The Lion Tamer, General Fiction about basketball, racism, and nerd stereotyping! Options

[redsrock]

The Lion Tamer

Chapter One

He didn’t want to move, but according to his mother it was the only way of completely ridding themselves from the pain. The pain itself was mostly non-existent for Doug Willis, for he never even liked Bill, his stepfather, to begin with. His stepfather’s death was more of a closure for Doug than anything; the ending to a terrible chapter of his life, and a point where he could finally exist without having to live in fear of needless, drunken scolding. Bill had never hit Doug, but the constant bickering between all three of them had embedded somewhat of an eternal annoyance with Doug. He had despised Bill for his arrogance, drinking problem, and all-around “I don’t give a compassion about you, son” attitude. Enough was enough, and finally it was over.

During the first few days after Bill died that fateful night, drunk as usual and having slammed into the back of resting car, Doug felt very sad by the loss. Bill hadn’t been wearing his seatbelt and he had flown through this own windshield and then through the back windshield of the resting car in front of him. There had been in infinite amount of tears streaming down his mother’s face that night, and the days that followed. But Doug hadn’t cried once, nor did he ever plan to. For the first couple of days he felt sad, yes, but that time passed quickly and he realized how happier he was around the house. And then the happiness was taken away.

He had lived in southern Indiana all his life, and suddenly they were moving up the state and into northwestern Ohio, and in an old, worn-out van no less. It had been an entire three weeks since Bill’s death, but his mother had still not entirely moved on. Despite Doug’s great disapproval towards the man, Patti Willis absolutely loved him. Doug thought this was mostly because his real father had died when he was a toddler. Doug wished that had never happened and that his real father, whoever he was and however he acted, was there living with them. Then there would have never been Bill, and there would have certainly never been a move.

“Douglas, will you hand me the map?”

Doug looked up from his latest copy of Sports Illustrated and handed his mother the map that had been resting in his lap under the magazine. They had been driving the entire day, mostly non-stop except for meals and restroom breaks. Doug’s mother, much to his displeasure, had decided on driving through without staying at a hotel of some kind because that would have been too expensive. And like she had told him countless times before, even when Bill was still alive, “We’re not made of money, Douglas.” Such a quote Doug was greatly familiar with, and as he thought of this he made a slight smile.

His mother sighed and shook her head, staring at the map with a concentrated yet frustrated look. They were resting at a stoplight. “According to the map I passed up Sharon’s street about five miles back. But…but I never saw a street to pull into.” Doug paid her no attention and continued to read his magazine, content on ignoring her for as long as he was able to. “Doug, are you even listening to me?” The light turned green and she pulled into a gas station on their right.

“Yeah mom, sure. I didn’t see a street either.” And then he added, “Of course, we wouldn’t have this problem if we were still in Arizona.”

Doug’s mother slammed on the brakes as she stopped in an empty parking space. “Would you quit with the smartalic comments, Douglas? It’s getting very annoying. With Bill gone we don’t have much money, not that we had much to begin. Besides, Aunt Katie works at Haven High School in Haven, and she got me a job as an aid to the librarian there. We’re very lucky for that.”

“Couldn’t you have found that back in Duncanville?”

“No, likely not. I’ve been working at the grocery store ever since I can remember, Douglas. It’s high time to change that, especially now that Bill is gone, like I just said. This new job is nearly a three-dollar raise from what I was making back in Duncanville, and we’ll need the extra money,” She said, handing him back the map. “I know you don’t like it, but this is just the way it’s going to have to be. The sooner you get used to it the better. Here’s the map, I think I know where I’m going now.”

She took a left out of the gas station and Doug continued to read his magazine, but by then he really wasn’t paying any attention to what he was reading. The Yankees had signed another pitcher to a luxurious multi-year contract, but that wasn’t anything new. Doug, for the time being, no longer cared about the magazine, but he kept his eyes on the page and pretended to read so that his mother wouldn’t bother him. It had been a mere five days ago when he mother informed him of the move, and they had argued about it on and off that entire day. Doug had an endless number of friends to say goodbye to, mostly people he played basketball, football and baseball with, being the sports fanatic that he was. It had not been easy, but he had said his goodbyes and left the only town he had ever known. But the hardest part was still to come, and that was making new friends.

Making friends had been natural for Doug in Duncanville, mainly because it was a major sports town, and it was even home to the Duncanville Dragons, a AAA Baseball team for the Toronto Blue Jays. Doug hated the Blue Jays immensely because he was a Boston Red Sox fan and the two Major League teams were in the same division, but he went to many of their summer games because that’s how much of a sports fan he was. He only hoped Haven would share interests similar to Duncanville’s.

In a matter of minutes, after Doug’s mother realized that she had in fact missed the turn, the two pulled into White Horse Drive, a small one-street neighborhood surrounded on all sides by vast woodlands, except for the entrance and exit itself. All of the houses were two-level, and all of them looked very expensive. Doug’s aunt had insisted that he and his mother stay with she and her husband until Doug’s mother had enough money to pay for a house of their own. Doug’s mother found this embarrassing, as did Doug in a way, but Aunt Sharon wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Aunt Sharon Granger was nice enough, but Doug kept thinking there was something about her that he didn’t like. Doug and his mother would go to their house for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and The Fourth of July every year, and every year Sharon was as nice as can be. Still, there was something about her that didn’t strike him right. However, Doug knew he didn’t like her husband, Harold Granger. Doug despised his arrogance. In a way, though he didn’t yet recognize it, Harold was just like Bill, only not as drunk.

“Patti, you’re here!” Aunt Sharon yelled after answering the door. Doug stood behind his mother, holding onto two suitcases and three large duffle-bags, and that wasn’t even close to being half of their stuff. Doug noticed how green and clean the grass looked, and also how it was neatly trimmed where not even one spade of grass was taller than the other. Two apple trees in the front yard blocked the sun from staring into the windows, and the plethora of bushes and other shrubbery along the house kept the critters away. It was truly a beautiful scene, especially compared to his old house.

Doug wished he was back in Duncanville.

“And how’s my little Dougie, huh?” She asked Doug cheerfully, smiling and laughing like a two year-old, something Doug didn’t like being treated as.

“I’m fine, Aunt Sharon. Thanks for letting us stay here,” he offered, trying his best to sound thankful. In truth he was actually thankful, even though he didn’t want to be there. His aunt and her husband where going above and beyond to ensure them a pleasant place to stay, but Doug had a feeling it was all Sharon’s idea. He also had a feeling Aunt Sharon got whatever she wanted, for she was always wearing the most expensive clothing and the most glamorous of jewelry.

“Don’t you thank me, Dougie! I wouldn’t have it any other way! Come on in, it’s hot outside! Harry’s out back fixing some hotdogs and hamburgers for supper. You can help me with the salad and fruit, right?” She asked Doug’s mother, who nodded and said yes. “Good! Dougie, Stanley’s upstairs playing video games. Just make yourself at home, sweetie!”

Doug thanked her and then left the two women to their chitchat and took his own stuff, two duffle bags and a large suitcase, and traveled up the beautifully-carpeted stairs. Family photos decorated the cream-colored walls, and Doug noticed one of himself. It was last year’s school picture, and he was wearing a Boston Celtic’s t-shirt. (All of Doug’s favorite sports teams are from Boston, for no apparent reason.)

When he walked into his cousin’s oversized room, Stan was sitting in his black leather La-Z-Boy recliner. Next to him was a small table with a bowl of pretzels and a glass of what looked to be Coca-Cola. He was playing his game with such ferocity, his face red and sweaty and his fingers mashing the game-controller’s buttons with maddening speed and force.

“Oh come on, he’s freaking lagging! What a cheater!” He cried out, unaware that Doug was standing not even five yards behind him.

Both of the boys were sixteen years old, but almost complete opposites. Doug was an outdoors and sports kind of kid, while the majority of the time you’d find Stan nestled up in his room playing video games on his Xbox Infinity. The funny thing was that Doug was slightly thick, but not necessarily fat. And Stan, despite being inside most of the time, was as skinny as a rail with no athleticism whatsoever. Doug had always been astounded at how skinny Stan was even though he never exercised.

“Shut up, you just suck and you know it!”

Stan, having been greatly started, dropped the controller to the ground and almost fell out of his chair. Doug roared with laughter, and that’s when Stan turned around to see him.

“Dammit, Doug, you scared the hell out of me!” he cried out, his breathing still abnormal from the scare. “And no, I don’t suck. Look at that score! Twenty-nine kills and seven deaths, baby!”

Doug tossed his bags down and sat down beside his cousin in another chair of the same quality, but violet instead of black. “If you’re doing so good then why are you yelling like a baby?”

“Because I freaking hate cheaters! They hack into the game and do stuff. Like…in this game, some dude keeps getting under the map and shoots everyone, but they can’t shoot him. It’s so annoying.”

“Why don’t the people who made the game fix it?”

“The same reason I don’t play sports like you.”

“You’re lazy?” Doug asked, chuckling.

“Exactly. And besides, it’s not that big of a deal. The glitches are becoming less common, but this dude is the one who keeps killing. I would have been perfect if it wasn’t for him. Oh well, the game’s over now. So what’s up? I didn’t even hear you coming in.”

“Not much. Still angry because we had to move. No offense to you or anything.”

“It’s alright, I understand,” Stan replied, offering Doug some pretzels, who shook his head in return. “At least you get to hang with me. Maybe I’ll teach you some pointers in video-gaming so you’re not so awful!”

“Ooooor, we can go outside and shoot some hoops. It’s nice outside today, and my mom said it’s going to rain for the next couple of days.”

“Shoot some hoops? Doug…I don’t even know why we still have that basketball goal out there. We don’t ever use it for anything.”

“Probably for when I come over.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Well let’s go then!”

Stan downed the rest of his Cola and sighed. “If you must, dear cousin.” And then he added sarcastically, “Don’t do want the nerd wants to do! That would be unpopular!”

Both of the boys laughed, though it was somewhat forced from Stan’s side. Last year he had been jumped by a group of students from his highs school because he had long hair that came down past his shoulders and was rather messy.

The two got up from their chairs and then started make their way downstairs. “Ah come on, Stan. Remember when we used to play with your dad all the time?”

“Yeah, but that was back when I was only a few feet tall, and it was before I met my Infinity. Times have changed, and I haven’t gotten any less nerdy. I’m even…well, nevermind.”

“What?” Doug asked, frowning at his cousin after they made it down the last step.

“I’ve….I’ve gotten into writing. Specifically, writing fan fiction.”

“Fan fiction?”

They walked through the kitchen, which had a gorgeous black and white checkered-tile floor with cabinets and tables and shelves to match, and walked outside through the back door. “Yeah, fan fiction. It’s when you write stories about something that’s already been created. In my case, I’m writing stories based on the Diflar’s Edge.”

“Isn’t that one of those video games where you actually create your own character, and you can buy things and all that stuff?”

“Yeah, a role-playing game. It’s so cool, man! But…I don’t really talk about it with many people. Writing stories isn’t very popular you know. Not cool enough I guess.”

Doug laughed again, and once they were outside he waved to Harry at his grill, who only waved back and then continued to stare back down at the food he was cooking. “You shouldn’t worry over what people think is cool and what isn’t. Just do what you love, Stan. Can I see one of these stories some time?”

“No, you can’t. Not until I finish them and edit them anyway. Besides, you’ll just laugh. You don’t play videogames, nor do you read fantasy or anything like that. That’s what you could compare my fan fiction to, fantasy writing. Like Lord of the Rings and stuff like that, only not as boringly written.”

“I do read a lot, but it’s usually sports magazines and the sports section of the newspaper. Where’s the basketball, Stan?”

“It should be in the garage. At least that’s where I put it after the Fourth of July a couple of months ago. Just go on in, it’s unlocked.”

Doug walked across the enormous backyard (a backyard that was easily three times the size his back in Duncanville) and walked into two-level garage. The structure itself could be a house if they wanted it to be, but it was mainly comprised of junk and no cars whatsoever. Unlike most of the people in the neighborhood, the Granger’s didn’t need a hundred fancy cars. Three were enough. (Stan had gotten his permit three weeks earlier)

Inside, Doug trekked through the messy maze of random items until he saw some that was a dull-orange color, in the corner of the room next to a couple of broken bikes. It was a basketball, but it was several flat. “Do you all have a pump?” he yelled loudly outside to Stan. “This ball is flat!”

“Yeah, there should be one in their somewhere!” Stan called back.

“Alright, that helps,” he said out loud to himself, shaking his head.

He searched around for a few minutes and finally found one, and it had been lying above him on a shelf the entire time. He pumped the ball up and then took it outside, where Stan was sitting under the room of an umbrella-table.

“Well come on, Stan, let’s shoot!”

He passed the ball quickly to Stan, who barely caught it after bobbling the ball several times. He brushed back his long, red hair and then pushed up his glasses onto his nose so they sat more firmly. He was wearing a pair of green gym shorts that to Doug looked to be a year or so too small. His black Carlos Santana t-shirt didn’t go at all with his outfit, but the fire around Carlos himself somewhat blended in with Stan’s hair. Stan took the ball and shot it, hitting nothing but the fence behind the goal.

Doug laughed at this, but tried to hide it. He didn’t do a very good job.

“Yeah, that’s real funny, all-star,” Stan commented while going to fetch the ball in the grass.

“Sorry, but your shot is funny. And no offence, but it’s gotten a lot worse since the last time we played. Why are you shooting with two hands all of a sudden?”

Stan tossed the ball, violently, to Stan, who caught with ease. Stan bent down to tie his Chuck Taylors. “I don’t know, I guess because I don’t play basketball,” he said sarcastically. “If you’re so good, teach me how to shoot.”

“Fine, come here.”

Stan walked over to Doug and stood there, and Doug could almost see the sun burning Stan’s milk-white skin. “First of all, you don’t grab the ball on both sides. Since you’re a right-handed shooter like me you put your right hand slightly under the ball, and then put your left hand on the side to keep everything balanced. See how I’m doing it?”

“Yeah. Very cool. Anything else, all-star?”

“Yes. Jump when you shoot. You’ll get a better arch that way.”

Doug bounced the ball over to Stan and then stepped aside while he watched his cousin try again. Stan shot and the ball bounced hard on the side of the rim and then rolled back into the grass, on the right side of the concrete-paved mini-basketball court that Harry had had constructed three years ago.

“Well, at least you hit the rim,” Doug offered, trying his best to stifle yet another laugh.

Before Stan could respond, Harry yelled from inside the house that the food was ready. The two boys forgot what they were doing and ran inside, their mouths watering, and the aroma of food having taken their minds off of everything else except their stomachs.






The dinner table, just like the rest of the house in general, was decorated lavishly. A light blue dinner cloth wrapped around the entire table, with random designs and shapes that Doug assumed were flowers of some kind. He didn’t ask, though, for he didn’t want to sound stupid.

“So how are the burgers and hotdogs?” Harry asked the table of five. Everyone answered with positive comments, and Doug could almost sense the look of pride coming over Harry’s face. “The grill out there cost me three-hundred bucks, so they better be good!” he joked, and subsequently everyone laughed. Doug’s was forced, as was his mother. As far as he knew, the two of them shared the same opinion about Harry, but didn’t dare speak of it, especially since the man was letting them live in his home.

“What about you, Douglas? How was that basketball tournament of yours? I remember you talking about it last time you were down here.”

Doug gulped down a large portion of mashed potatoes. “Good I guess. We only came in seventh though, out of sixteen teams. It was a three-on-three tournament, and the first three places got some kind of…portable game or something. I didn’t care about that, but my friend wanted one so I played with him. Basketball’s always been my favorite sport anyway.”

“Was it a Nintendo DS Ultra?” Stan asked.

“Yeah…I think so. That sounds familiar.”

Then Harry chimed in proudly and loudly, “I bought Stanley one of those a few months back I think, or maybe it was after you had left. I don’t remember. At any rate, it was a whopping two-hundred dollar that thing!”

Everyone laughed again, but this time except for Doug, he was swallowing yet another mouthful of potatoes, and then washing it down with a glass of root beer. Doug absolutely loathed it when Harry talked about spending money. He had the slightest feeling that he did it just because he knew Doug and his mother weren’t well off, but he didn’t really think that was true. What he did know was that the Grangers were lucky that their son wasn’t the spoiled brat that he could have been. Stan got whatever he wanted whenever wanted, and then some.

“How’s the job going, Harold?” Patti asked.

“Fine. Never been better actually. I sold three cars earlier today, all over sixty-thousand dollars. Business has been somewhat slow the past couple of months, what with the rise of gas prices because of the struggle between Iran and whoever the hell they’re fighting with now, but we’re getting along. I hear you’re starting school this coming Monday?”

“Yes, I can’t wait. Thank you two again for everything you’re doing for me and Douglas. We appreciate it very much. And I…I don’t want to be a bother around the house, so I’ll be paying you two rent.”

“Oh heaven’s no, sister!” Sharon began. “We invited you here after all! After what happened to Bill-”

Sharon raised her and interrupted her sister. “I know that, Sharon, but this is something I have to do. Please.”

Doug was proud to hear such an honorable promise, for his mother had never told him of the plan. It certainly made sense to Doug, and it was the least they could do.

“And if there’s anything you need Doug to do, just tell him and he’ll be glad to do it,” Patti added quickly.

Harry swallowed what was left in his tall glass of wine and wiped his mouth with a teal-blue cloth. “Well, as a matter of fact…” Doug swallowed a bite of his hamburger and looked up at Harry, not wanting to hear whatever it was he was about to say. “I’ve been talking with Stanley about cutting grass around the neighborhood. I know it’s just a one-way street here, but there are a lot of houses. It would do you two a bit of good I think. That was my first job after all, and it was my father’s as well.”

“That sounds wonderful, Harold. Douglas would love to help Stanley,” Patti said, kicking her son’s leg underneath the table.

“Sure, Uncle Harry. That sounds..great. When will we start?”

“You’d better get going I think, if you want to make a good amount of money before it gets too cold and the grass stops growing. I talked with Mr. Wiese, our neighbor, and he said you could start tomorrow. I’ve already primed the lawnmower, and it’s ready for use. How about it?”

Again Patti kicked her son’s leg, and again Doug answered, “That sounds great.”

[redsrock]

Chapter Six


What woke Doug up the following morning wasn’t the smell of a wonderfully cooked breakfast, nor was it the noisy garbage men outside that forcefully threw down the garbage bins as they moved along the street. In fact, it was his cousin playing a video game, and it was his cousin’s loud complaining that drove him from his dreams. Dreams that he could not remember, other than that they were good ones.

“Come on, I hit him! Stupid cheater!”

Doug pulled the covers down from his body and sat on the edge of his bed, ruffling through his thick set of brown hair and stretching his legs. He let out a loud and lengthy yawn, prompting Stan to turn around.

“Oh, sorry. Did I wake you up, man?”

Doug looked at the clock on his nightstand, surprised to see that it was already eleven o’clock in the morning. “I don’t know. If so, I’m glad. I can’t believe it’s almost noon already! Why didn’t you wake me up earlier?”

Stan shrugged, turned off his game, and then threw the controller down angrily. “Well, you were snoring for one. And your mom told us at breakfast sometimes you sleep in, especially on Sundays for some odd reason.”

Doug’s long arms dropped down and his mouth hung open. “You mean you guys already ate breakfast?”

“Yeah. My mom saved you some stuff, though. It’s good heated up in the microwave. Believe me, man, I eat leftover breakfast for lunch all the time. Come on, I’ll eat with you.”

“Jesus, you mean you’re still hungry?”

“Gimme a break, dude. We ate more than two hours ago. Besides, my mom’s biscuits are great! I can’t get enough of ‘em.”

Doug slipped on an old Duncanville High baseball t-shirt and followed Stan down the stairs. There was still a faint smell of buttered biscuits, syrup and coffee, along with the smell of dishwashing liquid that came from the kitchen and dining room combo. The boy’s mothers were cleaning up, while Harry was sitting in the living room looking over some sort of document, the television turned on to the local news but him not really paying much attention to it.

Stan brought a giant plateful of food from the refrigerator and placed it on the kitchen table. “Here you go, man. Pick out whatever you want and heat it up for about a minute or so. Oh yeah, and there’s plates in the cabinet above the microwave. I’ll be outside. Do you mind eating outside?”

“No, but why are you going to be outside?”

“Cause I wanna shoot for a little bit before we go cut Mr. Wiese’s house.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that. Sure, I’ll eat outside.”

“Good. Grab a couple of biscuits for me, will ya’?”

Stan walked outside and Doug began to pick out what he wanted from the gigantic plate of food. He grabbed six biscuits, two pieces of sausage, several slices of honeydew melon, and a blueberry muffin. Setting the fruit and muffin to the side of the microwave on a clean paper plate he found lying about, he placed the other food on another plate inside the microwave and set the timer for a full sixty seconds. That’s when his mother finally realized he was awake, so she sat her towel down and walked over to kiss his forehead.

“Hey, sweetie. Did you stay up late last night or something? It’s almost noon!”

“I guess. It was close to midnight when the game went off last night.”

“Oh. Was it a baseball game? I thought I saw Stan watching one when I went to bed.”

“Yeah, the Sox and the Yankees. Boston won on a walk-off homerun, and I was so excited that I couldn’t get to sleep for a long time.”

That was partially true, but it was mostly because he and Stan had their little discussion. He didn’t want to tell his mother about that, however. Nor did he want Stan’s mom to find out about it either.

“That’s good. So you and Stan are going to cut Mr. Wiese’s grass later on?”

“Yeah, probably as soon as I’m done eating.”

“He seems like a nice man. I met him yesterday while getting something out of the car. He told me you’re very polite.”

“Yeah, he seems pretty cool. He seems to like sports too.”

She kissed him on the forehead again and walked back to the dishes. The timer went off, but as he was about to walk out the door with his food Aunt Sharon called him back.

“Hey, Dougie! Will you tell Stan to make sure he takes the trash before you two leave? I would have taken it out earlier for the garbage men to take, but I forgot.”

“Sure thing, Aunt Sharon.”

He finally walked outside, and the first thing he saw was Stan swishing a three through the net. Stan beamed at him with pride and then retrieved the ball. Taking a seat at a table close to the court, Doug lifted the umbrella to block out the bright sun.

“Good shot!” he called out.

Stan walked over and sat down, grabbing one of the biscuits and biting off almost half of it with one bite. Doug marveled at this, mostly because Stan tended to eat like a pig and never gain any weight.

“Slow down, it’s not running away!”

Stan laughed, and a few crumbs fell from his mouth, rolling down his shirt and landing on the table where he quickly flicked them down to the ground. “So, are we leaving when you’re done eating, or do you want to rest or something?”

“Nah, I don’t need any rest. By the way, your mom told you to take the trash out before we leave.”

Stan nodded and then devoured the rest of his biscuit while standing up. He dribbled the ball for a few seconds and shot, hitting nothing but air and the fence behind the goal. He scratched his head while Doug laughed, unable to keep in all of his sausage. It mattered not though, for the birds would undoubtedly scoop up the food later when the boys were gone.

Doug watched as Stan continued to shoot, making some and missing most. He noticed how skinny his legs were, but they still appeared to be fairly strong; strong for someone who didn’t play sports at least. It definitely wouldn’t happen overnight, but Doug knew he could turn Stan into a good point guard; perhaps not a pure shooter, but at least someone who was a good enough dribbler and decent enough as a passer. If he could get that out of Stan, the two would be a fearful force. Despite this, Doug knew he could shoot and rebound enough, but he worried about Stan’s defense. Back in Duncanville, he often played two-on-two with a guy named Stefan Gore. His body type had been so similar to Stan’s, and Stefan was an excellent passer and an exceptional defender. That’s what Doug envisioned Stan to be. The potential was there, and Doug knew all he had to do was teach Stan the fundamentals and they would be fine.

The only thing that worried him was Stan’s obsession with video games and reading books, and apparently a newfound interest in writing as well. The latter two interests were good to have, but video games were a hit and miss with Doug. He could live without them himself, and he only saw them as a distraction for Stan’s progression as a basketball player. One of the three would have to be cut in order for Doug to find the right amount of time to train, and he didn’t know whether Stan had thought of that or not.

Just then, the door to the house opened up and Harry stepped out, still holding the newspaper. “Hey boys, come here for a second! There’s something in the paper you might want to look at!”

Doug took the last bite of his breakfast and walked over with Stan. Harry unfolded the newspaper for the two boys to see and pointed to the page on their left. In big red letters spelled out: HAVEN 3-ON-3 BASKETBALL TOURNEY, AGES 16-18. PRIZES FOR WINNER AND RUNNER-UP!!!

“Cool, dad, but why are you telling us?”

“Because I’ve seen you two shooting basketball a lot since Doug arrived, and you two have always played when he comes anyway. I thought maybe you’d want to join. There’s no fee to enter, and it’s a month from now, on a weekend. Plus, there’s a one-hundred dollar prize for first place, and a fifty dollar prize for second. Sounds like easy money to me.”

“I don’t know, dad. I suck right now…really bad. We’ll think about it I guess. Thanks.”

“Yeah. Thanks, uncle Harry.”

Harry looked somewhat disappointed, but nevertheless he reentered the house, leaving to boys to themselves.

“Personally, Doug, I want to join. But like we talked about last night, I’m not ready.”

Doug sat down on a nearby lawn chair and thought for a few seconds. It was true that Stan wasn’t ready for an actual game, let alone a tournament. But perhaps a month’s worth of training would suffice. “I don’t know. Maybe you’d be ready in a month. Who knows. Let’s just practice hard for two weeks and then we’ll see. There’s something else I want to ask though. How serious are you about playing basketball? I mean, is this something you really want to be good at, or is it just something to do when you’re bored. I know you said you want to play like the others do at your school, but are you serious?”

“Yeah, man. Why?”

“Well, I was thinking. You play a lot of video games, you read, and apparently you write as well. With school starting Monday, that’s a tight schedule as it is. Now with basketball coming along as well, it’s going to be even tighter. If you really want to be a good basketball player, and if you really want to be ready for this tournament that’s coming up, you’re probably going to have to cut back on at least one of three. And don’t think I’m trying to force all of it this onto you, because I’m not. I’m just letting you know what my opinion is. What do you think?”

Stan shrugged his shoulders and continued to dribble the basketball as he sat, looking down at the ground the entire time. Doug could see that his cousin agreed with what he had said, but he simply did not want to admit it. Video games had been his entire life after all. It wasn’t going to be easy cutting back.

“I mean…I guess you’re right, Doug. And to be honest with you, I was thinking about it last night myself. I don’t particularly want to give on playing video games, so I think I’ll just put my writing on hold.”

Doug cocked his head to the side, confused. “What? Why would you do that? You told me you love writing.”

“Yeah, but I love playing video games even more,” he shrugged. “It’s just…it’s something I’m good at. I don’t think my writing is that good anyway, so it’s not really that big of a deal. Really, let’s just stop talking, please. I’ll stop writing and focus on basketball, because I really do want to get better. Alright”

“If you say so.” Stan smiled and then stood back and shot the ball. It skipped across the right side of the rim and then bounced away from the court until bounced off of the garage door. “So, I’m done eating. You wanna go ahead and take out the trash so we can go cut Mr. Wiese’s grass? I’ll get the lawn mower while you’re doing that, if you want.”

“Yeah, you do that. I’ll get the trash. Grab the weed-eater too, just in case Mr. Wiese changes his mind or something. Just bring everything through the fence door and meet me in the front yard.”

While Stan ran inside the house, Doug began walking towards the garage, thinking deeply. Stan claimed he didn’t min giving up his writing, but Doug didn’t buy that. He had hoped Stan would give up video games instead, but that had not been the case, much to Doug’s dismay. Even though he really didn’t care about them either way, Doug thought they were more of a kid’s game than anything.

Inside the garage, the lawn mower was resting just inside the door, a dirty-yellow weed-eater right beside it. He grabbed both and left the garage, heading through the privacy fence’s wooden door. Stan had already placed the trash in the bin and was walking up the driveway. He took hold of the lawn-mower’s steering bar, and the two boys headed off towards Mr. Wiese’s house.

Mr. Wiese himself was already out in the front yard watering his plants. He was bent over, and when he rose to meet the boys, his back popped and out came a loud “Dammit!” from his mouth. He quickly covered his mouth and looked around the neighborhood to make sure no one else was about.

“Sorry, boys. I gotta watch my mouth. People here don’t like it when I cuss. So, you’re reading the cut the grass, are ya’?”

“Yeah,” Stan said. “I went ahead and brought the weed-eater anyway, and while I cut the front yard Doug can trim both the front and the back. And then once I’m done he can cut the back since there’s not a lot anyway.”

“Sounds good to me, Stanley. And to be honest, the yards probably do need some trimmin’ anyway, especially the back. Well, hop to it. When we’re done I’ll give you your pay and let you get going. I know school starts tomorrow and there are things to be done at home I’m sure.”

He hobbled into his house, limping the entire way. Doug saw this, but decided not to say anything to Stan about, for he was likely used to it anyway. Instead, he took the weed-eater and began trimming the sides of the yard while Stan started up the lawnmower.




When they were finished, some thirty or so minutes later, they were both sweating profusely and were even panting for breath. It wasn’t a lot of work, but the mid-August sun’s rays were beaming down harshly. It was in the upper nineties that day and just walking forced one to break out in an intense sweat.

Inside, Mr. Wiese was watching an old movie starring Bruce Willis. Doug couldn’t remember the name, but it was the one where Willis’s wife and others were being held hostage by Terrorists. Doug remembered like him as a child only because they shared last name.

Mr. Wiese was holding onto a bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos. When he saw the boys walk in, he set the bag down on the table and stood, hundreds of crumbs falling off of his large stomach. “Eh! You boys done already?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t that hard,” Stan said, wiping the sweat from his forehead for the umpteenth time. “It’s just really hot, that’s all.”

“Hell yeah it’s hot. That’s why my fatass I in here where the air-conditioning is blowing full blast. Well, stay here and I’ll get your money. Have a seat as well, I know you’re tired. Don’t worry about getting sweat and dirt on the couch, it’s almost as old as I am.”

He waddled out of the room, and Stan and Doug sat down on the couch. It was a comfortable black, leather couch, but Doug realized why Mr. Wiese thought it was so old. There were many cracks in the color, and some of the stuffing was beginning to come out of the left armrest. “What do you want to do when we get home, Stan? It’s not even one o’clock yet.”

“I think my mom is taking us into town to shop for a few pairs of a clothes for school. She wants to by us both something.” He stopped, and then laughed. “It’s funny because my mom was arguing with your mom about it this morning. My mom can get a little bossy sometimes, especially when she doesn’t get her way. Anyways, after that we can go down to shoot if you want. It’s too hot to do it outside, man.”

“ Yeah, that’s cool. So she wants to buy me some clothes? No wonder my mom argued. She doesn’t like it when other people buy me clothes. It makes her feel…down on herself.”

Coming out of the hallway next to the kitchen was Mr. Wiese, holding in his hand two bills. He handed one each to the boys, and Doug realized they were fifties.

“Here you go boys!”

“Mr. Wiese…these are fifties,” Stan said, just as surprised as Doug was. “That’s a hundred dollars total. We can’t take this much.”

“The hell you can’t!” he laughed. “I know it’s a little much, but you two deserve it. It’s too damn hot out there, and I feel bad enough about making you do all of this. Besides, once it starts to cool down I’ll be havin’ you two doing more stuff around the yard.”

“Are you sure, Mr. Wiese? I feel bad taking all of this money.”

“Of course I’m sure, Stanley! And don’t say another word about it or I won’t pay you boys anything at all!” Mr. Wiese roared with laughter, and his stomach bounced along to the rhythm. “Run along now, it’s past noon already and it’s a beautiful day outside. Hot as hell, but beautiful nonetheless.”

Doug and Stan walked out of the house, clutching their fifty-dollar bills with utmost protection, protecting the money from no one in particular, but protecting it all the same. Doug was about to ask how Mr. Wiese could afford to pay them that much money, but then Aunt Sharon called to them from the front porch, and they jogged over to meet her.