Page 37 of The Brooklyn Way

We all laughed, but soon enough Will gave me a light push.

“Go on out there and greet them, cous’. It’s time.”

With the microphone in my right hand, I walked up to the bleachers where the action was. There were parents, athletes, and others milling around, sitting down and even chatting.

My voice was raspy when I spoke. “Welcome. Welcome.”

The voices began to die down and those who were walking or standing took seats.

“Welcome to the first annual Cameron Field Summer Skills and Fundamentals Basketball Camp.” I chuckled lightly. “Yo, that’s a mouthful.”

There was laughter from the crowd.

“Parents,” I began again, then looked around with a sly smirk, “or should I say… moms.”

There were catcalls and hoots from many of the women in the bleachers.

“I see a lot of moms and I don’t have a problem with that at all. When I was coming up, my mom took me to and sat through a lot of basketball stuff to get me where I am today. Your athletes need your support and encouragement, moms. Even if you don’t understand everything about the sport right now, your presence is needed. As your athlete grows, they will appreciate the sacrifice of your time and your effort.

“Now, let me give everybody a quick rundown of what the day is gonna look like, then those of you who need to head to work can get out of here. For those who planned on staying for the duration of your athlete’s first day of camp, let me say that I welcome you to do so… today. Get a feel for how the program will run. Observe how the coaches interact with your athlete. Get comfortable with what each day in camp will look like. However, after today, we’re going to ask that upon your arrival each day, please drop your athlete off in the gym and make your way out. We have found that athletes perform better with less distractions. After today all practices will be closed.”

Mumbles and grumbles moved across the bleachers for a few moments. I was cool with it. We were above capacity in the program. It was our hope that some athletes would drop. If parents didn’t like the rules, they were free to take their athlete and bounce.

I lifted the microphone again to bring their attention back to me because I wasn’t done speaking. “Having gotten that out of the way, there’s one more piece of pertinent business to cover. If you haven’t turned in the completed official Camp Cameron medical forms for your athlete, please make sure that you see Nurse LaTara. She’s waiting in the lobby to accept and record completed forms. Any athlete without a medical form on file with us will not be able to stay today.”

Another round of mumbles and grumbles went up. I really didn’t give a damn. The medical forms had been available for four months. For some parents, nothing was ever a priority until it was a necessity. No form, no camp. That was the bottom line. I couldn’t bear the liability of an athlete having an undisclosed medical issue.

Two and a half hours after camp began whistles began to blow around the court.

“Lunchtime!” The voices of the coaches yelled out to the boys.

I found the microphone for the second time and sauntered back over to the bleachers.

“Parents and guardians, we’re gonna break for an hour. This will give the athletes an opportunity to have lunch as well as give their minds and bodies a short rest. In an effort to promote teamwork and bonding, the athletes will eat with their teams. You all should feel free to step out and to grab something. We’ll reconvene at one o’clock p.m.”

I didn’t stick around to watch the crowd disperse. I already knew what it would be. There were going to be women shooting their shots and they wouldn’t care that kids were present. Instead, I rushed out of the gym through a side exit and slipped into my office, locking the door behind myself.

“Who are you running from?” came the feminine voice from behind me.

I was already grinning when I turned around to face her. She sat in my chair with a grin of her own and a large wooden basket resting atop the desk. “What are you doing here?”

“I brought lunch.”

It dawned on me that the large basket was actually a picnic basket. “Word?”

She sat up in my chair, her elbows on the desktop and her face cradled in her palms. “Yeah. I realize this is not very… summer fling of me. I know flings are all about lust and sex. And in our case, thunderstorms. But I’ve always wanted to do this—”

I interrupted her. “Have a summer fling?”

She rolled her eyes up to the ceiling, while simultaneously huffing out a sigh. “No, not have a summer fling,” she mocked me. “Entertain. When I was with my ex, I wished for a life with friends and laughter. I wanted opportunities to entertain and hang out. Now, I’m here on Jackson Island, and I feel like I have a tribe. I live in a beautiful guest house with a beautiful backyard. I can go up to the big house and watch the sunset. My summer fling is giving me dick on demand. I basically have everything I used to long and wish for. I’ve always wanted to plan and prepare cute lunches with picnic baskets and checkered tablecloths. Lucky you, you get to reap the benefits of that.”

“Shit. Say less. Pull out the food because my stomach is touching my back. I’m hungry as hell.”

She set the basket temporarily on the floor and pulled out a pink and white checkered tablecloth which went over the desk. Once the tablecloth was placed, she started taking Tupperware out of the picnic basket. Every time she took out a covered dish, I lifted the lid. First came a bowl filled with fried chicken legs. Next a container of deviled eggs. Then a creamy pasta salad. Finally, two mason jars filled with what looked like a colorful seven layered salad or something. She took out a thermos and two plastic cups.

“What’s in the thermos?”

She cocked her head to the side. “Sweet tea.”

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