Memories of Gam, in Brooklyn, NY

By Harold A. Bascom

 

 

Home Health Aide, Coreen Harry, who hailed from Guyana, sat in the waiting room of the medical center. She idly paged through a magazine as she waited for the elderly Jewish woman she cared for to emerge from her doctor’s appointment.

Something made Coreen raise her head, and she found herself gazing into the light brown eyes of this cute African American guy. He, smiling, raised his chin to her. Coreen smiled and refocused on the magazine.

He started over to where she sat and asked if she’d mind him sitting next to her. She thought of responding in her own rude way: ‘This is a free country! Sit down where yo’ want!’ Instead, she smiled demurely and said, “Why not?”

He sat, said his name was Leroy, and they began to talk. She learned that he was there to bring his grandmother to an appointment, which she thought was cute. Everything was casual until he said he couldn’t hold back a compliment, and told her how much he loved her eyes, and how they complemented her smile.

Though Coreen didn’t really care for African American men and had never dated one, what he said made her feel good after a long dry season in hard Brooklyn, New York. She thought he was ‘nice,’ and before they left the doctor’s office, phone numbers were exchanged, and a light friendship began. One call led to another and another, until one night he asked her if he could take her on a date. “Where you want take me?” she said, and that was when he suggested they go bowling.

“But I never bowled,” she said. “Would that be a good date if I’ve never bowled before? We don’t have that in Guyana.”

He laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll teach you—it will be your introduction to this great American pastime!”

“Okay!” She laughed. “You sound like an expert!”

“Well…” he said, laughingly. “I’ve been doing it for a while. My friends from my bowling fraternity think I’m quite good.”

“Then I’ll be in good hands,” she said, wondering what ‘fraternity’ meant.

When Coreen entered the bowling alley after him, a group of guys, no doubt his friends, called out to him, though they were looking at her. She looked around and something about the atmosphere of the place excited her. She liked the friendly, easy-going ambience.

At last, they put on their bowling shoes and proceeded to an open lane at the head of which was a rack of bowling balls.

He stood over it and began doing something like a palm exercise. He then took up one of the balls. “Now, lemme show you how it’s done…” he said and proceeded to give her a bowling lesson: the hold, the approach, and the delivery. …

And then he launched the ball. It sped down the lane—BLADAX! It upset six pins! “See?” he said. “That’s the object of the game—to knock down the pins.”

“But is not all the pins you have to knock down? If you could?”

“Of course,” he said. “You have to find your own technique, though. But, as with everything, practice is key!”

“I could try now?”

“Of course,” he said.

Coreen took the ball, made sure she gripped into the finger holes the way he showed her, stepped onto the lane, aimed the same way he did, and let it loose. It left her hands and rushed down the left gutter. “Man!” she snapped in disgust as Leroy massaged her shoulders reassuringly as he chuckled.

“Your first time,” he said. “Don’t beat yourself up, Babe. Don’t worry if your first few balls roll into the gutters. It’s always a little hard for first-timers.”

It was just then that Coreen Harry heard a voice in her head: “COREEN!” the voice said, “WHERE YOU COME FROM, GIRL?” And, in her mind, she answered, “Guyana.”  And the voice continued: “WHICH PART O’ GUYANA, EXACTLY?” And Coreen answered in her mind: “New Road, Vreed-en-Hoop—across the river from Georgetown.” And the voice continued: “COREEN! NEVER MIND WHAT THEY CALL THIS ‘BOWLING THING’ HERE—I’M SURE IT BRINGING BACK MEMORIES OF A GUYANESE GAME YOU KNOW! —TELL ME I’M LYING!”

And the answer was right there in the forefront of Coreen’s mind: “GAM!”

Among her siblings, she was the only girl, a ‘tomboy’ and could have played ‘gam’ with the best of the boys in the neighbourhood. All thought that her “hand was straight.” When a game of gam was over, they would race to see who could stand well back, aim, and launch a marble to hit another marble, positioned as a target against a concrete block in the yard. The boys in New Road called it “jooming.’

“HEAR, COREEN!” the voice in her head continued. “WHEN YOU HOLD THAT BALL, JUST THINK IT’S A BIG EFFIN MARBLE YOU’RE ‘JOOMIN’— AND LET IT FLY!”

Coreen Harry looked down the bowling lane, watched the ten pins, whispered to herself, “Dis is joomin’’!”, and launched her big marble down the lane!

“BLADAX!” — EVERY PIN WAS KNOCKED FLYING!

“SHEEEET!” blurted one of Leroy’s friends.

And Coreen bowled again. Same thing: STRIKE! And so, she continued, and every ball she threw down the lane, a strike! Coreen Harry was in her rikitiks—every ball—BLADAX! BLADAX! BLADAX —PINS FLYING ALL OVER THE PLACE! —FULL SCORE AT EVERY ATTACK! PEOPLE COMING ‘ROUND, ‘OOHING AND AAAHING’ AT HER SKILL—HIGH SCORES FOH SOW!

And as Coreen Harry bowled in Brooklyn, New York, her date couldn’t keep up. Leroy’s game, in comparison to hers, was lame, and it caused him to be mocked by his bowling alley friends. One of them sauntered over to Leroy, nursing his shattered ego.

“Damn!” the man said, chuckling. “Ain’t that the Caribbean woman you said hadn’t a clue about bowling? Huh? She played you like a damn fiddle, my brother—Damn!”

On their way home, Coreen’s date said nothing to her; he just drove, eyes ahead.

“Leroy? … Something wrong? You stop talking suddenly so, since at the bowling alley. What happen?”

“You had a good time?” he said, his voice flat, not even glancing at her.

“Yes … I had a great time. I can’t wait for you to take me back bowling!”

He shook his head and made a sound of disgust with his mouth.

“What happen, Leroy? Why you looking so—like you vex or something. I had a nice time…”

“YOU TOLD ME YOU NEVER BOWLED BEFORE!”

“Is true—that was the first-first time I ever bowl. …”

“Damn…” He was still shaking his head. “…Man, you Caribbean women can lie!”

“But what you mean, Leroy? I’m not lying to you!”

He slowed and stopped in front of the house she lived in on Church Avenue. “This is where I put you off, huh? Have a good night!”

“Leroy—what happened? Why you called me a liar? What I lie to you about?”

“You can open the door yourself, can’t you?” he said.

‘Wait!’ Coreen Harry thought to herself. ‘Is put dis damn Yankee mahn putting me out he kiss-mih-ass car?’ But she said, “What’s wrong? —What happened—at least tell me!”

“YOU TOLD ME YOU NEVER BOWLED BEFORE, AND THEN YOU MADE AN ASS OF ME—IN FRONT OF MY FRIENDS!”

“But—but …”

“Get out of my car. … Please?”

She got out; he drove away. She gazed after him until his car rounded a corner and was out of sight. Coreen Harry sighed.

Maybe she should call him later and explain all about ‘gam’. She sighed again and shook her head. He wouldn’t understand, anyway.

“Oh well…” she muttered under her breath and turned away from the street.

The night was nippy; she hugged herself and started walking towards the gate of the house where she rented a room in the basement.

***

ABOUT HAROLD A. BASCOM

 

HAROLD A. BASCOM is a Guyanese playwright who has won the Prestigious Guyana Prize for Literature five times in the category of drama. He is also a novelist, illustrator-artist, and painter who currently resides in the USA.

 

His plays, such as The BARREL, The Visa Wedding, TV Alley, Cockle House, and the memorable Tessa Real-Girl & The Old Fool, and MAKANTALI among others, have made him a household name in Guyana.