— ๛HARLEM KNIGHT ⋅ ﾟ･ﾟ
"A pink rose among a thousand white daisies stand out; be likewise."
-Matshona Dhliwayo
JUNE EIGHTH OF NINETEEN NINETY-THREE
The vicious wind whips through Harlem's tresses and happily clasps onto her other hand wrapped around the gentleman's torso. Clean oxygen quickly exits and welcomes her lungs as the thrill runs through her veins.
How cool was this?
The fiery mauve and orange ombre San Francisco sunset reigns down on the two as the Ducati Monster whipped through the ongoing traffic. The passed vehicles' colors were in a blur as she nestled her cheek against the nippy leather of the man's jacket.
"You good back there, Harlem?" Harlem's eyes turn from the amazing view and onto the braided fellow she is grasping.
"Of course, but I do have a question." She calls out loudly, steadily delighting in the stunts he began to transfer in the large part of the street he could perform.
"What's the question sweetheart? You don't have much time.." She raises an eyebrow.
Fuck did he mean by that?
"Huh?"
"Harlem!" The eighteen-year-old girl shifts her head over to the opposing side of her pillow. Her hands nestled under the frigid pillow sheets, huddling her face into the clean linen. Subtle snores released from her as she neglects her mother's calling.
The best sleep she had in years it seemed, being that she had graduated two weeks ago and was having a hard time finding her way home the weekend before. She had strived so much in her last few years in high school that she was sure she deserved this much-needed rest. Her nose twitches; etching a small, cozy smile onto her lips.
"Harlem Acacia Knight! If I call you again, we're both going to have a bad day." She jumps out of her sleep, paying attention to her mother's loud voice volume throughout the upper floor of the unoccupied house. She sits up shortly, alarmed and her eyebrows itched in turmoil. Her head shifts to the left, eyeing the alarm clock that signaled it was early noon.
She should be asleep, Dreaming of Treach from Naughty By Nature, riding away on a Harley Davidson. Or maybe a Ducati Monster. Either way, she could have had the dream of her life instead her mother was worrying for God knows what.
For what exactly?
There was no need to clean the mess that consumed the Knight's family home every morning because she and her mother were the only ones there. Her Father returned overseas after her graduation, Her younger brothers, Kobe and Sanju were sent to Detroit for the summer to their Grandparents and Bremen was probably having endless fun at Basketball Camp at the Kia Forum. Giving her an ampless amount of time to lounge around.
Harlem exclaims a loud groan and smacks her teeth, sliding to the edge of her bed, and begins to drag herself onto her two feet. Her feet follow its path into her pink fuzzy slippers followed with the matching pink robe and up to the closed door.
"Yes, Mama?" she hoarsely queries loudly while twisting the doorknob.
Silence...
Her head drops back as she clamors yet another groan. Something else that despised Harlem. She calls and never replies. She would postpone until Harlem got to the end of the stairs to want her to go back up.
Once she closes her bedroom door, her groggy footsteps creep down the hall, glancing at her absent sibling's bedroom doors, glimpsing along the wood-like-brown tinted walls consisting of pictures of all her siblings and their achievements. Bremen's MVP trophies from basketball, Sanju's principal's list awards while Kobe held the most precise attendance awards.
Her footsteps halt at the end of the hallway to the sight of Mecca's basketball group picture, a chuckle stifling through her wide smile. His box fade was missing a piece, following behind his favorite artist Bobby Brown.
She could remember how he strolled into the house day after day once he got it. He swore he was all that and a bag of chips with it.
"I really miss you, Mecca." She mumbles; rubbing her thumb delicately against the picture to collect the patch of dust covering his name. Turning the short corner and down the spiral of steps as usual, meeting the entrance of the kitchen and living room. Her eyes fall on her mother's as she veers around from wiping down the spotless counter and towards her daughter.
"Took you long enough sweetheart, did you sleep well?" She asks as she balls the damp dishtowel up and sets it beside the sink.
"Yeah, it was alright." Harlem leans against the table, taking in the clean aroma, from the pristine walls to the dishes and countertops. Her Mother had most definitely been up for a long time. She takes a double glimpse at the calendar, squinting at the prior month still being up. The black thin font that spelled May was still up, and she gaped at the fifteenth being marked as Mecca's birthday.
"Harlem did you hear me?" She questions as Harlem shakes her head to refocus on the conversation happening in front of her.
"No, I apologize. I was just thinking of something." She quickly retorts as Her Mother stares at her as if she is making an effort to analyze her. Harlem's eyebrow raises swiftly as she sits down at the counter.
"I was going to ask what the happy graduate wanted for a present. I've been working so much that I forgot to get you one." She asks, clasping a paper towel to wipe her hands. Harlem shrugs, clueless as to what she wants as well.
She didn't want anything simple. Like new shoes or a new bed of some sort. She wanted something that she could look at and be proud of.
Harlem's lips curl into a smirk. That was easy, very easy.
"Hm, I just don't know. How about you hand me the money and I'll go to the mall and get it?" She suggests, widening her smile.
"Then that wouldn't be a gift given from me now would it?" Harlem's mother responds, mocking her large smile.
Damn.
She wanted a biker jacket. The specific one she saw hanging in the men's department. The pitch-black leather with a bit of distress on the elbows of the arm section, a silver tac-like circle set in all four corners that attached the back to the low collar shoulder parts. It was made specifically for a motorcycle gang. Somewhere Harlem had desired to be.
This is what she had been waiting to do, from the minute she left from the first race she had ever attended. Harlem desired to be a street racer.
Of course, her parents didn't know that, but how could they? They were never here anyway. Who would stop her? She had finished school at the top of her class with an exceeded GPA. Harlem had any university she wanted in the palm of her hand, awaiting the decision of which to pick.
Did it surprise her?
No. Who wouldn't want Harlem Knight at their college? But for the time being, she was arranging her plan to become a part of one of the reasonable motorcycle gangs that were still prevailing.
Ruff Ryders.
One of the main gangs that weren't necessarily founded by family members but by P Scotts.An infamous leader along with Juan Valentine from the Corazon Valiente, Samantha Rosling from Spicy Viper, and a few others. But he was the leading one Harlem dreamed of talking to, to exhort him that she was the lost component of the Ruff Ryders.
She smiles, glimpsing off as her eyes narrow to her mother's manicured fingers snapping in her face, pulling her from her trance.
"Well, I'm stumped on ideas." Harlem shrugs, looking off to the side to sigh. Her eyes gaze over to her Mother's who had appeared to be thinking as well.
"You know what? I have a great idea. Why don't we have a girl's day?..." Harlem's eyebrow raises as her Mother resumes. "We'll go to the mall and we'll go wherever you want and then afterward we can get something to eat and maybe the movie theatre to watch a movie. How does that sound? When do the two of us ever go out together anyway?" The woman questions, quite cheerily as she taps her chin.
Never. We never go out together.
"Go on and get dressed, and we'll have a little girl talk." She carries on, delighted with her planned events. Harlem arises from her seat once she watches her Mother walk along. Listening to the familiar creak up the steps unless the woman was no longer heard.
Harlem walks slowly up to the calendar. Her eyes gazed along the knowledgable etched writing that read "Happy Birthday Mecca."
She swallows the prominent lump that increases at the back of her throat before carefully changing it to the correct month and dashing up the stairs.
— JALEN CARTWRIGHT
"Change is a great and horrible thing, and people love it or hate it at the same time. Without change, however, you just don't move."
-Marc Jacobs
Jalen's eyes proceed to gaze out the window to the distinct view from his father's car, rolling his eyes. The air hums, ruining the silence that he, his Father, and his Grandmother cruised through. His left hand lay along the edge of the back seats, thumping his hand repeatedly to calm his nerves.
Moving in the middle of his summer was not what he dreamed of. He had to choose against his dream college, friends he had known since elementary and a girlfriend he was dating on and off.
While his mother remained in Virginia to confirm everything about selling his childhood home, his father and grandmother took the first flight to California to get everything arranged with his start in basketball camp that the Lakers were sponsoring. He was a last admission but still made it in.
"Look... Jay, I know you didn't want to move but this could be the best thing for you. I mean, who else you know could've squeezed themselves into the basketball camp at the Kia Forum?" Jay clicks his teeth together at the optimistic response as he rubs his index finger against his specks of chin hair. His dad was trying to make a good situation out of this, but Jalen was not budging.
He essentially was giving up his intact life just so his Pops could be a pig. As if it had not been a few months since the cops that beat Rodney King weren't just put in jail for a lousy two years.
What did hiring a nigga benefit from that shit?
His Father sighs in defeat, leaving the conversation alone and putting his attention back on the busy roads of Inglewood.
Jalen turned his view back to the window, still fondling his chin hair as he gazed along the view of girls that walked down the sidewalk.
I guess it isn't too bad.
As the car nears the Forum; he began to tap his hand a bit faster. He was a popular high school athlete in Virginia. But now he'd be with a bunch of additional top players straight out of high school. Would he still be the best? Would he get there and see that he was just another aspiring basketball player with dreams of going to the league?
Everybody can't be Michael Jordan, Someone has to be Scottie Pippen...
Not Jalen Cartwright though.
He left his thoughts; noticing them sitting in the parking lot where multiple people were arriving and saying their goodbyes. Jalen slips his seatbelt off and begins to unlock his door.
"Wait a minute." His Father spats, making Jalen grumble with annoyance.
"Jalen." His grandmother retorts, turning around to face him. If his grandmother's stern glare didn't intimidate him before it most definitely did now.
"Have fun, and do what you usually do. You've always been headstrong about being the greatest player you can be. So show them everything you've shown Virginia. I love you." Jalen's father comments, looking over his shoulder at him.
Jalen's anger and malicious manner wanted to launch disdain and even slam the car door a little. But, the fact is? He loved his Father.
His number one fan, one who never missed a basketball game or a practice motivated him before every game.
He was just nervous and a bit frightened. Not just for himself but for his Father too.
Jalen releases a sigh, softening his glare with a smile. "I love you too Pops." He retorts, grabbing his gym bags and beginning to open the door.
"You call me anytime you need me. I don't care what time it is. Be safe." His grandmother calls out from the passenger seat window as he rests the bag handles on his shoulders.
"Alright, Grandma." He waves as the car begins to crank up again and pulls off into the stream of vehicles settling back into the streets of the dynamic city.
Once forfeiting the view of his family, he spins on the heel of his shoes and takes the view in. As boys his age walk past him with their bags, a sense of relief and curiosity released into a sigh taking the needed steps along the extended path to the open doors.
The sunset red blared through his eyes as he entered the place, standing in the queue with the few before him. He took the free time to gaze around a bit.
"Make sure to hold your letter and laminated pass up. It'll make this way much easier." The tall bulk male exclaimed over the large room, creating silence over the dialogue havoc. Jalen looks down at the top pocket of the left gym bag.
He sets down the right one and begins to rummage through the top pocket. He clasps the purple and yellow pass and letter as someone walks around him and scoffs.
"Niggas in the way." A snarky comment as Jalen zips his bag up and stands up once more. A smug look was given to the male now in front of him, instead of reacting, like he was burning to do. He decided that his reputation was a bit more important than correcting the boy who was now in front of him.
He'd likely pummel him on the court anyway. As his grandmother said, "The loudest in the room is usually all talk."
After the impolite male proves his identity, Jalen slips his bags back on his shoulders steps up, and begins to show his verification as well.
"Jalen Cartwright." He speaks amid the loud conversations around him. The male looks down at the list and nods.
"I'm surprised to see you Mr.Cartwright as much as I've heard about you." Jalen lends a smile and a small chuckle.
"Furthering my skill before college basketball isn't a bad decision." The male nodded, sitting back as he pointed to the entrance.
"Follow through that way. I hope camp gives you everything you're looking for." Jalen slips the lanyard around his neck and strolls around the table and into the double doors, coming upon the other players who were able to get a spot. Jalen Shimmy's by
the clusters of groups, egos clashing as tales of their impressive basketball skills began to fill the room.
Smaller groups watch the arguments as Jalen finds a further spot from the area.
His footsteps snatch and pull against the partly sticky bleachers. The smell of lemon and shelled peanuts made him twitch his nose a bit. The sodium from the ball players who played before him scoured his nose, whoever cleaned this tried their hardest to clean for them, he thought.
He set his bags down and sheepishly sat down with them. The thought of how this was going to go developed questions for him, like the large argument of who's the best on the first day.
No proof of these claims that were given. Egotistical, pompous boys had just gotten through the door. Having to deal with the increased egos would most definitely be an issue for him this summer.
"You already annoyed at that shit too huh?" Jalen blinks looking over to the tall curly haired nigga standing by his seat. He didn't think anyone noticed him.
"Uh yeah. That shit is embarrassing. Bunch of try-hards." He grumbles, giving a small glimpse at the other people in the debauchery. His eyes narrowed slowly back to the court, the newly waxed floors gave the dim lights a little glare as the yellowish hue hit the surface.
"Names, Khalil. I ain't never seen you here before. You from here?" He questions as Jalen's brain switches off for a moment.
This was a complex question. Even as a country nigga. Asking someone where they are from. Those were fighting words.
Just a Virginia, catfish-catching, basketball-playing black boy from around the way.
But the last thing Jalen liked was to lie.
"Virginia." He answers truthfully, closing his eyes to the sudden punch he was expecting.
"Damn, you forreal? That's cool no doubt. I don't even know where that's at." He shrugs, chuckling as he hops over the seats.
"Well, what's your name, Virginia? " He questions, extending his hand. Jalen glares at it and hesitantly daps him up. "Jalen."
"Alright, I think the pissing contest is over with. Shut up so we can get bedding quads together. We've set it to where it's four to a room. We will not be changing rooms for anyone so put your pride aside." The tall muscular dark-skinned man, with an etched mug in his facial features, from earlier lectures his way through the crowd.
"Any sight of fighting and we can send you guys home with no refund for some of you." He threatens, snarling at the short stout boy behind him. A husky chuckle exclaims from him as Jalen's face scrunches in disgust.
How sick.
"When I call your name come retrieve your key and head to the doors for the bus to the Hotel. We'll meet back up in the lobby after everyone is acquainted to start a rules meeting before dinner." The male continues with a flick of his wrist into the clipboard of papers.
As he picked off a couple of boys four by four, Jalen looked to narrow down the possibilities of being called next. He was ready to rest a bit. He had only just arrived in California this weekend and the time difference was hindering his sleep schedule.
"Khalil Langston, Jalen Cartwright, Bremen Knight, and Michael Richards." He calls out, Jalen grabs his bags and maneuvers behind Khalil. The coach glares at him for a moment before handing him the key.
A sense of relief washed over him with Khalil as one of his roommates, hopefully, he wouldn't dread this decision at all. He could only hope for the best after the rules meeting.
"What about these earrings hun, they'd look beautiful on you. If you would wear your hair up for a change." Harlem's mother, Giselle suggests to the earrings as Harlem's attention veered through the miscellaneous people walking through her access. The leather jacket she wanted so badly was still there.
Awaiting for me, my love.
"Mama I don't want any earrings. I want that leather jacket over there." Harlem truthfully expresses, pointing over to the opposite store. Her eyes glance back to her Mother, eyes widen a bit, She turns over as well and sees the brown leather jacket hanging up in the window.
Harlem then glances everywhere else, avoiding eye contact for a moment.
"I didn't know that was your thing."... But okay. You deserve it. Come on." She squeals as she begins to happily stroll ahead of her Mother around the escalator way.
As she retrieved the jacket off the mannequin snarkily, throwing it over her arm as if it were hers. Harlem reconnects with her Mother at the counter. This was quiet and quick. Now the two could go home.
"Is this all ma'am? Anything else that you'd like?" Harlem's head shakes quickly, no need to pedal anything else on her plate. She was satisfied with just the jacket.
He nods and grabs the jacket with ease, folding it as he stuffed it into the bag, scanning the tag with ease before looking at the monitor.
"That'll be $87.92." Her mother swipes her card quickly as it is approved, and the man hands over the bag. Her smile withers a bit to her Mother's confused facial glare. Like she had gone in the wrong direction.
He hands over the receipt and the two begin to retreat to the food court to eat before the movie she wanted to see.
"Would you rather get a pizza and watch a movie at home?" She questions, as Harlem squints a bit in her Mother's direction.
Was the leather jacket too much?
She seemed so ecstatic an hour or two ago. Harlem nods, even though it came to be a bit lackluster here at the end, at least she got her leather jacket.
The plan was now in motion. As the two made their way back to the parking lot. Harlem couldn't help but become elated internally at the potential of her pulling this off.
Her Mother worked the overnight shift at the Hospital, so she'd be able to race and come back as if nothing happened like when she and Mecca would sneak out back then. Practically the house would be hers once she heard her Mother leave for work tomorrow.
Once the two return to the parking lot, and fasten in. Harlem relaxed her back against the seat, allowing the sounds of her Mother's radio to begin to sound off in her ears.
The usual hip-hop station began to dampen their selection of music to accommodate the setting sun. Her head turns to the window and enjoys the mild orange blended behind the fiery orange globe. The silhouette of palm trees as the two proceeded back home.
Her ears twitch to the sudden familiar beat of Bobby Brown's "Rock Witcha" sound off on the radio. Harlem extends her hand to the radio in a hasty manner. But not quickly enough as her mother slaps her hand.
"But Ma—." Harlem whines, turning to her quickly. Gisele waves her hand to dismiss her words.
"We can't run from it forever Sweet Pea, plus I love the song." A smile immerses her lips as she focuses back on the road, leaving Harlem to turn back to the window closing her eyes as she attempts to reject the rhythmic tune.
"I wanna roll witcha' ladyyyy." Mecca sings horribly and dances around the kitchen. Harlem glares at him from her plate, shifting the partially edible eggs around.
His gyrating produces a snort escaping Bremen's lips as Harlem shakes her head with a simple laugh.
Her chuckle replays in her mind along with his clamorous loathsome laugh makes her clear her pulsing throat and quickly retain the notion of burning orbs. Swallowing the repulsive taste she began to grow impatient of the slow car ride. Why did it seem as if the ride home had begun to slow down since the song played?
She needed to get home. Maybe everyone else was prepared to move on. But Harlem wasn't ready.
After a nerve-racking ride, Harlem was first outside the vehicle and up the front steps to unlock the door. She had her own key for this type of thing. Her Mother follows behind as she successfully gets in, retrieving the key, and quickly up the staircase to her room, ignoring the ringing phone. The instant she closes the door behind her, she sets the bag on her vanity desk and sits down in the chair to get herself together.
The tears that were hard to manage, began to trickle down her cheeks as her sobs dispersed into the room. The truth was she hadn't cried in a few weeks and she had figured she was doing a bit better.
Going past his room, even getting a whiff of his cologne, watching his car sit with rain stains along his windows, catching a glimpse of his trophies. All of that was easy to manage when you've seen them all of your life.
But the moment his voice sprouts into her mind, a mention of one of his favorite songs. She crumbled. She wasn't ready to move on, not yet. Moving on would mean to accept he was gone. And how could he be gone?
Her sobs drive to silence as she hears her Mother's knock. She grabs the box of tissues quickly and wipes her nose and eyes.
"Harlem?... Your Father wants to speak to you."
"Maybe another time." Harlem quickly retorts, turning to the mirror.
"Harlem..."
"Another time." she repeats in monotone, blowing the excess into the tissue and hearing her step from the door and back down the hallway. She just wasn't ready. And after today, she didn't know when she would ever be.
Jalen sets his pre-folded clothes on his side of the drawer, one by one. Everything had to be just right.
"Jalen Cartwright huh?" Jalen looks over to the boy standing beside him. His eyebrow slightly raises, pursing his lips to the side.
Which one is this?
He had only talked to Khalil since the boys were directed to their room. The only one that talked actually, the one trailing behind hadn't spoken much but this one was different, given his braces that shined a bit on his teeth. His parted plats and the now arrogant smirk that covered half of his face.
"Too much mouth, not enough face." Jalen thoughts chastise the cocky male and turn back around to organize his things.
"Yeah, you Bremen right?" Jalen questions, The male scoffs, pivoting to the hushed male behind him doing the same as Jalen.
"Nope, the mute one is Bremen, right there." He nudges his head to the boy who laid down on his bottom bunk, with his headphones and walkman. Jaden nods and looks back toward the talkative one in front of him. "I'm Michael, you know? Like Michael Jordan?" He slurs a bit, doing a small pump fake and an air shoot. Jalen nods slowly, tucking his lips in as the male continues to show a few of his skills.
"Uh...yeah. I'm Jalen. Nice to meet you, Michael." Throwing his pointer and middle finger up, in a familiar sign and he returns to straightening his stuff. His few shoes set back against the window and the gym bag to set his gym bag on his side. Mostly unpacked for the week.
He dusts off his t-shirt, quite satisfied with his work. And walks around the talkative male to crawl up the ladder to the top bunk.
"You think we're gonna see anyone from the Lakers at camp?" Michael raises another question, smiling widely. Jalen halts on the first step and turns around.
"Maybe? I can't really tell you." Jalen shrugs as Khalil's laugh from outside the room cuts in the two's conversation, making Michael go off to put his things up.
Jalen nodded, moseying up the steps before Michael spoke again, grateful for the break. Michael didn't seem bad. But it was becoming clear that Michael must have been the only child.
Tomorrow they started off training and sprints after breakfast. Once the four scheduled their shower times, Jalen would get ready for bed to start the next step toward his dream.
WORDS: 4688
Hi! T here, it's been a while. A long while. So much going on that I had to take a step back. Plus story developments of course. How are we getting into Harlem and Jalen? Mecca? Khalil? Jalen's Dad? So much going on.
Just wait until the book REALLY starts. Anyway, I'm going to make sure it won't take so long for the next chapter. Thank you for reading and bearing with me.
QUESTIONS?