It Can Be Beaten
November 20, 1984
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"Here you go Maurice," said Cedric. "Good luck buddy, and if you ever need anybody to talk to, you know my number." "Sure, Cedric, Sure," I said slowly, knowing that these next two weeks would be difficult for me. "And thanks a lot for all the time you've spend with me these last few weeks." "What are friends for?" I got out of Cedric's $60,000 Mercedes. It was pouring rain outside, and I ran to the door to avoid getting wet. The house gazed at me as if to say, "Welcome home!" I must admit, the house was a comforting sight, but I feared being inside it alone. I was scared of what I might do to myself. I fumbled with the keys until I finally found the right one and inserted it in the lock. The huge oak door swung open and made a loud creaking noise. I stopped and stared inside for a moment before entering. As I set foot in the house, the telephone rang. I walked over to the end table and picked up the receiver. "Hello?" I said. "Maurice, how are you doing, son?" I recognized the voice as my coach's. "I'm hanging in there, Coach Reilly." "Glad to hear it, Maurice. Do you have any idea when you'll be back?" His voice stuttered, as if he didn't know what to say. No one knew what to say. "In about a week, Coach, I'll be ready in a about a week." "Great, great. No rush, you know, I was just wondering." "I understand, Coach." "Goodbye, Maurice." "Goodbye, Coach." I placed the phone back on the table and went upstairs to shower. As I reached the top of the stairs, the phone rang again. I ran into my room and smashed my toe against the bedpost trying to reach the phone. "Hello!" I said with rage. "Maurice Jackson, I haven't heard your voice in a long time. Been about four weeks hasn't it?" The phone echoed with twisted laughter. It was my drug dealer, Paul Wolf. I slammed down the phone hard. It rang again seconds later. I picked it up. "What's wrong, Maurice? Aren't you glad to hear my voice?" The laughter started again. "What the hell do you want, Wolf?" "I just got a fresh shipment of coke in. I wondered if you would be interested." "I'm through with cocaine, Wolf. I cleaned up my act at the drug rehabilitation center." "I'm sorry to hear that, Maurice, you were my number one best customer." I ripped the phone out of the wall after the next laugh. I took my shower, and then laid on my bed. I stared at the ceiling, thinking. The water in the mattress calmly rocked me back and forth. I thought about being a professional basketball player, and how much I enjoyed it. I thought about my great house, how huge it was, and how much it cost. I most of all, I thought about drugs. I remember taking them before a game, and not caring if we won or lost. I thought about Paul Wolf, and how much I wanted to kill him. I thought about… The alarm clock woke me up. "What time is it?" I muttered to myself. The clock said 6:30. I had a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. I wanted cocaine, and I wanted it bad. "Don't panic," I told myself. "Take deep breaths, relax, and think about something else." I had gone through many days like this at the clinic, but none were this bad. The feeling grew worse. I was shaking like a leaf. I'll call Cedric, that's what I'll do. He said I could count on him. As I picked up the phone, I was shaking so bad it fell out of my hand. It took me a while, but finally I got the number dialed. The phone rang once, twice, three times. No one home! I slammed the phone down in disgust. "Now what am I going to do?" I said to myself. I know, I'll call Wolf. Just a little bit couldn't hurt. One more time, and that's it forever. I picked up the phone and dialed the numbers, one at a time. "Hello?" said Wolf. I calmly put the phone back on the table. It was then I knew that I was going to make it. |
Commentary: The character names in "It Can Be Beaten" are chosen carefully. "Maurice Jackson" sounds like the name of an NBA player, as does "Cedric" (though the author never mentions Cedric's occupation, Cedric "Cornbread" Maxwell was, at the time this story was written, a prominent pro basketball player.) Jackson's coach is named "Reilly." We recall that Pat Reilly coached the Los Angeles Lakers in 1984. Finally, the choice of "Wolf" for the drug dealer's name seems an obvious metaphor.
Special attention is paid to matters of wealth: Cedric's car is identified as a "$60,000 Mercedes" (perhaps another clue that Cedric is a teammate of Maurice's); Maurice spends time pondering the value of his house and "how huge it [is]"; Maurice's bed has "water in the mattress" (waterbeds were a sign of affluence in 1984.) The author probably focused on Maurice's economic standing to point out how much he has to lose by taking cocaine again, although Maurice managed to avoid losing his material possessions during the first round of addiction. In fact, the only downside seems to be that he didn't care if he won or lost basketball games.
It's unclear what changes for Maurice at the climax of the story, why he puts the phone down and loses his desire for the "fresh shipment of coke." Was it disgust at hearing Wolf's voice again? Did he suddenly recall a helpful affirmation learned at the drug rehabilitation center? Did he remember where Cedric was? Once again, the author leaves a key detail to the reader's imagination.
Mrs. Wachowski was the author's English teacher during the '84-'85 school year. Evaluating "It Can Be Beaten," she applauded the author's ability to "get inside the character's head." She also praised the story for being "handed in on time."