Long Shot (14 page)

“Things? I didn't know L.B. said anything about me.”

Everybody looked at me. “He told me what a good
guy you are and how you like to joke around and have fun … when you're not near a gym.”

He smiled. “It was strange. I was gone from basketball for more than twenty years. I did a lot of growing up in that time.”

“We all have,” my father added.

“But you know, I got back in that gym and I can't quite explain it, but it was like all those years in between never happened. And it was exciting and scary all rolled into one big old ball. I got thinking about what it was like to play basketball and got more and more excited and before I knew it … well you saw what happened.” He paused. “And that's why I'm going to everybody's house tonight. I owe each and every child and their parents an apology. I thought because I was a pretty good player in my time that I could be a good coach.”

“You were a good coach,” I said. “I learned things.”

He chuckled. “Things like how loud I could yell?”

“Things like how to position myself for rebounds better and where to go when I didn't have the ball, and keeping my legs straighter when I make jump shots.”

“I guess I still know a few things about the game,” he said.

“A lot of things.”

“Thanks for saying that. That's made my night a little bit easier.”

He rose from his seat and offered me his hand. He shook my hand and then my mother's and finally my father's.

“I better get going,” he said.

“I just put on a fresh pot of coffee,” my mother offered. “And I did some baking. Would you like to stay for a cup and a cookie?”

“Thank you very much for the offer. I really appreciate it, but I still have a number of people I have to see tonight.”

“Another time perhaps,” my mother offered. “Maybe you can come in some time when you're dropping your son off to play with Nick.”

He gave a little smile. “I really appreciate the offer. I hope I can still be a good neighbor even if I couldn't be a good coach. Take care.”

Once again he and my father shook hands and then he turned to leave the kitchen.

“Coach … I mean Mr. Barkley.”

He stopped and turned back around.

“You could still be both,” I said.

“Both?”

“A neighbor and a coach. Didn't you tell us that you're only a loser when you give up trying?”

“My old coach … your old coach, used to tell us that.”

“I'd be willing to try again, if you would.”

“You want
me
to be your coach?” he asked in amazement.

“Everybody does things wrong. We only call it a mistake if you don't learn from it,” I said. “He told us that too,” I said, turning to my parents.

“And you'd be willing to try again?” Mr. Barkley asked.

“If we could talk about how things would be different.”

“Believe me, things would be different!”

“Would that be okay? Could I play?” I asked my parents.

My mother and father looked at each other. What were they going to say?

“I think that might be okay,” my mother said.

“I'd like that, but it might be too late. A team with just one player isn't going to work.”

“How about your son?” my father asked.

“He might be willing as long as I remember to treat him like my son instead of just a player.”

“There may be more than just me and him,” I said.

“Have you talked to anybody else about this?” my father asked me.

“I didn't even talk to me about any of this,” I said. “At least not yet.”

I'd be on the phone to Kia and then Jamie and D.J. the second Mr. Barkley was out the door.

My father walked Mr. Barkley to the door. As they disappeared down the hall I heard my father mention
something about the time the two of them played against each other in high school.

“He seems like a very nice man,” my mother said. “I'm surprised. He wasn't anything like I'd expected him to be.”

“Do you think it could work?” I asked her. “Do you think there's a chance we could still have a team?”

“I don't know. A few minutes ago I didn't even think any of this was possible,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders.

“And now?” I asked.

“It might still be a long shot, but you've always been pretty good at long shots.”