❝You're gonna be happy, ❞ said life, ❝but first I'll make you strong.❞
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A story of how a family reeling from loss and pain can come together and realize that there is beauty in the mess of life.
In the wake of their mother's death, five siblin...
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— Theo —
THE INSIDE OF the gym smelled like ass — a mixture of musty sweat and a sour odour. Hundreds of people lined the stands, each comfortably sitting with their churros and drinks. It was only the opening game and the whole town had appeared, thrilled that basketball season had started.
Doveport was a small town in Ontario and since our school — Northridge Secondary School was the only school in our vicinity, our basketball games competed against neighbouring towns. Today, our team would compete against Willowcreek Secondary School.
Our town was crowded together on one side of the stands — all donning the traditional blue colours of our school. Below us, our mascot — a blue phoenix — stood on the sidelines, attempting to perform cartwheels whenever our team scored.
The first quarter had just started and from our height, I could see Julian on the court dressed in his blue and white jersey as he dribbled a ball before shooting over the three-point line. His teammates sitting on the sidelines jumped from their seats when the ball swooshed through the hoop.
I glanced at the scoreboard in the top left corner of the gym, watching as our points steadily rose. Next to the board, was a line of jerseys hanging along the wall to honour Northridge's award-winning players.
It was right in front of me, almost in a taunting manner, as my eyes landed on my familiar jersey. It was in pristine condition. The azure blue stripes cleanly trailed the side of my white jersey as the bright phoenix rested right at the centre.
When my coach had asked me what number I wanted on the back of my jersey, I didn't even blink when I said the number 27.
November 27 was Ma's birthday and from day one, she was my number one supporter for basketball. It was printed in large blue numbers and just staring at it made my jaw clench.
Just watching the game from the stands, made my hands twitch. It was unnatural to be sitting here while the game progressed. I was meant to be down there, heart beating as the bright lights and trained attention weighed on me. But it was when the time on the clock was running out and my hands were aching from dribbling, that I could drown out everything.
It was a rush of adrenaline and the pumping of my blood in my ears that was the only thing that could be heard. My arms would rise, the ball in my hands was a comforting presence as I ignored my teammates' pressing gazes. The ball would leave my hands and I would close my eyes, relishing in that fleeting pure exhilaration that ran from my head all the way to my toes.
Coach had reprimanded me for closing my eyes. It wasn't strategical, not logical. But for me, it made sense. It was the only feeling I could make sense of at that time. When I looked in the stands, it would be a gut-dropping sensation that washed over me when Dad wasn't there watching with my family.
