I found a pick up game on my walk home, I hadn't necessarily meant to but as I lingered at the court staring longingly at it one of the players asked if I wanted to join. I think they recognize me but they've been polite enough not to ask.
There's one kid on the opposing team who's pretty good. His defense is tight making it hard to slip past him and I find myself relaxing into the task. My mind focused on basketball, the feel of the leather beneath my palm, the warm sun as it beats down on the concrete, the metallic ring of the netless rim.
All of my worries dissipate as I drive the ball up the court, slipping in out of defenders until I'm in the box.
Later today I'm meeting with my lawyers to officially record my statement. I slept like crap the past two nights as my mind supplied me with ample horrors from my youth. And all today I've been on edge. Even as I went through the motions at practice, trying to keep my thoughts grounded long enough to answer Ross and my other teammates. I managed to be at home long enough to take my shoes off before putting them back on and went to the gym down the road putting reckless miles on the treadmill. My thoughts weighted down with old memories and worries that have increased with everyday that Raf hasn't shown up to the center. I've even gone by his house, hoping maybe I'd catch him coming or going. But he's vanished and I'm sick about it.
Nothing's worked. But this, this has my mind clear for the time being.
Shoes scrape against the pavement, the other players yelling at each other for the ball or to pass or to make sure they're defending. There's a big guy, slow moving but enormous and he steals the ball from my teammate, sending it to half court for his team. I take a mental note of where everyone is, I've already separated the threats from the players I don't have to worry about. The ones that are easy to dupe and slip past.
The ball bounces around the court and I catch sight of the good defender as he moves to an open pocket, no one's paying attention to him, he's completely unguarded and I close in on him. Our bodies push against one another, both of us slick with sweat as he tries to dodge me but I can guess his movements. He's predictable even if he's good.
His teammate tries to pass to him but I'm there, intercepting the ball before I dart off, scanning for my teammates. I take the ball out a little, to get a clean pass but just as I go to hand it off I step to the side to avoid a reaching hand and collide with an absolutely solid frame. It's like slamming into Ross during a scrimmage, I bounce off with zero effort from him.
My hands hit the pavement, little beads of gravel lodging in my palms and for just a moment my world goes from the court to the damp basement. It seizes my lungs and I stare bewildered at my surroundings until a hand appears in my sight.
"Mr. Lincoln?" One of the kids I've been playing with comes into focus.
Mr. Lincoln. I'm stuck on this, is that me? He knows me.
The basement retreats, the sun warming my hot skin chasing away the dampness and I slap my hand in his and let him hoist me up. My chest heaves, adrenaline still spiking through my body but as I get to my feet my vision blacks and I stumble.
"Are you okay?" The kid asks.
I nod, aware that I'm clutching to him as a spell of dizziness hits me. This isn't a good look. Especially if all these guys recognize me.
"Yeah." I mumble, desperately searching the blackness for familiarity. It comes back in small specs, a yellow haze, the green grass that surrounds the gray cement. The blue shirt the kid is wearing. All of its splotched with black as I straighten myself up and put distance between me and the kid.
"Thanks for the game."
I don't wait for an answer.
————————
