Page 2 of Crash: Love in Scrubs
“Son of mine if you make us late, you’ll never forget it. No practice for a week. I want that phone...” I continued to rant, heading toward his room when he finally appeared in the hallway, and I nearly walked straight into his chest.
“I’m coming, Ma, dang!” he said, looking down at me with that mixture of annoyance and amusement that only teenagers could master.
Our dinner with my daddy and stepmom, Lorana, at Sheena’s was non-negotiable. It kept me grounded and connected to those who mattered most. Laughing and catching up with them reminded me who I was when I wasn’t suited up, running toward what everyone else was running from. I was a true adrenaline junkie who lived for the rush of saving lives, or maybe just the rush. But time with them, I was just Sametra, not Lieutenant Andrews barking orders and making life-or-death decisions. I needed nights like tonight.
I exhaled hard, closed my eyes, and counted to three.
I knew the no-practice threat would do the trick. Baseball wasn’t just Samaj’s sport; it was his life, his future, his shot at a scholarship and hopefully the major leagues. Hopefully, to playfor the Colorado Storm, missing even one practice would kill him, and he knew I meant business.
“Lord, give me strength,” I mumbled, shuffling around him and heading back toward the door. Our home was humble, not overly large, but there was more than enough space for he and I. Plus, it was mine. So, it didn’t take us long to reach the front.
“Ma, you too tiny to be doing all that yelling,” he mumbled, patting my head.
Daily, I was being reminded that dealing with teenagers was like handling Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde; you never knew which version you were gonna get. But he was skating real close to getting popped in the mouth and reminded exactly who was the boss in this house.
“What did I tell you about your mouth?” I said, pointing a finger at him. “If you saying ‘dang,’ you might as well say ‘damn’ and be done with it.”
Samaj looked like every bit of a typical seventeen-year-old, tall, lanky, hoodie thrown on over a tank top, basketball shorts, and wearing slides with those high socks that made no sense to me. And of course, his eyes were superglued to his phone like the whole world lived inside that little screen. I watched my pride and joy, well, on most days, come toward me with his hair freshly cut, edges sharp enough to cut glass.
“Winnie did a good job, huh?” I said, admiring my friend’s work. Samaj missed my hand, and I groaned. Gone were the days of my baby boy looking forward to seeing me and thinking I hung the moon.
“Yeah, but I think the owner’s daughter likes me. The whole time I was at the shop, she was staring and laughing all loud.” He didn’t even look up from his phone.
Who didn’t like Samaj Andrews? To me, his attitude had been and was trash, and if I were a young girl, I’d have no time for his moody ass. But to the little girls running aroundSt. Ambrose Prep, he was the man, cute, smart, athletic and, when he wanted to be, Mr. Personality. All I prayed was that he didn’t bring any babies home anytime soon. I wasn’t ready to be anybody’s grandmother.
“Anyway, you say that about every little girl who looks at you too long. You ready?” I asked, pulling him into a hug that he reluctantly returned. At least there was still hope.
“The weather’s a mess. You might want to change shoes—it’s wet out there.”
“Nah, I’m good. Had practice today. My feet are tired.”
Silverrun was in that weird weather stage where it was warm during the day but turned cool when the sun went down, with rain threatening at least twice a week. That was May for you. I hated being cold and definitely wouldn’t be caught dead in slides and socks. But he was Mr. Independent; his wet socks would teach him a lesson.
I studied his face. Something had been off about him lately, the slumped shoulders, the way he moved through the house like he was on the receiving end of a shit sandwich. The nerve and audacity when he didn’t have to do anything but exist. “Are you depressed, son?”
He groaned like I’d asked him to solve a calculus problem. “Ma, no. Just tired. And we do this every week.”
“Family is everything, Samaj. Don’t you ever forget that.” After his daddy walked out, after all the nights I worked doubles just to keep us afloat, my daddy was what held us together. “Your granddaddy won’t be here forever, and when he’s gone, you’re gonna wish you had these Thursday nights back. And if you ever need to talk to someone, I’m here. Always.”
He didn’t respond, just headed for the door.
We rode in silence for the first ten minutes, nothing but rain drumming against the windshield and squeaky wipers that needed replacing. The sky had opened up, turning the streetsinto slick ribbons of reflection and danger. I had to lean forward, squinting through the blur of water and headlights.
“What’s new with you? Coach been on you?” I asked, finally breaking the quiet. The silence felt heavy. Something was eating at my boy. I could just tell.
Samaj didn’t answer right away. Then came the sigh, that deep, dramatic exhale that always meant he was about to say something designed to raise my blood pressure.
“Ma, I’m not going to college. I want to focus on my streaming channel.”
I blinked hard, sure I’d heard him wrong. “Excuse me? As hard as I’ve worked, as much as we’ve talked about your future, and you want to stream? Stream what?”
“My life.” What life, I wondered, because besides practice and being holed up in his room like a hostage, there was nothing to stream.
“That’s funny, Maj. Really, funny. But no. College is happening.”
“Why not? It’s my life, right?”
“Samaj, this may be your life, but you don’t know every damn thing. Why are you hell bent on doing things the hard way?”
