‘Sup Rookie . . .

Hey Jock. [Pause.]

Smuggled you up some dinner . . .

Thanks, man. [Pause.]

What's up? I know you ain’t up in here crying – ?

Hell no! [Pause.] Guess I missed the big photo op.

Yeah, well . . . it would've been cool, having my brother in there with me to represent and all, but . . .

I messed up . . . sorry, kid.

Hey, next time. "Slam" . . . "Sports Illustrated" or Source Sports", maybe . . . It’s all good.

No doubt.

Hey, I got those new joints you e-mailed. They were tight.

[MALCOLM doesn’t respond.]

I especially liked that title, "Black on Black Rhyme. " That’s slick . . . you okay?

Sure.

Don't let him get to you, young’un.

He was a lot easier to avoid while you were still living here. At least then, I could always hide in your shadow.

You don't belong in nobody's shadow, man . . . definitely not mine.

To hear him tell it, I don't belong — period.

I don’t know, maybe it's this whole political career thing that's got him tripping so hard. I've never seen him like this about anything. It's like, he still thinks he's got something to prove to somebody.

How? By canceling my shit every chance he gets? The only thing he's proven so far is that he hates my guts.

Don’t even believe that. It’s just . . . peel away all that Deacon of the church, pillar of the community, up-by-his-bootstraps, "role model", bullshit . . . and you know what's still underneath there? . . . all his old street baggage from Lorton and boxing and before. Deep down, he's just another macho dude from the old school. It's a survival tactic. Keep your guard up at all times . . . that's all he knows. He's like a lot of black men his age, socialized never to show another male any tenderness or affection — not even their own sons.

Funny, he doesn't seem to have that problem with you.

Yeah, well . . . he may have a little more in common with me. Okay. But . . . that's . . . that's just sports. That's safe. With sports, men can hug, kiss, cry, smack each other on the butt . . . hell, brothers can damn near fuck each other on the field and get away with it –

Is that why you're such a dedicated athlete?

Let's just say it's a fringe benefit. [MARTIN throws pillow at him.] Smartass! What'd you do to the room? Where's all my trophies and clippings?

I took all that corny jock bullshit down.

Man, what are you talking about? That was some good stuff.

History, nigga. Ancient high school history.

Ancient? I just graduated three years ago.

It's all collecting dust in boxes down in the basement. You can visit it anytime you want.

I know somebody whose gonna go down and bring it all back up here — or we're gonna be visiting you — at Howard Hospital.

Take that shit back to the dorm and put it on your own walls.

These are still my walls too, chump. Just cause I'm on campus for a minute . . .

Move, you lose.

This room is just on loan, Junior. Till I need it again. I'm still in charge here.

I don't think so.

Just gonna throw my shit in the basement, and shit.

That's where it belongs. Be glad it didn't end up in the dumpster.

How about if I throw you in the dumpster . . .

[They tussle briefly, but it is no contest.]

C'mon, Marty . . . Go 'head, man. Don't play —

How would that be? . . . Hunh?

[Throwing MALCOLM over his shoulder.]

You and all your little journals and poetry-writing bullshit –

So immature . . .

Who's immature? I'm immature?

[Threatening to bodyslam MALCOLM onto the bed.]

Hunh? I'm immature?

Okay, okay! No! I am! ...alright! I am! . . . Ow! Owww!

What's the matter? I hurt you?

[MARTIN sets MALCOLM down, carefully.]

[Dancing out of reach]

Psyche! Sucker . . .

Oh. Okay. Think you're slick. That's alright. Just don't be too smart for own good.

[MARTIN sits on the bed. After a moment]

You bring it on yourself, you know . . . half the time.

What?

Don't you ever get tired of beefing with Dad?

He's the one who's always on my case, every little thing I do . . .

But you do shit that you know is gonna piss him off. And then you wanna throw it right up in his face, argue with him . . . you don't always have to answer him back.

I have as much right to my opinion as everybody else.

He's never gonna change.

Neither am I.

Then what's the point? That's all I'm saying. You can't win. Do what you wanna do, just keep it to yourself. If you want to get your ear pierced, wait and put the earring in after you leave the house. If you just gotta have a tattoo, get it on your shoulder, where a short sleeve shirt still covers it, that's all. Don't spray your hair blue, then come down and sit at the dinner table. That Dennis Rodman shit is just asking for it.

It wasn't blue...it was green. And I gotta let him know where I'm coming from.

Why?

'Cause that's who I am.

So what? Malcolm, people don't have to know everything about you. They don't even want to, for real. Just give them what they want and you don't even have to go through all those changes. Believe me, as long as you keep it on the "down low", you can do whatever you want. Man, I sailed through high school. Remember? Partied – buck wild . . . 24/7. But nobody hassled me. Cause I did my homework. got the grades, Student Council, went to church every Sunday. I played that role. Okay? I'm talking big time P.R. But, long as I showed them what they wanted to see, nobody even noticed what I was doing behind the scenes. And, what people don't know, won't hurt them — or you.

I can't pretend to be somebody I'm not –

You'd better . . . if you want to get over in this world . . .

– just to stay on Dad's good side. All that frontin' ain't me.

Oh, so now I'm frontin'.

C'mon, Marty . . . don't even go there, man.

I don't have to go there. I live there.

All I meant –

I know what you meant. You ain’t subtle, nigga. I know exactly what you're trying to say.

Okay, okay, man. Squash it.

As long as I'm taking care of business — with the books, paying my own bills, satisfying all the little honeys on my jock, and kicking much track, football, and basketball ass . . . whatever else I do – behind closed doors – is my own private business. Understand?

I know, man. I know.

Nobody elses. Not even yours.

Okay, okay.

— and definitely not Dad's.

I hear you. It's just . . . I gotta stand up to him. That's all. That's me.

That's some dumb shit . . . is what it is.

You got your way, I got mine.

. . . always got to rock the boat. Just make sure you don't sink the motherfucker — Or, if you do, make sure it's your leaky motherfucker . . . and not mine. 'Cause my shit don't have no holes in it. You know what I'm saying? I been too careful.

I'd rather be honest than careful. It's easier.

Yeah, that's why your little ass is always grounded. Being honest.

Well, you'll never have that problem.

Whatever. I was just trying to help. Fuck it!

[MARTIN starts to exit.]

Martin! . . . hold up. [Pause.] I need to show you something.

What?

C’mere.

What?

Come over here.

[As MARTIN approaches, MALCOLM unzips his own pants.]

What're you doing?

Take a look.

[Backing away.]

Get outta here.

Oh. Yeah, right — like yours is the only one you ever seen.

No. But the ones I'm used to, are all a lot bigger.

Fuck you, man!

Okay, That’s it. I'm out –

No – Okay, okay! My bad. C'mon, Martin, I'm serious. Look.

What am I supposed to . . . ?

[Moving closer.]

Malcolm. Why you got a band-aid on your dick?

I think I fucked my shit up, kid.

[Laughing]

Maybe you need to quit beating your meat so much, young'un. Cut back to maybe . . . five or six times a day –

It's not funny, man. Dad made me so mad downstairs, I wasn't paying attention. I went in to take a leak and got my dick caught in my zipper.

(Wincing.)

Ouch! That shit hurts.

Tell me about it . . . am I gonna have to go to the doctor?

Move the Band-Aid. You think I got X-ray vision?

[Visually, inspects the damage]

Damn! You ripped a little piece of the skin. If that shit gets infected? Your whole joint’s gonna have to come off!

Are you crazy? I’m not letting nobody cut my dick off!

Gotcha!

[Laughing at the look on MALCOLM’S face.]

I’m just fucking with you, young’un. Calm down . . .

Martin! C’mon, this is serious. It was bleeding . . .

Naaah. It’s just a scratch, a little cut. You'll be aiiight. Just find something else to play with, and leave it alone for a while. You and Danielle.

C'mon, Marty. Dani and me are just friends.

You mean to tell me you ain't tappin' that, yet?

Marty, it ain't even like that with us –

Maaaaaan . . . when I was your age . . .

I know, I know — "Iceberg Slim, Jr." — Mack Daddy of the 11th grade. That's probably why you're banging guys now . . . you already been through all the females in town.

Now, see there . . . that's what I'm talking about. It don't even work like that. You need to stick to what you know [tosses him a book] and leave sex to the non-virgins.

Who said I was a virgin?

Walking around with a fucking "Flintstones" band-aid on your dick – is a dead give away.

C'mon, man. That's all I could find . . . and I gotta protect the family jewels

Well, at least your little dingaling has finally grown some. I was beginning to worry.

Hey, mine is probably the only joint in D.C. you don't have to worry about.

Whatever. You better eat that food . . . before it gets cold..

[Malcolm moves to plate on desk, begins to eat. After a moment.]

Kid? You ummm . . . really think my shit is . . . small? I mean, compared to all those other ones you've . . .seen?

Naaaaaaaah . . . [A beat.] Just compared to mine.

Go 'head, man.

I'm just fucking with you, Malcolm. You got a monster. Okay? A boa constrictor. "King Cobra". Just remember, young’un . . .I set a very well-known —

[Grabbing his own crotch.]

and very popular — standard in this town.

Yeah, well . . . I'm not trying to "measure up" to your standards . . . or nobody elses.

That's what you think.

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