Ray had always been the one his mother couldn’t quite understand—instead of playing basketball with the other uncoordinated prepubescent kids, he was up in his room, alone, practicing air violin with his IKEA headboard as a fingerboard. His mom never got to sit at the half-court line and gossip with her friends, whose kids were also on the team—she didn’t want to go alone to an alien concert hall with a bunch of soccer moms wondering if she was lost.
He lay on his bed. There was a crack in the left corner of the ceiling he’d never noticed before. The muted TV laughter itched his skin, as if it would leave scars. Talking to her might not be so bad. Maybe she’d be excited. Happy for him. She didn’t have to pay for anything.
Water rattled in the pipes. The twins were in the bathroom, getting ready for bed. A poster of Optimus Prime—Transformer, leader of the Autobots—clenching his metal fists. His corded muscles bulged reassuringly. If Optimus Prime could beat the crap out of Megatron, Ray could talk to his mother.
Ray came out of his room. “Mom. I need to talk to you. It’s important.”
“What, boy?” She was typing.
“The concert was really good. I was one of the top violinists and I got offered a scholarship.”
“Uh-huh.” Her phone chimed. She smirked at it, typed.
“Mom!”
“Who you yellin’ at?”
“I’m not yelling, I didn’t know if you heard what I said. I got offered a scholarship today.”
“To where?”
“To Markham University.”
“Well that’s too bad. You’re gettin’ a job. I ain’t paying for college.”
“This is a scholarship. A full scholarship. It would pay room and—”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“I said no. I ain’t paying for nothing.”
“You don’t have to pay for anything. It’s a music scholarship. I just said that. It covers everything.”
“What did I just say?”
“You said no. But I think I’m going to take it.”
“You ain’t taking shit. You goin’ to get a job and help with these kids.” She mumbled something incoherent. Her phone chimed and she looked at it.
“Mom? Hello? What is the big deal? I’ll have a college degree.”
“In what,” she said, actually looking at him, eyes narrowed. Only then did he realize how furious she was. “In music? What’s that goin’ to do for anybody? Let me tell you something. You’re just a kid. You don’t need no college and no music. You need a job.”
“One of the professors thinks I can play in a major symphony.”
“Ha! You can’t play in no symphony. I hate to tell you, but you didn’t play all that good at your grandma’s. You ain’t good enough.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
“I’m doing it,” he said.
She stood up suddenly, swift and sure, took two steps, leaned over him. “No, you ain’t. You’re gettin’ a job.”
He stood, too, taller than her. “So you’re telling me that you’d rather me stay here and work for the next ten years at Popeyes instead of going and getting a college degree? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Talk back one more time and I’ll slap the shit outta you.”
“This is unbelievable. I give you almost every cent I make. And why? So you can get a bigger TV? What’s after the TV? I’ve begged you for years for a violin, but you say you can’t afford it and then you get your hair done. All I’ve done is contribute.”
“You got a better chance of makin’ it in the NBA than you do makin’ a living playing music. It’s tough out there. You need to find somethin’ steady.”
“Like what? Popeyes? The hospital cafeteria?”
“Exactly. Something nice and steady that’s gonna pay the bills.”
“Pay your bills, you mean.”
She smacked him, palm wide open, and he staggered as the backs of his legs hit the armchair and he reached out to steady himself. His left cheekbone flamed.
“Let me tell you something,” she said. “You gon’ do what I say. I’m smarter than you, and you will never be able to get one over on me. Do you understand?”
He held the left side of his face. The burn crept into his left eye.
“You know that you can’t make a living playing a violin. That old fiddle Mama gave you is about to fall apart as it is. You think them white people are gonna let you play in a orchestra? No. You ever seen a Black man playin’ in a orchestra? No. There’s a reason for that. Now I’m tired of hearin’ about this shit.”