Player
It was a thick, dark rain-soaked day in late March. The wet chill and the colorless sky conspired to oppress him. He had issues aplenty before Mother Nature decided to make this the most recent worst day of his young life. He had but two friends in the whole wide world.
The little Indian boy, Three-Rivers, genuinely liked and admired him. But Three-Rivers’ new mammy, Tina—super-creepy-smoking-hot-ball-busting-man-killing-bitch-from-lesbo-Hell—did not like him hanging out with the kid. The only other person who seemed to care about him was crazy old Jay-Bone; kind of his big half-retarded White brother. But Jay-Bone was away out west on his evil brother’s bike, and wouldn’t be back today in this rain. It was just too dangerous to ride one of those crotch-rockets in this wet mess.
So here you are Player, on the rehab porch where they walk the crippled kids, between warmth and rain, wondering who the Hell you even are. Who are you Player? Or is that all you are, just The Player playing the angles until you screw up one last time?
Jay-Bone likes you because you like him. He’s simple like that—no judgment. The rest of them look down on you, except for Three-Rivers. What does he see? He sees your fucked up ass is what he sees! He just feels sorry for a fool like you.
Get it together Player. Zero Hour is coming soon. You stepped forward with your big old mouth and soon you’ll need to step forward as a man. What kind of man will you—can you—be?
The consideration of his identity became too painful for him to discuss, even with himself. He found a way to step back into the shadows of his mind, as he had done in those many bad times past. He considered his plight, in search of the portion of his fragmented self he could actually get behind. How could he believe in himself? What part of himself could he even pull for really?
Damn son, if I was watching a horror movie with you in it, I’d be like, “Just eat his ass creepy crawly—director cut to the next scene! Who cast that extra anyhow?
He had been born Thomas Biddle Edison to Aretha Hayes, a drug addict from East Baltimore. Thomas Edison was a straight forward enough old-dead-White-guy name. He could get behind the hopeful success metaphor there, if it wasn’t for the fact that every teacher, cop and judge who ever scolded him had called him Thomas or Mister Edison.
Shoot, no brother that’s ever done time wants to hear his real name again.
Biddle he did not even want to consider.
Where did that even come from Aretha?
Tommy is what Aretha and the men she brought to the house had always called him. That was out of the question.
The Priest and Big Shiv had called him Tom. He could not even hear the word anymore without quaking in his shoes.
The neighborhood kids around Eager and Bond had always called him Squirt for his small size and the name had stuck. As a person he did not find it offensive. But as a man it was going to be tough making it in the world with a name like Squirt.
Player had been his latest unsuccessful attempt at self-naming. It had not stuck, and, in any case, it was not what he wanted to be anymore.
Man, you are stuck. That’s not rain pouring down your face chump.
A man’s confident voice sounded behind him beneath the sound of pounding rain on the canopy above, “What’s up?”
He couldn’t turn around to face him. It was the professor: a real man; a successful Whiteman. He wouldn’t understand. Since Jay-Bone and his evil brother had begun taking karate lessons from Jan everyone had taken to calling him Sensei—everyone but Tina that is.
Cover as best you can.
“Nothing really Sensei.”
The man stepped around in front of him. “Are you okay?”
After the Priest it was really difficult for him to trust an older Whiteman.
Hey, he kicks ass, and likes the hot young chicks. He’s cool.
“Sure.”
“Bullshit. What’s up man? We’re all nervous about our missions. I’m bouncing off the walls. Is that it?”
“Part of it.”
“What else? You’re among friends man. What is it?”
“Man, I don’t even have a name I can stand to hear spoken.”
“Nonsense. You are named after a great man, one of the most successful scientists and businessmen of the industrial age.”
“Yeah, but it’s a name that’s just been used to beat me down my whole life. I can’t stand to hear Tom, Tommy or Thomas. My middle name is Biddle for God’s sake. And I don’t want to be no Player, and I’ve outgrown Squirt!”
He was now gushing tears.
“Eddie, I’d call you Eddie. How about that? That’s a good first name, based on Edison rather than Edward.”
“Yeah, sure, Eddie’s cool… Thanks man.”
The congratulatory hand came down on his back, as if he had just been admitted into this man’s exclusive masculine fraternity.
“Hey Eddie, when Jay gets back could you bring him down to the dojo. I want you in the lineup too. As lean as you are I’ll bet we’ll be calling you Fast Eddie in no time! I can’t wait to see you square off with Randy. That ‘ill bring out the man in you. See you in class Eddie.”
Eddie? Eddie isn’t bad at all; and Fast Eddie! That’s baaad! Now you’re talking son!
After the professor sauntered back inside a crackle of thunder sounded at ground level. He turned around and saw a motorcycle rumbling up in the pouring rain, steam rising from its engine and pipes while the soaking wet crazy man riding it pulled it under the canopy, and then made a sound like he was jumping out of a swimming pool as he got off.
“Hey Jay-Bone! You might by Batman, but we got some Robin for you now. Fast Eddie is ready to rock the past with your ass! How you like that Brother? Sensei says my name should be Eddie. How’s that hit ya son?”
The man seemed bemused. “Huh? Yeah, yeah man Eddie’s cool—dude named Eddie Short was my cut man in Mexico…standup dude.”
“Sensei was up here looking for you Brother. He wants us in class.”
Jay looked him squarely in the eyes, “Us?”
“Yeah man, us! Nice to have you back Brother, nice to have you back!”
