Chapter Four #2
“Ooh, like a few months and some change. Glad you’re good at math.”
“I’m good at a lot, I’ve been told.”
Larenz and I paused for a second and stared at each other. The back-and-forth banter and then silence kept bringing up more of these feelings I couldn’t name. I’d never been in this kind of conversation with another guy. I couldn’t make sense of it. Was it flirting?
“But for real. B.D. King? I won’t tell,” he said. Then, like a dork, he followed up with, “I’ll keep your secrets like Alicia Keys,” and a closed-mouth smile like he knew his pun didn’t quite land like he thought it would.
“You must love music or something, huh, with all these music references,” I said. “Anyway, it’s Brent DeMario King. But I like the sound of B.D. King when I’m on the court or doing post-game interviews. It has a ring to it.”
“Gotcha, but Brent King has a ring to it, too.” He went back to looking at his spreadsheets and markers as he sat on the floor.
Not that I was paying attention, but Larenz’s junk was peeking from his black sweat shorts, obviously no underwear underneath.
I’d learned to wear compression shorts under everything as early as middle school to keep myself from dangling and flopping around everywhere.
“Don’t mind me, B.D. I’m making the orientation group leader assignments for the next few weeks. I like having my students visit me when I’m working and my door is open. Talk to me. What are your thoughts about today? About campus so far?”
I wanted to tell him I thought he was cool but corny. “It’s all right. I’m just here to play basketball, get drafted, go pro, and make millions.”
“That’s all? How ambitious.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why basketball? Okay, let me sound less judgmental. I’m sorry. How’d you come to see basketball as a potential career?”
I had never really thought about the why and how of basketball in my life.
When you’re tall, Black, somewhat athletic, and don’t have lots of resources or money, it’s kinda what people in the neighborhood expect.
I explained how the people who raised me scraped together the few dollars they had for equipment, uniforms, team fees, sports camps, and whatever else I needed when they saw how good and competitive I was on the basketball court.
I had also set a goal of giving back tenfold to everyone who’d poured into me while growing up.
“So you see, college and transferring to Missouri is a means to an end. A place like this with a strong history of basketball, I’ll be in front of more scouts, hopefully make the NCAA playoffs, and one day get drafted to the NBA.”
“Okay. Thanks. I just wanted to see if you could articulate your why.”
“Articulate my why?”
“To expand and fully explain something,” Larenz said. “Like you just did.”
Even though talking to him about my life and experiences made me feel a little uncomfortable, I also liked how easy it was. So since he wanted to know so much about me, I thought it was only fair for me to flip the script and learn more about him.
“What about your why, Mr. Summer Orientation Leader? And why are you on all the posters around campus? I saw your face everywhere today.”
“Because I gotta pay out-of-state tuition and fees, and those are all my jobs. And because I like the notoriety that comes from being a Black man’s face in a sea of whiteness on campus.
When I found out I can get paid for getting involved and working on campus, I was all in.
Every little bit I earn helps my mom not have to pay. ”
“And your why? Like you asked me.”
“I’m in college to be either a journalist or an English professor one day and, if I’m lucky enough, to be a novelist. I like to write and read for fun. Been like that since I was a kid.”
“Reading is boring, bruh. No offense.”
Larenz pointed to the open door. “You can leave my room now, B.D.”
“So that’s what’s up with all these books?” Ignoring him, I stood up and looked at the milk crates Larenz had stacked into bookcases along one of his dorm room walls. Next to the books, he had stacks of CDs and DVDs. Hundreds of them. “These are all yours?”
“Yeah, they’re all mine,” he said. “More in the storage lockers in the basement.”
“Rich boy, huh? All these things plus a single room on campus. Lucky.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“Then what would you say?”
“I’m an only child who grew up in the University of Detroit district. I’m used to my own space.”
“Nice,” I said. “Sorry for calling you boring.”
“You ain’t call me boring, B.D.,” he said. “You said reading is boring. I know I’m not boring.”
“We’ll see about that,” I said and playfully tapped him with my foot, where he sat on the floor. I continued looking at his books. “I moved around so much growing up, there was no way to collect books even if I wanted to. Much less get a library card.”
“Military kid?”
“Nah,” I said. “I was in the system. Foster kid. A child of addicts. I lived with lots of families who raised me, none of them my own. Now that I’m emancipated and really on my own, living on campus will be the first almost permanent place I’ve been in in a while.”
I couldn’t believe I had shared that detail.
It was something I never told anyone, unless it was during an intake session with a case manager, social worker, or teacher.
Friends and teammates, I tended to make up stories about why I moved so much or about having an extended family who liked to take me in.
Or I just let them assume what they wanted when they noticed I didn’t have anyone in the stands watching my games or picking me up after school and team practices.
With Larenz, surprisingly, I felt a sense of comfort, and I couldn’t quite figure it out. It was nice. It was unnerving.
“I don’t know what to say. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who was a foster kid. Where are your folks or your people?”
“They’re around The Lou. I know who they are, they know who I am, but we don’t have much of a relationship. It’s complicated. But I’m here. I’m proud to have made it to a four-year university.”
“I’m proud of you being here, too,” Larenz said.
Proud? I melted inside and thought, once again, he was just doing his job as an orientation leader by being nice to me.
Guys I knew didn’t usually talk that way to each other outside of a game or practice.
“Thanks for sharing. I won’t say anything or ask any more questions. ”
“It’s water under the bridge, as the old folks say,” I said. “We don’t have to talk about it, though. Your folks? You said Detroit, right?”
He smiled. “Yeah, Detroit. Love my hometown and love my family. My mom and aunts put together all their money, like yours did for sports, to help send me out of state to college. The rest of my cousins went to either Michigan State or U of M.”
“So you not the first? No wonder your face is everywhere on campus.”
“My mom, a few aunts, and older cousins who went to college kinda showed me the ropes of how to survive at college, especially as a Black student on a predominantly white campus. You know, Detroit’s all or mostly Black.
So I got lots of talks before coming to Missouri for school.
The ‘police’ talk. The ‘make friends with Black staff, teachers, and students on campus’ talk. The ‘stay away from white girls’ talk.”
“That’s racist,” I said as I continued looking at Larenz’s book collection. “Why would they tell you something like that?”
“That’s real,” Larenz snapped. “You of all people, Mr. Black College Athlete, better learn that lesson quick. You’re more than a big dick king with a future fat NBA paycheck. Some people are in college looking for a come up they didn’t earn. I’m just saying.”
I shrugged. “That’s not gonna happen to me. I’m not just another dumb Black athlete.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“So don’t assume that I’m a dumb jock because I’m tall, light-skinned, and talented on the court.”
“Never assumed that. I haven’t seen you play yet.”
“Yeah, whatever, Larenz.”
Larenz grinned and said, “Ooh, I can’t wait till you come back in the fall and you take some ethnic studies or gender studies classes. They’ll help you make sense of your life. Trust.”
“I’m not coming to college to be on that Angela Davis or Malcolm X trip,” I said, though Larenz’s words were low-key making me think that if I wanted to be smart like him, I might want to follow in some of his footsteps.
“I had a few white foster families who were nice. Real talk, though, some did say some racist shit to me, thinking they were being nice. I liked it better when older Black women or families took me in. Felt like being with an auntie or a granny. I had this Black lesbian couple take me in once. They were my favorites. I update them on my life when I can.”
I put that one about the lesbians out there to test if Larenz would pick it up and ask more about it.
“Cute story,” he said.
I took it he was being sarcastic, but I didn’t want to argue back or leave his room either.
I was enjoying this solo time. I wished he’d said something about the lesbian foster parents, but he didn’t.
So I took it back to what we were talking about before sharing our backgrounds.
“I mean, reading’s not boring boring, but when I do read, it’s like self-help and how-to-make-money books. ”
“How typical.”
I wondered what he meant by that. “You and your smart-ass mouth. It’ll get you in trouble in some places.”
“Whatever.”
“Yeah, whatever back.”
We stared.
“Anyway, B.D., maybe you haven’t found the right book to pique your interest.”
“Maybe I haven’t. What do you think you have that’ll pique my interest?”
Larenz stood up and walked toward the milk crates and me. I was wanting to be closer to him, the smart mouth, sarcasm, intelligence and all, but didn’t know how to make that happen at the moment. Him standing near me at the bookcase would have to do.
“B.D., Brent, however you want to be called,” he said, back turned to me as he browsed his books.
Not only did he have a lot of junk up front, but his ass was stacked, too.
I prayed for no hard-on, but my dick was coming to life, and I didn’t know what the fuck was going on.
“Black man to Black man. Orientation leader to new student. I want you to be successful when you get here in the fall. You’re gonna have to read and take your classes just as seriously as you do basketball.
There’s so few Black people on campus, and I’d like to see you graduate on time. Take a look at these.”
He pulled out two books and handed them to me.
One was a book that had a sticker with the words “Advanced Reader Copy” across it called Forty Million Dollar Slaves: The Rise, Fall, and Redemption of the Black Athlete by William C.
Rhoden . The other, We Real Cool: Black Men and Masculinity by bell hooks.
I’d never heard of those authors before. Obviously, there was a message Larenz wanted me to get, but I wasn’t getting it. I was a little offended.
“Just because you’re a junior and I’m a transferring sophomore don’t mean you can pull a dad on me, bruh.”
“Have I gotten under your skin by asking you to flex your brain muscle instead of whatever muscles basketball players have to flex?”
We stared at each other for a few seconds that felt like minutes. Muthafucka was feisty as hell, and his attitude would have gotten him popped in more ways than one on the wrong side of town or with a rougher crowd. I broke my gaze and looked over the books Larenz gave me.
“Bruh, will I get under your skin if I tell you to mute the cornball jokes and dance routines?” I said as I mocked his Carlton-like arm moves and sock hop kicks.
“If you gotta do old school for your little performances, how about you incorporate some rap from St. Louis? Hell, keep it current with some Ashanti, Beyoncé, or Musiq Soulchild. You’re like the whitest Black dude I’ve met. ”
“I’ve heard it all before. Boo-hoo. My feelings are hurt, B.D. You don’t know me well enough to make fun of me like that.”
“I apologize,” I said, smiling. “But I am going to start calling you ‘Love Is a Contact Sport’ Larenz.”
He smiled back. “You might have to. I have always loved that song.”
A few more minutes of small talk, and it was time for me to get to bed before Jalon, who was rooming with me during summer orientation, started wondering why I was taking so long to come back.
On my way out of Larenz’s room, I noticed a rainbow flag taped on the inside wall next to his door. He definitely was.