sit,” she nods towards the couch. I still stand there awkwardly breathing as she pours me a glass of water.
She walks over and ushers me to the seat, placing the glass in my hand. “Sit down, Jabari. Calm yourself and talk.”
I nod but don’t take a sip, the cold in my hand feels nice though.
“I got so much to say and no place to start.”
“Pick somewhere,” she sits next to me, close enough to touch yet far enough that I’d have to reach.
“When I was primary, yeah?” I begin. “I always used to play after school with my friends. Sometimes they would have their older brothers join us and they were brutal. The way they spoke to one another, the way they played, it was just mental really. I remember this one senior, he was a friend of one of my friends' brothers. His name was Tjay.”
“Jabari, what does this have to do with anything?” She drags.
“You said pick somewhere and start so this is where I’m starting now hush.”
She sucks her teeth and flips me off but lets me continue.
“Anyway, Tjay was arealfootballer. I looked up to him a lot. Like, he never played when it was muddy, and he never let anyone touch his kit. Not even to clean it. I remember thinking this brudda is crazy. But no one else thought that because he earned his respect on the pitch. The way he played demanded respect even. When he graduated, I thought maybe I’d fill his spot when I got older, you know what I mean? So I just startedacting like him. I keep my kit clean myself, playing cleaner, demanding respect off the pitch.”
“Being a dickhead,” she nods along.
“Oi, you telling the story or me?”
Now I get an eye roll. “Hurry up then.”
“Eventually. It just became a habit. I liked the way I carried myself. I liked the discipline it gave me. I truly believe that it made me play better. It has to be true because in Year Eleven, I got peered up to play with the older boys. And honestly, looking back, even I knew I was doing a lot. But when the captain told me about it… let’s just say I didn’t take it lightly.”
“Fight?”
“…yeah. Broke his maxilla in two places.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Yep.”
“Did he press charges?”
“No. But my parents paid for the damages. After that, they shipped me off to Nigeria on a one way flight and almost went bankrupt to keep me there. We never spoke of it ever again”
“… You did all that and they have the nerve to be hard on Za?!”
I scoff, “And can you believe I still had the nerve to be upset with them? Sometimes, I feel upset with them because if they manned up and parented me correctly, me and my sister wouldn’t be going through this right now. I’m upset with them because I feel so guilty that I put them in that position to begin with. I’m upset my parents aren’t treating Za right but a part of me feels like I don’t have a leg to stand on because of my own issues with their parenting.”
“It sounds like you're upset with yourself.”
I pause. “Why would I be?”
“Because,” she scoots close. “You feel like everything that’s going wrong in your family is your responsibility. But it’s not.Honestly, it’s not Za’s fault either. The truth is you two were raised by two different parents. They were passive with you when they should’ve been stricter and they were strict with Za when they could’ve given her some freedom. With you being here now, especially after you found success, it’s a lot easier for them to point at you and highlight your life against Za’s and you let them get away with it ‘cause you don’t want to be on their bad side.”
Wow.
“So. I really am a coward.”
She doesn’t speak.
