“Don’t you think it’s great to watch a game when guys like Shaq and Hard-away and Ewing play? I mean, they’re great players, right? And Jordan? He’sthebest, right?”
His dad shrugged. “Sure. Don’t get me wrong. It’s fine that those guys areso great. Great is great. But see what I mean? When you think about great, do you remember Bob Cousy or Larry Bird or Bill Walton? No, you remember Wilt Chamberlain and Magic Johnson. And players like Ainge and Stockton? Forget about it. These days it’s all about the black guys. So don’t get me started.”
There was a knock at the kitchen door, and Phil looked at the clock. Nine. That was Lucy. He got up and opened the door for her. “Hi, Lucy.”
She smiled and said, “Well, Philip! This is a surprise—you’re up bright and early this morning.”
“Uh-huh.”
Then Lucy saw his dad at the table. Phil watched her. Lucy seemed to pause a second, adjusting her face and her voice. Then she said, “Morning, Mr. Morelli.”
Phil watched, and his dad didn’tlook up from the newspaper. “Hi,” he said. And again Phil could hear something in the tone of his dad’s voice. And Phil knew that Lucy could hear it too.
Walking out of the kitchen, Phil passed Jimmy in the family room, glued to the TV, flipping from cartoon to cartoon. But Phil hardly noticed. He was thinking.
All his life Lucy had called him Philip, and she had called his brother Jimmy, and his sister Juliana. And for as long as he could remember, Lucy had called his mom June, because that was her name—June. Because, like his mom had said, Lucy was a friend.
But Phil couldn’t remember Lucy ever using his dad’s first name. She always called him Mr. Morelli. Never Nick. Always Mr. Morelli. And for the first time in his life Phil understood why.
• • •
At about eleven fifteen Phil was in his room. His mom had sent him there to make sure everything was picked up off the floor. So Phil dug some stray socks out from under his bed, picked up the CD cases and books that were spread around on the carpet, and then began stuffing some shoes and a couple of dirty sweatshirts into his closet. For years he and Lucy had had a cleaning-day deal: as long as Phil got the floor clear of obstacles, she’d leave his closet shut.Phil pushed the door closed with his shoulder and flopped onto his bed to listen to a song. Three minutes later there was a loud knock on his door.
“Come in!” He had to yell to be heard above the music. As Lucy stuck her head into the room Phil hit the stop button on his CD player.
“I’ve got to work in here, and thenI’m going to run the vacuum. You in or out?”
“I’ll leave in a minute.” Phil plugged in his earphones and put them over his ears, but he didn’t start the music. He started reading some song lyrics, but he was actually watching Lucy.
She began at his dresser, lifting up each picture, each of his basketball trophies, dusting underneath, and then putting things back. As she worked she hummed a little tune, her hands busy.
Phil pulled off the earphones, cleared his throat, and said, “You know, your grandson goes to my school.”
Lucy nodded. “I guess I knew that. It’s the Curwin School, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
Lucy kept working, now dusting the bookshelves above his desk. Phil said, “Did Daniel tell you about what happened on Thursday?”
“Something about his jacket, right? I heard about it, but not from him. I don’t think he wants to talk about it.”
“Well, it was kind of my fault. I didn’t know it was his, so I thought he stole it or something. He got pretty mad about it.”
Lucy smiled, nodding again. “He does have a temper, that boy. But he gets over things. You didn’t mean him any harm. Any fool knows that, and he’s no fool. Straight A’s in all his classes. Smart as a whip.”
Lucy had finished dusting, and she stepped into the hallway and pulled the old Electrolux through the doorway.
Phil jumped off his bed. “Here, I’ll plug it in.”
“Thank you.”
Lucy was ready to switch on the vacuum cleaner, but Phil said, “I think I’d like to call him—Daniel. Can you tell me his phone number?”
“Sure can.”
And Phil grabbed a pen and a note card off his desk and wrote down the number.
“Thanks, Lucy.”
She smiled at him. “You’re a good boy, Philip, a nice young man. And so’s my Daniel. Now, you scat out of here and let me get my work done.”
Phil stuffed the note card into his back pocket. He went straight downstairs and into the family room.
As he turned on the computer at the desk against the wall, he felt bad. What he’d just said to Lucy was like what he’d said to his English teacher on Friday, about how there might be a note in the office from his mom. It was almost a lie. Because Phil didn’t really intend to give Daniel a call, at least not today. Today Phil had a very different plan.
With a few clicks he activated themodem, and it began to chirp and whine. Phil knew exactly what he was doing, because he’d been thinking about it all morning. He went to a search engine, clicked onFIND PEOPLE,then clicked onREVERSE LOOKUP.He typed in Daniel’s phone number, and in two seconds there it was on the screen: 2518 Randall Street. And once he had Daniel’s address, after only a few more mouse clicks and a few more key taps, Phil printed out a detailed map that showed exactly how to get from his door to Daniel’s.
Studying the map, Phil was surprised. Daniel didn’t live that far away, just a little more than two miles. And Phil thought,Two miles? That’s not far at all. I run farther than that during one basketball practice.
After he shut down the computer, Phil went to the front-hall closet and pulled on a stocking cap, hiscross-trainerNikes, and a hooded sweatshirt. He stuffed a pair of lightweight gloves into the front pocket of the sweatshirt. Then he leaned down and picked up his gym bag.
In the kitchen Phil peeled a piece of paper from the memo pad by the phone. In large letters he wrote, “Going to run over to Lee’s house, maybe play some B-ball. Be back later.”
As Phil signed his name and put the note under the saltshaker on the kitchen table, he knew he was letting himself get away with another half-truth. Yes, he was actually going to run over to Lee’s house. That was the true part. But when he got there, Phil knew he wouldn’t stop. He was going to keep on running.
He was going to take a nice long run—all the way to 2518 Randall Street.
Part VI
ROUND-TRIP
The first week of basketball practice had been tough. It had felt like too much running, and Phil had limped home every day. But his legs and his lungs soon learned to obey, so by the end of the second week Phil had his running game under control.And that’s why at eleven fifty-five on a cold, gray Saturday morning, Phil was enjoying himself. He was running. He was ten minutes into atwo-mile run and not even breathing hard. The gym bag slung across his back was a little annoying, but after Phil pulled the shoulder strap tighter, he hardly noticed it.
As Phil headed west along Coughlin Avenue, the city started to look unfamiliar. He knew the ten square blocks around his own home pretty well, but this was new territory. He’d probably been this way in a car plenty of times, but that’s never the same as being on the sidewalk. Jogging along this way, Phil had time to look at things, time to think.
Phil kept noticing people, kept noticing whether they were white or black or Asian or Hispanic. He couldn’t help it. It was as if the city had divided up into colors and races.And I’m white,he thought.I’m a white kid.
About ten blocks from home Phil began to see more African Americans.About fifteen blocks from home there were a lot more black people than white. And when he was about four blocks from Daniel’s street, the change was complete. Phil was the only white person on the street.
Phil slowed to a walk and looked around. He thought,Now I’m in Daniel’s neighborhood.He stopped and peered in the front window of a small grocery store. The place was crowded with Saturday shoppers. A
nd Phil counted.One, two . . . only two white people.
Walking along, he tried to get the feel of the neighborhood. There had been a few places along his run that had not felt good. In one three-block stretch a lot of the buildings had been empty, with broken windows and spray-painted plywood nailed over the doors. And even on this cold day there had been some groups of kids andolder teenagers just standing around. Now and then there would be a wrecked car at the curb, no tires, hood open, windshield shattered. The guys on the corners had looked at him, but no one had said anything, and Phil had just kept on running.
But this neighborhood felt fine. He didn’t see any large houses like the ones he passed walking home from school, but the row houses and the two-flats looked friendly and cared for. Then Phil saw a house that looked exactly like his—except his house had a red door instead of a white one. And he thought,Same house, only different people. And practically the same neighborhood, too!
Phil was surprised. And when he noticed he was surprised, he thought,That’s because I’m prejudiced, right?
Because Phil hadn’t known what to expect. Running along, he had thoughtback over some books he’d read. Books likeJourney to Jo’burg,andThe Well.Books likeBud, Not Buddy.These were stories about black people in other countries, or stories about other times and other parts of America, or stories about poor families living in the country. And Phil had seen TV shows likeThe Cosby ShowandThe Fresh Prince of Bel-Air,where black people lived in houses a lot fancier than his—even fancier than Grandma Morcone’s condo. And Phil could also remember seeing terrible-looking parts of Los Angeles on the TV news.
And Phil thought,I’ve known tons of black kids all my life, and I never knew they could live in houses and neighborhoods just like mine!
And Phil didn’t know whether to feel good about that or not, because all these thoughts about black and white were too new.
Also, Phil was less than a block away from Daniel’s house now. What had seemed like a terrific idea at school on Friday afternoon suddenly didn’t seem so great. He kept seeing the look on Daniel’s face as he threw the jacket onto the floor. Phil thought,What if he slams the door in my face?
Then he was standing in front of a small brick bungalow, 2518 Randall Street. And walking up the front steps, Phil stopped. He remembered the smile Daniel had given him in the lunch line, taunting him with that quarter, and he thought,What if he just laughs at me? What then? What if I get mad and punch him or something? Besides, I already said I was sorry once, didn’t I? How many times do you have to say sorry to this kid, anyway?
Phil almost turned around, but then he made himself go up the last two steps and push the button of thedoorbell. And when the door opened, his mouth dropped open too. Because it was Lucy who stood there, a puzzled look on her face.
“Philip? What in the world? Does your mama know where you are?”
Phil shook his head and then managed to ask, “What are you doing here?”
“Me?” asked Lucy, pulling her chin back and looking down her nose at him. “I live here, that’s what I’m doing here. I just drove back from your house, and you are the last person I expected to have ringing my doorbell today. Come in here out of the cold.”
Standing in the small entryway, Phil stammered, “I . . . I thought this was where Daniel lived.”
Lucy nodded. “It is. Got the whole family under one roof for a while. His daddy’s back in college full-time, and they’re saving some rent money, livinghere until June. So you came to see Daniel, that it?”
Phil nodded.
“Then follow me,” and Lucy turned and headed up the staircase that ran up the right-hand wall of the living room. Looking around as he followed, Phil thought,The furniture and that TV, it’s as nice as the stuff in our house—I think their TV is bigger.
Lucy stopped at a door. There was a sign on it, neatly written with red crayon in large block letters:SMALLGIRLS WHO ENTER WILL SUFFER.Lucy pointed at it with her thumb and whispered, “Daniel’s not real fond of his baby sister right now.” Then she knocked and said, “Daniel? You’ve got company.”
Turning to walk away, she whispered, “Remember what I said to you this morning—he’s a nice young man. Don’t forget that.”
Phil took a deep breath and pushed the door open. Daniel was sitting at a computer screen, his back to the door, earphones on. Phil recognized the game on the screen—Warcraft—and Daniel was in the middle of a battle. He hadn’t heard Lucy knock on his door.
Phil didn’t know what to do. He glanced around, taking in the room. There were CD cases on the floor, and some books and papers were spread out across the table next to the computer. The bed wasn’t made, and a pair of jeans and a red T-shirt were sticking out of a half-open dresser drawer. There was a big poster on the wall, probably a band. Five guys with crazy hats and lots of gold chains—five black guys. A small bookcase next to the bed was too full, and someone had started stacking paperbacks on top of it.
Phil thought,Can’t back downnow,and he took three steps forward and tapped Daniel on the shoulder.
Daniel shook his head, eyes still on the screen. “Can’t stop. Got to get to a village so I can save the game. I’ll eat later.”
Phil tapped again. “Hey—it’s me.”
Daniel swung his chair around. He saw Phil, and his eyes jerked wide. He yanked off the headphones. “What?! What . . . how . . . how did you get here?” He jumped up and faced Phil squarely.
Phil tried to smile. “I walked . . . I mean, I ran. From my house. It’s not that far. I . . . I brought you this.” Phil unzipped his bag and pulled out the jacket.
Small soldiers on the computer screen began dying in large numbers, but Daniel wasn’t watching. He cocked his head to one side and said, “How come?”
“Because it’s yours. And it’s cold outside.”
Daniel narrowed his eyes and looked up into Phil’s face. “What, you think I don’t have other stuff to wear? That it? You gonna help me ’cause you think I’m so poor?”
Phil felt his face turn red. That very thought had run through his head earlier this morning. But it wasn’t true. He knew that now. Daniel wasn’t anywhere near poor. So he said, “I brought it because it’s a good jacket and . . . and it’s stupid to let something go to waste, that’s all.”
“You callin’ me stupid?”
Phil felt the anger rising in his chest, but he choked it back. “No. Look, I’m sorry I grabbed you, okay? So just take the jacket.”
“So I just take the jacket, and then you’re done with your good deed for the day, right?”
With his nostrils flared and his lips trembling with anger, Phil almost spit the words: “Take it, don’t take it, wear it, don’t wear it—I don’t care! There!” He threw the jacket at Daniel’s feet. “I’m outta here.”
Phil was down the stairs and at the front door before Daniel caught up to him.
“Hey!”
Phil swung around, his head low, shoulders hunched, fists ready.
Daniel had the jacket under one arm, and he held up his other hand, palm out. “Hey . . . it’s okay. I shouldn’t have messed with you.”
Phil put his hands down, still breathing hard.
Daniel said, “You coming here took some guts.” He smiled. “And how’d you get through Carter Terrace? All those boarded-up buildings? Not a nice place to walk.”
Phil smiled. “Like I said, I didn’t walk. I ran.”
Nodding, Daniel said, “I would too.”
A swinging door opened behind Daniel, and Lucy stuck her head out and said, “Lunchtime, boys. Daniel, you show Philip where to wash his hands.”
Phil said, “I . . . I’ve got to get going.”
Lucy shook her head. “No you don’t, because I just talked to your mother, and I told her I’ll be driving you home after you eat, and that’s that. Daniel, you show Philip where to wash his hands.”
Lucy did most of the talking during lunch, which was fine with Phil. His long run had made him hungry. The
bread was fresh, the peanut butter was smooth, the sliced apples were crunchy, and once Daniel started dipping his Oreo cookies in his milk, Phildid too. Everything tasted great, and Phil thought,Just like lunch at home. Same stuff.And Phil didn’t want to feel surprised about that, but he was. He had thought everything would be so different here. And it wasn’t. It just wasn’t.
Daniel rode along in the car when Lucy drove Phil home after lunch, the two boys buckled into the backseat of the little Honda. When they drove by the derelict buildings, Daniel said, “Better to ride right past this place.”
And Phil nodded. “Yeah.”
Other than that, they didn’t talk. But there was no strain in the silence because neither boy was waiting for anything.
Daniel wasn’t looking for more words. Phil had already said he was sorry. Twice. Because sometimes sorry has to be said twice. Sometimes even more.
And Phil wasn’t waiting for Daniel to say thanks. Because it wasn’t needed. It was understood.
When Phil got out of the car in front of his house, Lucy leaned over so she could look up into his face. “I’ve got things all settled with your mom. She wasn’t happy about you running that far from home, but I got her calmed down.”
Phil made a sheepish face and said, “Thanks, Lucy. I owe you one.” Then he looked at Daniel and smiled. “See ya round.”
And Daniel nodded and said, “Later.”
Phil started to shut the door, but then he leaned down, pointed at Daniel, and said, “Been meaning to tell you—that’s a nice jacket.”
Daniel grinned. “Yeah, it’s okay. Used to belong to this kid I know. He’s a good guy.”
Phil said, “Yeah?”
Daniel nodded. “Yeah, he’s all right.”
Phil watched the little car from his front walk until it went around the corner. Then he turned and went up the porch steps, two at a time.
Andrew Clements, The Jacket
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