was a rotating deal. I looked around the room, reread all theTwelve Steps, and unwound a bit. The basement had worked its magic again. I was about to tell Mama when I noticed that she wasn’t really there. Mama wasn’t listening to Jake or anyone because she was so full of my father. I could tell. I knew all the signs. An almost smile, laughing eyes. She was with him. Papa might as well be sitting beside her. Mama was hearing his music, his poetry.
We went on to the Serenity Prayer. I knew it off by heart now. I had taken to praying it in front of my Buddhist-Jewish-Catholic altar every day, well almost every day. Despite that, it was like I hadn’t heard the words until this minute. Mama and I stood up.
“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. Courage to change the things I can. And the wisdom to know the difference.”
She didn’t even pretend to mouth the words. As soon as we sat down again, Mama grabbed my knee and whispered, “He is for sure finished vit za drinking.” An elderly gentleman in front of her turned around and smiled a smile that could crack your heart.
We smiled back.
“And, after ve have some revitalizing dates,” her nails dug deeper into my knee, “Papa vill move back to da home right avay. Home.”
Silent sirens fired in and around me here in this most welcoming and protected of places. Who was she trying to convince? My mother was the most powerful person on earth. She brought out the sun every single day. She moved us seven times by herself to protect me. Made the trip to the KingstonPenitentiary by herself for years. Commanded the all-powerful Aunties. Worked two jobs, scraped and scrambled until she bought us a place to live in a “good” neighbourhood. Mama could do anything … except maybe be without Papa.
Jake was introducing the speaker for tonight.
It was hard to breathe.
“I promise,” she mouthed.
That word. God, I hated that word. A promise was a low-down lying thing. It was a movie star dressed in sequins and dirty underwear. Mama of all people should know that. Papa promised her as much as he promised me. So, here in this sacred place, full of God and drunks, it came to me clearly. I couldn’t trust her. Mama was not infallible. Mama was just my mother. And even here in this sacred place, that little piece of clarity left me shivering.
We played Oakwood High our second game out. I don’t know what those parents do to their kids out there at St. Clair Avenue and Dufferin Street, but they’re behemoths, every single one of them, the players, the fans, everybody. A behemoth is a big Biblical-type beast. My spiritual quest was doing wonders for my vocabulary. I had to look up every other word in the religions encyclopedia. Anyway, Oakwood’s senior team, hell, even their junior team, didn’t have a girl on it that didn’t clock in at seven feet, 250 pounds, and was fast. I lit two candles on my altar this morning and prayed to everybody on there. Oakwood scared the crap out of us. Our entire team, including subs, didn’t add up to 250 pounds.
Oakwood won city champs last year when me and the Blondes should technically still have been on Northern’s junior team. They used us for kindling on their march toward the finals. Okay, so maybe all the teams did that, but Oakwood injected anelement of sadism into the march. For over a month now, David was on our butts, drilling harder, demanding greater speed, increasing shot percentage, and, this last week in particular, asking us to play dirtier. He calls it “combating, negating, and isolating” questionable plays. Word is that his father, an American, was a former Navy SEAL, which must have had something to do with our workouts. I hate to admit it, but we were better. We were also still three thousand pounds too light, and all the suicides in the world weren’t going to change that.
As we warmed up, we tried to ignore them warming up. It didn’t work. Just the sound of heavy feet
We went on to the Serenity Prayer. I knew it off by heart now. I had taken to praying it in front of my Buddhist-Jewish-Catholic altar every day, well almost every day. Despite that, it was like I hadn’t heard the words until this minute. Mama and I stood up.
“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. Courage to change the things I can. And the wisdom to know the difference.”
She didn’t even pretend to mouth the words. As soon as we sat down again, Mama grabbed my knee and whispered, “He is for sure finished vit za drinking.” An elderly gentleman in front of her turned around and smiled a smile that could crack your heart.
We smiled back.
“And, after ve have some revitalizing dates,” her nails dug deeper into my knee, “Papa vill move back to da home right avay. Home.”
Silent sirens fired in and around me here in this most welcoming and protected of places. Who was she trying to convince? My mother was the most powerful person on earth. She brought out the sun every single day. She moved us seven times by herself to protect me. Made the trip to the KingstonPenitentiary by herself for years. Commanded the all-powerful Aunties. Worked two jobs, scraped and scrambled until she bought us a place to live in a “good” neighbourhood. Mama could do anything … except maybe be without Papa.
Jake was introducing the speaker for tonight.
It was hard to breathe.
“I promise,” she mouthed.
That word. God, I hated that word. A promise was a low-down lying thing. It was a movie star dressed in sequins and dirty underwear. Mama of all people should know that. Papa promised her as much as he promised me. So, here in this sacred place, full of God and drunks, it came to me clearly. I couldn’t trust her. Mama was not infallible. Mama was just my mother. And even here in this sacred place, that little piece of clarity left me shivering.
We played Oakwood High our second game out. I don’t know what those parents do to their kids out there at St. Clair Avenue and Dufferin Street, but they’re behemoths, every single one of them, the players, the fans, everybody. A behemoth is a big Biblical-type beast. My spiritual quest was doing wonders for my vocabulary. I had to look up every other word in the religions encyclopedia. Anyway, Oakwood’s senior team, hell, even their junior team, didn’t have a girl on it that didn’t clock in at seven feet, 250 pounds, and was fast. I lit two candles on my altar this morning and prayed to everybody on there. Oakwood scared the crap out of us. Our entire team, including subs, didn’t add up to 250 pounds.
Oakwood won city champs last year when me and the Blondes should technically still have been on Northern’s junior team. They used us for kindling on their march toward the finals. Okay, so maybe all the teams did that, but Oakwood injected anelement of sadism into the march. For over a month now, David was on our butts, drilling harder, demanding greater speed, increasing shot percentage, and, this last week in particular, asking us to play dirtier. He calls it “combating, negating, and isolating” questionable plays. Word is that his father, an American, was a former Navy SEAL, which must have had something to do with our workouts. I hate to admit it, but we were better. We were also still three thousand pounds too light, and all the suicides in the world weren’t going to change that.
As we warmed up, we tried to ignore them warming up. It didn’t work. Just the sound of heavy feet
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