The Superstar

I keep pinching my arm just to make sure I'm not dreaming. I was hired as Fox11's cameraman about two years ago and this was going to be my greatest assignment yet.

I've been a huge basketball fan and diehard New York Knicks fan my entire life. I still remember June 28th well. That’s the day we drafted Marcus DeVant. The kid was a stud from the moment he stepped on the court at USC. Everyone knew he was coming out after one year of college; he was like a man among boys. We were lucky enough to have had a bad season, so we got the number one draft pick and scooped him up.
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Here I am staring through a camera at none other than Marcus DeVant, all 6'11 and 260lbs of basketball God.

I practically wet my pants after my station manager, Bob Debist, told me to go with Bryan Robison to interview Marcus. To top it off, we were going to hold the interview in his luxury suite on the 27th floor of the Downtown Hilton.

Bryan is one of those people whose face is perfect for radio, a pudgy face that's overrun with acne scars. His hair disappeared long ago, leading people to believe he is older than his actual age of thirty-eight. He's easily fifty pounds overweight and he sweats constantly. They hired a girl whose main job is to bring him a fresh shirt during commercial breaks because he soaks right through one in a matter of minutes.

He is feared by all the local athletes because they know he will dig up dirt if they cross him. His specialty is making athletes look worse than Hitler. I remember this kid a few years back who was drafted by the Atlanta Falcons. He had a couple bad games so Bryan started calling him a bust because he was drafted in the first round. Well the kid finally snapped on him, which upset Bryan tremendously. He started digging, looking for dirt, until he finally found one person who said he smoked marijuana with him in college. The kid was labeled a druggie and ostracized; he was cut by the Falcons and after that no other team dared to pick him up. I heard that he ended up in prison for armed robbery about a year later.

I don’t care who they sent me with though. I could die right now and be perfectly happy. Nobody but Bryan has a better seat in this huge penthouse suite. I'm standing not more than five feet from him. I can't wait to call my buddies to tell them. But for now, it's time to work; the interview is starting.

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Marcus nervously sips on a bottle of water. "You know this is my first time back to Atlanta in five years. My Mom made me move in with my Uncle Mikey in Ventura California the day after it happened."

"Are you okay to do the interview?" Bryan asks.

“Yea, I'll be alright. I just ain't talked about this in...well...ever." Marcus says sheepishly.

A hand appears from the shadows of the hotel room. "Five seconds gentlemen."
5...4...3...2...1

"Hello Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm here with local product, Marcus DeVant, the number one pick of the New York Knicks. They’re in town to play our Hawks and he's agreed to do an interview with me. He’s going to talk for the first time about the circumstances surrounding the death of his brother in 2002. Thank you for talking with us today."

Marcus puts on his thousand dollar smile."You're welcome Bryan."

"A lot of people don't know it but you grew up in the old Northeast projects off Randolph Street. At the time they were considered one of the most dangerous housing projects in America. A place filled with dilapidated apartments, where hopelessness and the violence associated with it were the norm. The buildings were torn down in 2004 and replaced with a strip mall."

Marcus forces an uncomfortable laugh."That's a surreal way to describe it Bryan."

"Thank you Marcus. So what can you tell us about what transpired on that day?"

"Well my brother and I..." Marcus pauses and shuffles nervously in his chair. "His name was KeyShawn but everyone called him Key."
Bryan leans forward in his chair, puts his chin in the palm of his hand and stares up at Marcus.
"Key and I were hanging out after school that day. It was raining so we stayed inside and watched videos on MTV." Marcus lets out a laugh."He cracked me up the way he'd dance around trying to look all gangsta' and stuff"

"So tell us a little about KeyShawn. Were you two really close?"

Marcus perks up. "God yes - we were tight."

Bryan fires another question at him. "What did he think of your fame? You were already on the cover of Sports Illustrated as freshman and well known all across the country."

"He talked about how he was going to be this famous rapper. But he didn't say it in a jealous way or anything. Nobody was a bigger fan of mine than Key. I bet if he were here today he'd be sitting courtside, yelling at me to dribble left. He used to tell me to stop going right all the time 'cause I wouldn't turn pro. That kid was wise beyond his years," Marcus says.

The producer steps out from the shadows and whispers to take a commercial break. "Okay, we have to take a quick break. We'll be back with more from Atlanta's prodigal son, Marcus DeVant after these messages."

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Bryan gets up from his chair and grabs a new shirt to put on. "Good stuff Marcus."

Marcus is tapping his right foot on the floor rapidly."Dude, I don't think I can go through with this shit. I've blocked most of that day out of my head."

"I know its tough Marcus, but this is great stuff. If you need a break, we will stop and go to another commercial break."

"Alright then, “Marcus says weakly.

"Back in 5...4...3...2...1," the voice in the shadows shouts. Bryan jumps back in his seat while a lady wipes away the sweat that's beaded on his forehead.

Bryan puts on his TV face- a huge smile with an overly loud voice. "Welcome back. We're here with Marcus DeVant of the New York Knicks."

"Hello," Marcus says with his voice weak and hollow.

"Marcus, there's been widespread rumors on internet chat boards about what happened that day. The official story was he accidentally shot himself while playing with a handgun."
“That is what happened.”

Bryan leans forward in his seat. “Come on Marcus; tell the viewers what really happened.”

Marcus lowers his head and lets out a sigh. "I don’t recall exactly, but I will tell you what I remember. Key and I were bouncing around the living room to some Master P video, with our fingers in the shapes of guns. We were waving them at each other and going bang...bang...bang." His voice starts to get loud as he appears to fall back into that moment.

"Key stops and says to me, Hold on a minute bro and disappears into his bedroom. A few minutes later he comes back and..."

He's still entrenched in his memory when Bryan interrupts. "Is that where the gun went off?"

Marcus shoots him an angry look. "I don't know; I can't remember a damn thing about what happened after that."

"Have you ever wondered why you can't remember anything?" Bryan asks. I could hear the sarcasm in his tone and I’m sure the viewers did too.

Marcus ignores his question. His stare goes blank. "All I can remember is that shattered glass. I couldn't stop staring at it."

Bryan scoots his chair along the carpet to get closer to Marcus. "What glass?"

Oblivious to the question, Marcus continues on interviewing his memory. "I was whisked away so fast by my Mom that I never got the chance to remember what happened. Mom told me how he accidentally shot himself with a gun he had borrowed from a friend. I asked her for more details but..."

"What happened next Marcus?" Bryan asked.

Marcus continues quietly talking to himself. "She always declined, saying it was the best decision she made, sending me to California."

The producer appears again and holds up two fingers, motioning to Bryan that he has two minutes until the next commercial break. He shrugs his shoulders, asking the producer what he should do. Marcus has been talking to himself for at least a minute now, ignoring any of the questions Bryan has asked him.

"The cops never even questioned me man." His voice gets louder.

Bryan must take it as his cue that Marcus is back doing the interview because he ask, "Why not Marcus?" He still doesn't respond though. He just keeps talking to himself.

"They said the bullet went through his head and shattered the glass behind him. I can remember that glass," Marcus says with a frustration in his voice.

Bryan looks down at his notepad. "Marcus, why didn't the cops ever question you?"

"They just asked for my Goddamn autograph - didn't care to ask me what happened."

Bryan's meek voice hardens. "Why not Marcus?"

He doesn't acknowledge the question so Bryan drops his notepad in disgust and shrugs his shoulders at his producer, who then appears out of the shadows and rolls his index finger in a circle, signaling for him to keep going.

Marcus mumbles to himself. "How is it I can see that damn shattered glass but I can't remember him?" He slaps his forehead with the palm of his hand. "I can see the lake in the distance; I remember the ringing in my ears from the gunshot...that disgusting smell of burning flesh."

His voice trails off. It looks like a light just went off in his head. "Now I'm starting to remember some things."

Bryan appears to get excited at this prospect. "What are you remembering Marcus?"

He rubs the back of his head profusely, his size seventeen shoe tapping furiously on the floor beneath his chair. "Key walks into the living with this excited air about him; his arms are hiding behind his back..."

Bryan interrupts." Was it a gun?" Marcus gets up from his chair and starts to pace nervously around the room.

"Marcus, are you okay?" Bryan starts to get up from his chair but apparently changes his mind and sits back down.

Marcus looks down at him, finally acknowledging one of his questions. "Hell yes it was a gun. It was the biggest Goddamn gun I’d ever seen, man." He walks over to the balcony. "He tells me to check it out. He says to me, it's a .357 magnum. He hands it to me. Damn that thing was so big and heavy."

I continue following Marcus with the camera. He parts the vertical blinds and peers out at the gray sky. "I take it from him and start pointing it all over the place. I'm pointing it and saying bang, and blowing on the barrel like they do in those old Westerns. I point it at portraits hanging on the wall, pretending I'm shooting each one before I move on to the other. I swing it to a picture of my Uncle and Key's head gets in the way. "

The producer comes running towards us, but Bryan holds up his hand, pleading with him to let Marcus keep talking. He then motions to me to continue following Marcus.

"It explodes in my hand. He falls back viciously as if he's being pulled from behind."

Bryan shouts, trying to get his attention."Marcus!"

Marcus keeps repeating, "I didn't cry though," over and over again.

The producer starts yelling. "Cut! Cut! Turn the Goddamn camera off!"

Bryan starts talking faster. "Umm...we'll be back after these messages."

I cut the camera off immediately. The producer and Bryan are acting frantic, talking loudly to each other. But none of them notice that Marcus slid the glass door open and is now standing out on the balcony.

He looks down below at the traffic that pearls beneath him.

"No! Marcus!" It's all I have time to say. I reach to grab him but it's too late.

Marcus becomes more distant as the cars below rush to greet him.

I lean over the railing looking down in disbelief. I can't believe what I just saw.

Story ID:	3909
Written by:	Jay Ingram (bio, link, contact, other stories)
Story type:	Fiction
Location:	Atlanta GA USA
Year:	2007
Person:	Marcus DeVant