Page 137 of On Merit Alone
“Who’s Melinda?” I asked when we were finally done and alone. Merit had just finished lacing up her actual basketball shoes as we both sat on the court in front of each other. She had begged to shoot around before the sun went down since we were “already out here” as she liked to put it. And now that we were alone, I couldn’t contain my curiosity a minute longer.
Judging by the way Merit stiffened, I was right to keep this quiet until we were no longer around little ears.
Looking at me, her eyes looked stricken but not surprised as she surveyed my face. She hadn’t asked me what Tyla whispered in my ear the entire day of camp, but I could tell by the long looks she gave me that she wanted to know. And now I could tell she had the inclination that it wasn't good.
Swallowing, she looked away from my searching eyes. “That’s Tyla’s foster mother.”
I nodded, the information like a confusing flare across my mind, surging up more questions than answers. I cleared my throat. “Right, yeah. And,whois Tyla?”
“She… she’s a friend. A mentee, I guess you would call it,” she answered.
“And she’s in foster care?”
“Yes.”
“And she plays basketball?”
“Yes.”
I looked at her, wondering if she was going to give me any more about this little coincidence. The set of her jaw said that she wasn’t planning on it. The deep sigh she let out right before she lifted sheepish eyes up at me said she would try anyway.
Hesitating, she started, “There are… programs in the city. They help kids who can’t help themselves. I find a lot of value in that.”
I let my hand encircle her calf, squeezing encouragingly. “That’s amazing, Six. I didn’t know you did that.”
She shrugged like it was no big deal, her eyes dropping for a moment before she lifted them back up to meet mine. “What did she say to you?”
I felt my frown and I looked out over the park as I remembered the small voice of the little girl as she told me why she didn’t want to play that day. She was so good, even at six years old, andthatis what they were saying to her?
The words felt sticky and slow in my mouth, and I had to force them out, not even able to look at her as I repeated them. “She said that Melinda told her girls don’t play basketball. Girls… do other things.”
“What things?” she asked, her voice immediately angry just like I thought it would be.
I shot her an apologetic look. I would not be repeating it. It already broke my heart that a little girl could even repeat it to me. Instead I asked, “Do you get to see her often? As her mentor?”
For a moment she looked so angry, I swore she wasn’t breathing. Her entire face was taut, her shoulders trembling a little, and for the life of me her chest was not moving with air intake. I shook her knee, calling her name reproachful and soft. Slowly, she let out the frustrated breath until she was once again controlled and looking at me with a tired sort of expression that almost made me miss the angry one.
“Yes, I see her every week. And this isn’t new from Melinda.” She sighed. “It’s not a terrible home or anything, it’s just not…”
She trailed off, looking out over the park like she’d been talking this into the ground for a while already. I tried not to be selfish with my want for her to talk with me about it from the beginning, because it was all new to me. I stayed quiet, letting herfind her feelings. Just like she’d waited all this time for me to find mine.
Shaking her head she finally looked at me, and suddenly her eyes were burning with anger and hurt so deep that I just knew it spanned way longer than the events of this morning. Maybe even longer than she’d known Tyla. “It’s just not fair, you know? These kids already have to fight everyday against the reality of their circumstances. Does societal bullshit really have to go on their plate before they even hit middle school?”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
She shook her head, her words cutting as she refused to look at me, her voice gritting. “Girls. Play. Sports.They become doctors, and lawyers, and scientists and walk on the fucking moon. Little girls have more to look forward to than what their appearance can one day get them. Theyaremore.”
“Hey now.” Reaching for her, I grazed a hand below her cheek so she would look at me. When she did and I saw that her eyes were watery, I felt a protective surge move over my body. A sympathetic one too. Wiping her tears, I felt her frustration through every droplet of salty water. She shook with anger and I croaked in a half-mewing half-pleading tone, “Hey, hey. I know that, Six.”
She turned her head. I hated that she looked away from me but understood that she needed her time. Eventually she brought her gaze back around to meet mine, more composed but no less angry. Her voice now scratchy, basically a whisper. “I know you understand, but so many people don’t. I think about my daily fight as a grown woman in this world and I just can’t help but wonder how many girls let the ignorance of people telling them they can’t do something actually shape their lives. I can’t help but think about where I would be today if my situation had changed any earlier in life. If it was me that was told that‘girls don’t play basketball.’I can’t help but mourn all the dreams that die just like that. And I hate it.”
I wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to wonder what she would do if that happened. That I knew. I could tell that the Merit I knew would never let the opinion of others shape the way her life would go. She would never adjust her dream to fit into somebody else’s mold. But I don’t think she needed that right now. She wasn’t crying for herself after all, but for Tyla and for all the other little girls like her.
So I just shook her knee again, gentle yet persistent. “Well. It’s a good thing she has you to make a difference for her then.”
She gave me a meaningful look. One of those questioning glances that held full trust. “Think so?”
“Know so,” I assured her.
