Chapter 27

But he would like some support, would that be too much to ask? He knows it’s just the way she is—if he were a musician or a writer, she’d call such pursuits silly dreams as well, gossamer webs spun to keep him from hard work. Many times she’s mentioned the man who fathered him, said he thought basketball would make him rich, and sure he had a great hook shot but he was barely six feet tall and the game never got him anywhere in life. “You see him on TV?” she asked. “No. Playing in the nba? No. That was his problem, Tay, always thinking of his balls, on and off the court. You’d do best to get a job and put an end to this skating nonsense.”

But it’s not nonsense to him, it’s life, as much as breathing and eating and sleeping. Even though he already knows the answer, he crumbles the bread between his fingers and asks, “Maybe you can come by and see me race? In the quarters—”